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bruno-madrigal-writings · 2 years

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The Dead Speak to Those Who Listen

Based on the pompt given to me by @vindictivevalerie

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

Summary: Reader can see the dead and is pestered by Aubelo Pedro to go out with his amazing son, Bruno.

Female!reader

3.6k words

Warnings: mentions of ghosts, lots of fluff!

- ‘You would get along well with my son.’

The voice echoed through the small room, a whisper that didn’t exist. The woman didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge the voice existed. To most, it wouldn’t have, and you had become practiced at acting like the same was true for you. But, you were alone in the small guest room, so you brought out a notebook to write out your response.

‘What makes you say that?’

The figure that didn’t exist appeared by your side, looking over your shoulder to read your tidy handwriting. He was a handsome man, still so young and yet his eyes held the warmth and knowledge of someone much older.

‘You are very similar.’ the whisper barely caught your ears, like a breath, there one moment and gone the next. ‘He’s a kind-hearted man, misunderstood by the people around him. But he loves his family dearly.’

You hummed, running a comb through your hair, working on the knots that had gathered through the day. Once done, you put her comb down and wrote in your notebook.

‘You must love your son so much. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet him.’

‘You will someday, I’m sure of it.’

You frowned, lips pressed into a line.

You had come to this small town nearly three years ago, looking for a peaceful place to live where you weren’t known, where you could make a new first impression. It had worked wonderfully and you had quickly become great friends with two sisters, the one and only Pepa and Julieta Madrigal. You spent much of her time with them, offering to babysit their children or help Julieta with her cooking frequently. They were amazing, some of the kindest people you knew, and you felt as comfortable around them as she did her own family, perhaps even more so.

It had almost been a relief when you found others with gifts like yours.

Of course, you didn’t tell them of your gift. The whole point of finding this new place was to escape the stigma that came with your particular powers, and you were not going to ruin that, even if it meant keeping the secret from your best friends.

There was one person in casa de Madrigal that knew of your gift and only one. The spirit of your friends’ dead father.

You could see the dead when others couldn’t, and the spirits could always tell.

It was from this spirit, their dear Abuelo Pedro who grew to see you as another daughter, that you learned of Pepa and Julieta’s long lost brother, Bruno, the black sheep of the family who vanished one day. No one else would talk about him and you could tell it hurt the man deeply to see his family broken like that. The people in town would only murmur and whisper gossip to you if you asked just right and you knew first hand how trustworthy gossip was.

‘I know you would like each other.’ Pedro insisted and you nodded.

‘If -’

‘When.’ He corrected. you scratched out the first word and started again.

‘When I meet him, I’m sure we’ll be friends. I can’t imagine not loving every member of this family.’

Pedro smiled, delighted.

‘I can’t wait, mija.’

A part of you had doubted that you would ever meet the now infamous Bruno Madrigal.

Ten years.

He had been gone for ten years. Then, suddenly, the house began to fall apart as the family fell apart, left in a pile of rubble to be rebuilt from the ground up. Which included welcoming back their ostracized brother, who had supposedly been living in the walls of their family home. It was an incredibly strange situation to think of, but made sense considering what Pedro had said about how much the man loved his family.

The first thing that struck you as you watched the joyful reunion from afar was how much he looked like his father. If he cut his hair short, you were sure he would be the spitting image of Pedro. The second thing you noticed was how tired he looked. you had the urge to make him a warm cup of tea and settle him down for a good, long nap.

Not that there were any beds here anymore.

Pedro was by your side while you watched her friends, a fond smile on his face.

‘See, isn’t he handsome?’

You huffed and rolled her eyes, a fond smile of your own gracing your lips. You nodded.

‘You should talk to him when you get the chance. I’m sure you two will hit it off!’ The way he said it made your face grow hot. ‘Maybe if things go well enough I can call you daughter and it’ll be true.’

Oh boy …

You sighed. You wanted to respond, to tell Pedro that you were a 48 year-old woman and your time to find love and get married had long passed, but even if you did respond he wouldn’t have accepted it.

Still, you did say you would try to be friends with him if nothing else. You were going to introduce yourself, but then the whole town had appeared, wanting to help, and you found yourself lost in the hustle and bustle. That was fine, you told herself. You were sure you would have a moment to talk another time.

Like that night, when the town had returned to their homes for the night, leaving only the family themselves. They had put some tents up for themselves to sleep in, at least while the weather was still nice. Plenty of people had offered their homes and guest rooms to the family, including yourself, but they insisted on sticking together. You could understand that.

They had been sitting around the fire, talking and laughing amongst themselves, but as the night grew longer and darker, they started drifting off to their own tents, until it was just the triplets and you.

“So, you’re the long lost brother I’ve heard about.” You finally said, looking at Bruno, admiring how the fire light danced across his face. It made the bags under his eyes look even darker.

“Ah, sí, I guess - I guess that would be me, huh?” he said with a nervous chuckle. “What, uh, what have you heard? About me, I mean.”

He was fidgeting, you noticed, fingers playing with the frayed strands on the edge of his ruana.

“Ah, mostly just rumors and gossip. Nothing I can really bring myself to believe.” That seemed to be what he needed to hear, his shoulders relaxing and the smallest of sighs escaping him. “I’d love to get to know you more. I’m already best friends with those two.” She motioned to his sisters, who were watching the interaction very, very closely. “I don’t see why I can’t be good friends with you, too!” You said with a smile.

It was probably just a play of the light, but you thought you could see his face grow a bit redder as he flashed you a dazzling smile, a bit lop-sided but striking.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

You couldn’t stay for long, unfortunately. You had to get home to get your own sleep, but you told the triplets you would be back in the morning to help with rebuilding. They all smiled at you and wished you a good night.

“We’ll see you tomorrow!” Bruno had added.

You could feel Pedro’s happiness as you left.

It only took a few short months for the house to be completed and in that time you and Bruno had grown incredibly close, just as close as you were to his sisters. It wasn’t difficult. Bruno was the kindest, sweetest, gentlest man you had ever known, just as Pedro had said. He was also a bit mischievous and terribly goofy. You loved hearing his stories, each one more complicated and convoluted than the next. He was always a joy to be around.

Which was a problem.

Because everytime the two of you were even close to each other, Pedro was there, giving you a look that made your face flush, smiling at the two of you.

He was very insistent that the two of you start dating. Then get married. There wasn’t much you could do about it. You couldn’t snap at him to stop or people would wonder who you were talking too and the last thing you wanted was for your secret to get out.

He might have been ignorable, at least, if the rest of the family didn’t seem to share the same opinion.

“So, you and Bruno a thing yet?” Pepa would ask.

“The two of you are so cute together!” Julieta would coo at you.

Even Alma would give looks at the two of you, the same one her departed husband gave. They were so clearly a couple, even after all these years.

And, of course, there was the one other little issue, one you were far less willing to admit. After all, when you were put under so much pressure, even if it was from the people you loved, your first instinct was to go against it. But, as you sat around the fire another night, watching as Bruno laughed with everyone else, the sound warm and comforting, his eyes sparkling with the fire light, you couldn’t really deny it anymore.

You had fallen in love with Bruno Madrigal.

You supposed, just this once, you could give in to the pressure. At least they weren’t trying to get you to do something terrible.

The more you thought about it, the more the idea of being with Bruno got to you. Just thinking about him would send butterflies flapping in your chest, like you were a teenager again with some silly crush. But …

That meant you were going to have to tell him. You weren’t about to get into a serious relationship with someone and not tell them about your … ‘ability’.

It was another two months before you could get the courage to do such a thing. There was so much that could go wrong. What if he rejected you? What if he told everyone else and you were shunned? Or worse, forced out of the valley all together? You weren’t sure you could handle the heartbreak of losing your home again, losing your friends, the people you considered to be your family.

But you knew you couldn’t stay like this.

You went to Casita that day, unwavering in your approach. You knew if you hesitated even a little bit you wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

You were immediately greeted by several members of the family, Mirabel, Camilo, and Antonio, who looked like they had been playing in the entrance.

“Y/N! Hola!” Mirabel waved, a big smile on her face. You smiled back, kind but strained.

“Hola, Mira, is your Tío Bruno home?”

“Sí, he’s in his room!”

“Gracias, querida. You lot behave yourselves, you hear?” They all nodded, not that you believed them.

You could feel Pedro’s presence almost immediately, always warm and welcoming, so proud of his family. It was reassuring, at least a little. You knew that, even if the whole family grew to hate you, Pedro would still view you as a daughter.

Even if you wouldn’t be able to see him again.

Before you could regret your actions, you opened Bruno’s door.

From what Mirabel had told you, his room looked a lot different than it used to. She had described a sand pit with cliff-like walls and so many, many stairs. The room you entered was nothing like that. There was still plenty of sand, but it fell like waterfalls around the walls of the round room, an intricate pattern on the beige tiles. Across from you was the hallway with a couple doors on either side, the most prominent being the large, round one that led to his vision cave. You had never been in there yourself, never really felt the need to peek into the future. It was tightly closed, so he probably wasn’t in there.

You went to the second door on the left, the one you knew led to his bedroom, and knocked against the wood. For a moment, nothing happened, then you heard something shuffling around, then a whisper and many small, pattering footsteps.

You took a step away and waited. The door opened a moment later, revealing a very disheveled looking Bruno. His hair was messier than usual, salt and pepper ringlets framing his face. His eyes looked groggy, but the bags that had been so prominent under his eyes when you first met him were nearly as noticeable and his cheeks were a bit more full. He was wearing his brown pants, a white button up shirt hastily thrown over his shoulders, buttons undone.

Shit, he was so handsome.

The moment his eyes met yours he was beaming, causing your heart to flutter and a smile of your own to tug at your lips.

“Y/N! Hi! Oye! Come in, come in!”

You let him usher you into the room, closing the door behind you. He went about trying to pick up the stray laundry on his floor, his many rats scattering when he picked up the clothes they had been sheltering in. You picked one up, letting it climb up to your shoulder. The slight warmth and weight was comforting.

“Sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting anyone. But I’m glad you’re here! I’ve been working with the rats, teaching them a new trick. I think you’ll like it! And I wanted to show you! Hold on, let me just …” He worked on buttoning up his shirt and ran a head through his messy locks. You chuckled.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Hmm? Oh, no! I was already up, just, you know, not put together, I guess. Like I said, I wasn’t expecting any guests, and - and I wasn’t really ready to go anywhere, so -”

“Bruno, I need to tell you something.” You didn’t like interrupting him, even if he did ramble sometimes, but if you didn’t get this out you weren’t sure you ever would.

He froze for a moment, uncertainty creeping over his expression, his big, beautiful eyes only daring to glance at you for a moment.

“Ah, okay… Here, let’s sit.” He motioned for you to follow him as he sat on the end of his bed. You sat by his side, debating with yourself how you were supposed to explain this. He waited patiently, hands absently petting at one of his rats who had settled onto his lap.

Finally you took a deep breath.

“I really like you, Bruno.” You decided to start with, getting to the point as quickly as you could. Just get it over with and deal with the repercussions after. “I would very much like to start dating you, if I can. But that’s why I can’t in good conscience keep this a secret anymore.”

You looked over to him, which was the exact worst thing to do. He was staring at you, his face flushed and eyes wide in shock, lips slightly parted. You looked away immediately, choosing instead to stare at the rats chasing each other around the floor.

“The reason I came here was because I was chased out of my last home. The people there hated me. They thought I was evil, a bad omen, something like that, and wanted me gone. Because I … I can… “ You had to take a steadying breath. “I see the dead. And I talk to them, too. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, that I didn’t tell anyone! I was so afraid that you all would hate me, too, and you’ve all been so nice to me. Encanto’s my home! You’re like my family, and I didn’t want to loose everything because of this stupid curse, not again! I can’t do it again, I just can’t! I don’t want to leave! Where else would I go? Where else would I find friends like you? What would I do? I .. I…”

You were rambling and you knew it, words coming out quicker and quicker the longer you went. You could feel the tears pricking at your eyes, the panic rising and choking you like a hand around your throat. You had said it and now he would hate you, you were sure.

Your thoughts of loss plagued you, spilling from your mouth without a filter. They didn’t stop until you felt his touch, warm hands wrapping around you and bringing you in for a hug. You practically melted in his arms, letting the tears flow freely as you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, grasping at the back of his shirt desperately. You didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to hear the goodbye. You could stay here for an eternity and you wouldn’t care. He smelled so nice, like sand and salt. You wanted to drown in him.

“It’s okay.” You could hear him saying, a hand running through your hair, so comforting, more comfort than someone like you deserved. “You’re okay. You’re not going anywhere. It doesn’t matter what you can do, no ones going to kick you out. This is your home.”

He held you there, close to him, murmuring words of comfort until you had stopped shaking and your mind cleared.

Of course he wasn’t going to hate you. This was Bruno, after all, sweetest man alive. You weren’t sure he was even capable of hating anyone.

Reluctantly, you pulled away, wiping the salty tears off of your face and taking a shaking breath.

“Lo siento, I didn’t mean to fall apart like that on you, I just -”

“Don’t apologize.” He stopped you, warm smile taking your breath away. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“You -” Another shaky breath. “What do you think? About the … the …”

“Your gift?” He finished for you, voice achingly kind and gentle. You shook your head.

“I wouldn’t call it that…”

“It’s only a curse if you call it one.” You looked at him at the odd phrase. “Mamá said that a lot. When I was really struggling with my own gift …” He said sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “When did … how long have you had your gift.”

You looked away and shrugged.

“Since I was born.”

“And … do you - so you mean what you said? That you …” You were forced to look back at him when he didn’t finish the sentence. You were taken aback by the look in his eyes, like you were the most important thing in the universe to him, something so stunning and precious. You felt your face heating up. You gulped and nodded.

“I think I love you, Bruno. I wouldn’t have told you about … this if I didn’t.”

His eyes flickered away from you, the gears working in his head. You waited for baited breath for his response.

It caught you by surprise when he pulled you into another hug, tighter than the last, less comforting and more desperate. Or relieved. He rested his forehead against your shoulder and you buried your face in his hair, hands bunching up the back of his shirt again.

“I love you, too.” His muffled voice whispered. “‘Have since I first saw you.”

You could almost hear Pedro cheering from wherever he was in the house. You were just grateful he wasn’t in the room.

You held each other as long as you could get away with, only separating when Casita began to rustle around you, a section of floor roling about to get your attention. Bruno let go first, a deep disappointed sigh leaving his chest. When he looked at you it was with so much adoration you felt your heart would burst.

“We should probably go to lunch …”

You winced, but nodded.

“I’m going to have to tell them …”

“Dolores could tell them.” He offered. “I’m sure she already knows.”

He shook your head.

“No, it should be me.”

“Should we tell them we’re dating, too?”

His words sent a shiver through you, a thrill you hadn’t expected. You couldn’t keep the smile of your face, and it seemed neither could he.

“Yeah, you can tell them. After. It’ll lift the mood.”

He nodded, getting up. You felt cold without him by your side.

You watched him get ready, fixing his clothes and throwing his usual green ruana on. It took a bit, but he managed to comb through his curls eventually. Before he could leave, though, you stopped him.

“Wait, one more thing.” He looked down at where you had grabbed his hand, then into your eyes. You stepped closer, smiling so softly. “You look so much like your dad.” You said with a sigh, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, letting your hand rest over the side of his face. “He loves you so much and he’s so proud of you. You have to know that.”

For a moment he just looked at you, eyes watering. Then he leaned into your touch, hand resting over yours on his face. His eyes fluttered close, a tear running down his cheek. Your thumb stroked over his cheek to wipe it away.

“Gracias.” He finally said, voice watery and shaky. “I really … I really needed that.”

You knew then it didn’t really matter if the rest of the family would hate you or not. Bruno loved you, and that was enough.

As the two left his room, hand in hand, you could hear a familiar voice, there but not there, speaking.

‘Gracias, mija. Gracias.’

#encanto #bruno madrigal #bruno madrigal x reader #reader insert #encanto reader insert #madrigal #bruno madrigal writings

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astaroth1357 · 3 years

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More undateables with a demigod hades mc???

By request, have yourself a part two!!

Demigod MC Series: Hades Pt. 2 (Un)Dateables Edition!

I will ask that y’all please don't ask for continuations of other gods unless I say it’s okay to do again. This series already fills my inbox something fierce and this is a one-off that I allowed for during the request window. If I have to make ideas for new gods while continuing a bunch of old MCs, it'll burn me out fast...

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2

Diavolo

Oh, he has no problem at all hosting a child of the Underworld, hell he even throws them a welcome banquet when he finds out! Hades is a dear friend - and practically a parental figure to him growing up - so he's more than happy to take in one of his children for a year.

Diavolo is actually one of the few people that the MC can talk to about their home with any kind of fondness. Usually when they bring up things like the comforting wailing of the River Coctyus, the brothers will give them weird looks... but Diavolo knows where they're coming from!

He spent numerous summers in the Underworld growing up doing things like pestering Charon on the River Styx or playing games with Cerberus (the other one) in the Asphodel Meadows... His beach house is actually modeled after his childhood summer home in the Isles of Paradise! Really, it can be a lovely place if the gloom doesn't bother you!

So in the spirit of his fond memories, Diavolo really tried to make their time in the Devildom a fun one!... in his maybe trying a little too hard way…

Poor MC found themselves offered pretty much everything under the moon… Tickets or exclusive passes to different cultural events/festivals, invitations to gala events, and tours of nearly every inch of Hell by the Prince himself - it was… it was a lot for the poor introverted thing…

It didn’t help that Diavolo would have a hard time gauging if they were having any fun due to their naturally melancholic nature, which only pushed him to try harder… He means well, he does. He’s just not the most in touch with what would make an anti-social doom child happy...

It took Barbatos and Lucifer stepping in for the mortal to actually start getting some much needed space and that improved their experience significantly. Sometimes less is more, Dia… Less is more. But they appreciate his efforts anyway.

Barbatos

Also has a pretty amicable relationship with the Ruler of the Underworld, though his is much more professional compared to Diavolo’s. He actually has a good deal of appreciation for the man for taking good care of the Prince during his visits, so he sees this as an opportunity to return the favor.

Like Diavolo, he’s rather focused on making sure the MC is having a good stay in the Devildom, but he’s much more subtle about it. He’ll come by the House often to check up on them and make sure everything is to their liking...

Even the brothers notice that he treats them like anothering visiting Lord/Lady in that way, which he would argue they very much are and should be respected as one. It’s the least the Devildom can offer their father at this point.

His visits may also be an excuse for keeping an eye on the brothers to make sure they don’t do anything to inconvenience their “young guest…” To be honest, the entire House is a little paranoid about that… Nobody wants to know the punishment for hurting MC if Barbs is the one dishing it out...

Apart from watching out for them, Barbatos tries to encourage the MC to accept the Young Lord’s gifts (while also actively advising Diavolo to go easier on them at the same time). It would be so disheartening to him if his Prince feels like he hasn’t offered them the best experience that he could… He’s sure they understand.

Any time that he invites the MC to tea, they usually end up talking about their father in some way. Barbs knows a surprising amount about the god… He’s been around about as long as Chronos - preceding the birth of Aether and Chaos themselves - so he has some stories to tell.

The MC did once ask him why he doesn’t just run everything if he’s really been around for so long... his answer was: “Kings and their kingdoms will rise and fall… Worlds upon worlds are born, then cease to be. But time is what brings about all changes… So, I think I’m perfectly content with the power I possess. Wouldn’t you be?”

Annnd they never asked Barbs another question like that again… and people think death is scary…

Simeon

He was honestly a little worried for their new companion for quite a while… It’s not like there’s never any sadness in the Celestial Realm or anything, but they seem to have something else entirely…

He’s heard stories about the Underworld. He’s never been himself, that’s usually a job for the Seraphim due to the… dreary nature of the place - but he’s heard it would make the Devildom look downright festive…

If he were being honest, he had half expected the MC to be obsessed with skeletons, ghosts, and other elements of darkness but that wasn’t the case. They certainly knew a lot about those things, but they appeared to have a healthy interest in the afterlife in general, so they asked him a lot of questions about the Celestial Realm, angels, and how the souls of the blessed are treated up there… It was surprising to say the least.

Of course he did the same and, frankly, Simeon found it incredibly wasteful that so many Greek followers find themselves just wasting away in a field of nothing for so long… but that’s neither here nor there.

He was also surprised by how gentle of an influence the MC ended up being on Luke as well. He had always suspected that the little angel just needed a bridge between him and Devildom to start finding appreciation for it, and the MC fit that bill perfectly - nothing he was used to, but still approachable enough to make everything less frightening. He thanks them a great deal for that… but...

It’s just that… Well they’re just so… depressing sometimes…! He doesn’t want to blame them because it hardly seems like their fault! They’re a very kind person, it’s just an atmosphere around them… It brings him to tears if he isn’t careful…

He’s invited the MC to Purgatory Hall on multiple occasions to chat and try to make them smile… When they do, the gloom is dispelled - even just a little - and they’re a truly beautiful creature regardless. It’s just so unfortunate that their life brings so much sadness...

Even so, he actually likes the MC enough to consider basing a character on them if he ever wrote another book. Something about a gloomy but sweet protagonist at home in a world of darkness sounds appealing… doesn’t it?

Luke

He didn’t know how to feel about the MC when they met. At first, he actually thought they were just as unhappy as he was to be there due to how depressed they looked but when they told him that wasn't true, he was really confused...

The Devildom is a dark, brutish, and dangerous place. Why would anyone feel at home down here??

But… well… He would spend time with them at RAD between breaks (partially to help scare off their many, many demonic suitors) and it might be weird to say, but they really made the Devildom look beautiful… literally.

The world just looks better when they’re around! It’s really hard to describe because it’s not something you notice much until they leave, but when the MC is around everything looks more vibrant and inviting! The grass gets greener, flowers grow bigger, and butterflies/birds hover around wherever they are like they have their own gravity - the realm loves them!

It started getting hard for Luke to hang onto his disdain for the place when they made it look so appealing… And then they started talking to him about the Underworld and the creatures they’d befriended there… creatures a lot worse than any demons he’d seen there...

Like. If the MC can be good friends with a bunch of rude walking corpses, then he could probably make friends with a demon right? There’s nice ones… kind of…

Beel. He can make friends with Beel.

Like Simeon, he does feel bad that they seem so sad all the time… but unlike the older angel, he’s a bit more understanding that this is just how they are and enjoys his time with them regardless. (It helps a lot that just being around this little bean of a boy can lift their spirits anyway).

And you know what’s even better for him? When Lord Diavolo gives the MC tickets to things that they don’t want to go to, sometimes they’ll invite him along or give them to him instead!

He’s gone to the Devil’s Coast with MC and Simeon sooo many times by now and he loves it!! Maybe the Devildom isn’t so bad after all, I mean, it can be a lot of fun when you go to the right places, anyway.

Solomon

Oh, he finds them both deeply fascinating and utterly terrifying - so just his sort of test sub-er, person!

He kids (somewhat), Solomon isn’t that dumb/lacking in self-preservation instinct. Experimenting on a child of death in a land of the dead (even if it’s not their “home turf”) would be asking for trouble. They’d have more than enough ammunition to fight him off and if their father found out? Immortality wouldn’t even begin to save him...

That being said, questions aren’t necessarily experiments… and oh boy, does he have a lot of them.

If the MC isn’t being pestered by Diavolo or the brothers, then they’re probably having to put up with Solomon nipping at their heels trying to get them to use their powers or answer all sorts of “innocent” scientific questions…

“MC, reanimation of Greek dead requires a blood offering, correct? Do you have to sacrifice animals for that process or do you allow them to feast on your own?”

“MC, when you’re controlling a skeleton do you move the body as a whole or do you have to animate each individual bone due to their lack of ligaments?”

“Think fast!! Oh look, you just caught the skull of my good friend, Richard! Could you bring him back from that, or should I fetch the rest of him?” 🙂

They put up with it because, believe it or not, he’s not nearly the weirdest person they’ve ever met (a lot of crazy people drift in and out of the land of the dead…) and well… they’re a pretty lonely person too so it’s not like they have a lot of standards when it comes to friendships anyway.

But the second they breathe a word of this to Barbs or Diavolo, this boy is on his way to a royal restraining order… Where does he even get those skulls…?

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me undateables #obey me datables #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me demigods #obey me requests

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catwithangerissues · 3 years

Text

Sweet by Cigarettes after Sex - Sakusa Kiyoomi

🌱This is another scenario based song fic😌 let me know what you think, please! I think I peaked with that Yachi drabble lmao. This is for a request that was sent to @sunalma ,but fit under my prompt so she sent it on over to me :)

“Watching the video that you sent me

The one where you're showering with wet hair dripping

You know that I'm obsessed with your body

But it's the way you smile that does it for me”

You were sat on the rooftop of your home, the chilly night shingles and wind nipping at your uncovered face. You only wore the hoodie Omi had given you, knowing you’d get cold at the most random times, and a pair of your own old joggers.

With your feet dangling off, you sat close to the edge, you had only one earbud in at the time, and were peacefully humming to the tune you’d been playing basically on repeat the past few days. It was from the playlist you’d made many months ago for when you weren’t feeling well, and with the gray blue and purples clouding the early night sky, you thought it was quite fitting.

“It's so sweet, knowing that you love me

Though we don't need to say it to each other, sweet

Knowing that I love you, and running my fingers through your hair

It's so sweet”

You came up here to get some fresh air, the open window beneath you allowing the bitter wind to seep into your bedroom. You hadn’t been feeling well, and you weren’t sure whether it was just an off day or what.

You knew your sweet boyfriend Omi had been worried about you all day, he had practice so he wasn’t able to spend as much time with you as either of you would’ve liked, but he texted you every chance he could to ask how you were doing and to make sure you’d been taking care of yourself until he got home, he knew you had a habit of neglecting your needs when you felt bad. He felt guilty for leaving this morning, all the more reason why he caught himself cursing under his breath when he fumbled with his keys to open your shared front door.

He opened the door expecting to be hit with a wave of warmth from the house, but once he realized it was only slightly colder outside than it was indoors, he knew exactly where you’d run off too.

He always knew you preferred the rooftop when you weren’t doing well. You had mentioned many times that you liked the scenery up there; the lights from the city, the different vivid colors swirling within the sky and clouds, and the ambient sounds from your street- like the neighborhood cats pestering one another about their territory. Truth be told, he didn’t mind joining you up there, he could agree with you that it was rather peaceful and he certainly didn’t mind being in your company when you two escaped to your little space away from normal life.

He desperately wanted to bask in a hot shower after such a long day of practice, but he wanted nothing more than to make sure you were doing okay before you both turned the lights out for the night.

He made his way to your shared bedroom, only reaffirming the answer to his mental question as to why the house was so cold moments ago once he saw the open window. It felt routine at this point, as odd as it sounded, to climb through that window and up onto the roof. The first few times you asked him to join you, he was put off by the offer, and usually gave you snarky comment about how filthy it was, but he slowly began to join you more and more, to the point where it felt normal now. He still didn’t enjoy the filth, though.

“Watching the video where you're lying

In your red lingerie ten times nightly

You know I think your skin's the perfect color

But it's always your eyes that pull me under”

He peered over the edge of the shingles at your laying form, eyes closed and hair gently blowing onto your soft cheeks. He could tell you were cold from the goosebumps that covered your body, so he made a mental note to keep the house extra cozy tonight.

You hadn’t heard him climb up next to you, until you felt his fingertips gently ghost over your cheek and brushing your hair away. You would’ve been alarmed, had you not immediately recognized the gesture; Omi was always so gentle when touching you in any way, like you could break into shattered glass if he wasn’t careful.

You opened your eyes slowly to see a small smile on your longtime boyfriends face, though you could easily pick up on the hints of exhaustion and concern beneath his dark eyes. Reaching up to grasp his proportionally much larger hand, you lay it gently flush against your cheek, basking in the warmth of his skin as you nuzzled further into his touch. He couldn’t help but smile wider at your gesture.

After getting comfortable, sitting up next to one another, your head laid casually on his shoulder and his arm around you, you two spent what felt like forever talking. About his day, your day, how you were both feeling, and otherwise. You could feel your heart swell and sink simultaneously at his worry for you, you wanted nothing more than to bring a smile to his face, but you greatly appreciated all the love and care he had for you. He pet your hair lightly as you continued to rant, offering his occasional two cents of advice.

It was comforting, and you found yourself slowly feeling better as he continued to spend time with you. About the time he saw your eyes drifting closed again, he decided to bring you in.

“It's so sweet, knowing that you love me

Though we don't need to say it to each other, sweet

Knowing that I love you, and running my fingers through your hair

It's so sweet”

After helping you back into your bedroom, he quickly went to turn up the thermostat to heat the now icy indoor air. You felt a large pair of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you as close as possible to his chest. He nuzzled into your shoulder, mumbling about throwing the towels in the dryer to be warm for you once you got done showering. You hadn’t noticed he slipped into the bathroom behind you to prepare it for you, but you felt woozy with appreciation and adoration at that moment. Peppering his face lightly with your kisses of approval as payment, you both found yourselves smiling wide at the other after pulling apart.

After a steamy shower, you felt newer, and the warmth of the previously mentioned towels definitely helped in improving your mood. Omi had run off to the guest bathroom to clean up himself in the meantime, wanting to give you space if you needed any, and using it as an excuse to prepare a few more surprises for you, as he always knew you took longer showers than he did.

He had taken the time to bring a few extra blankets into your bedroom, along with your favorite comfort movies and some of those snacks he’d picked up on the way home that he knew you loved, you always said they were your favorite but he knew that changed basically each week.

He laid out some pajamas for you, including one of his own sweatshirts, the same one you said was your favorite on him so he wore it more often from that point forward.

The house had begun to warm up, and he padded his way to the kitchen to make you some hot tea, figuring you’d spent quite a bit of time in the chilly air outside even before you’d spent an hour up there with him.

“And I will gladly break it

I will gladly break my heart for you

And I will gladly break it

I will gladly break my heart for you

And I will gladly break it

I will gladly break my heart for you

And I will gladly break it

I will gladly break my heart for you

It's so sweet, knowing that you love me

Though we don't need to say it to each other, sweet

Knowing that I love you, and running my fingers through your hair

It's so sweet”

After bringing back the tea to set on your side of the beds nightstand, the steam from the open bathroom door and missing clothes he’d laid out for you gave it away that you’d finished your shower. Once you emerged, he couldn’t help but think about how much cuter that sweatshirt looked on you than he ever thought it did on him, but he wouldn’t tell you that now. You smiled at the sweet gestures your boyfriend had done for you, even after such a long day of intense practice. He really never failed to bring a smile to your face, and this was no different.

Bringing him into your tight embrace and falling back onto the bed, his head resting on your chest and muscular arms wrapped around your torso, your arms around his neck and shoulders, you let out a sigh and a sweet hum. His weight on top of yours was comforting, and his black curls smelled nicely of his shampoo. He nuzzled further into your touch, mumbling a question you didn’t really catch about having an impromptu movie night and if you’d like a massage, also letting you know he’d be around the house all day tomorrow, he’d texted the teams groupchat to let them know he would be missing practice. You smiled wide at his words, excited to spend a full day with the man you loved so much.

Some people would consider Sakusa Kiyoomi a cold person, one who wasn’t fond of people nor someone who could be very affectionate. But in that moment, you knew more than ever how wrong they were.

✨Tag List: @sunalma @toworuu

🌱Let me know what you thought of comforting Omi, he’s one of my favs to write for. Hope you liked it! <3

#weeklypromptevent #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu matchup #haikyuu matchups #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #hq sakusa #kiyoomi is my husband and i love him #kiyoomi fluff #sakusa fluff #sakusa headcanons

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beelzebubisbestwaifu · 4 years

Text

Flowers for my boys (pt 2)

Flower/Coffee shop AU

Demon bois x Reader - fluff, pining, gender neutral reader.

“We,” Mammon starts, addressing his captive audience, “are the last line of defense.”

“What are you even on about?” Lucifer sighs, leaning back in his chair. The cafe is dimly lit, the doors not yet unlocked for another day of work, “You said this was important.”

“It is!” Mammon growls, crossing his arms and standing up strong, “This is a threat to productivity!”

“Are...you talking about yourself?” Belphegor questions, head resting on his pillow, the table he’s almost laying on is covered in snack wrappers from Beelzebub.

“No!” The secondborn growls. “I’m talking about them.” Mammon points out the window at the story across the street at a lovely young human. Their jacket loos on their frame as they unlock the front door to their flower shop.

“(y/n)?” Satan questions, “Why are they a problem?”

“Yeah,” Asmodeus scowls, standing up and crossing his arms, “(y/n) is a sweetie.” the others nod softly while Lucifer heaves a deep sigh.

“Leave it to you to try and pester an innocent flowerkeep,” Lucifer huffs, standing and grabbing his satchel from the floor by his chair, “I order you to stay away from little (y/l/n). They provide the flowers for our cafe, and their kindness has helped us blossom in the community.”

“They help me taste-test the sweets for the cafe,” Beel huffs, sending Mammon a warning glare, “do not ruin this for us.”

“But they damage our productivity!” Mammon huffs, “How are we going to carry out the whole point of us being here if we can’t focus?” A knock at the front door startles the group, eyes turning towards the glass door. There, silhouetted in the early morning light, is the florist (y/n). Asmo hops up, racing over and unlocking the door to let them in. The flower-scented human enters, carrying a large box full of fresh flowers.

“Hey guys!” (y/n) giggles, walking over to one of the tables and setting the box down, “sorry for the intrusion, Diavolo asked me to bring in some flowers and I figured it would be best to do so asap. Yknow...so they’re fresh for when you open.” the human gives a sunny smile, eyes crinkling and cheeks rosy.

“Good thinking,” Satan hums, peering into the wooden crate, a soft smile on his face, “What are these?”

“Trimmings from a Latana shrub,” (y/n) replies, gently pulling out one of the trims, “Lovely, no?”

“Beautiful,” Beel rumbles, looking over at his twin and nudging him awake.

“Aww shucks, you guys are too sweet.”

“Comes with working in a cafe,” Asmo coos, leaning on (Y/n) and winking.

“Now now,” Lucifer interjects, “Lets not crowd them.” The brothers reluctantly back off, grumbling.

“Oh dear,” (y/n) gasps, staring at the clock, “I can help you guys put these in vases.”

“Really?” squints Mammon, suspicious and a bit bitter, “Why would you do that?”

“Because its nice?” the human giggles, nudging the tan demon and plopping down to start putting flowers in vases.

“Hm, those of you in uniform, help (y/n),” Lucifer hums, “those of you not in uniform need to go change.” Satan, Beel, Belphie, and Lucifer stride from the room, bags in tow to the breakroom. Leviathan looks up from the manga he’s been absorbing via his eyes.

“Oh, hey (y/n)-chan,” Levi smiles, setting the tome-sized manga novel aside and paying attention to the way the human separates the flowers into little neat piles. “Are you helping us put the flowers out?”

“Were you not paying attention?” Giggles (y/n), nudging their friend on the shoulder and smiling.

“Nah,” Leviathan chuckles, grabbing a pitcher of water and gently filling the little table vases with water. Mammon takes a seat, watching the human with intensity. Beautiful blue eyes scan over the innocent (y/n) like a student studying for a test the next day. One question looms in the greedy demon’s mind: what about (y/n) is so bothersome??

The human’s soft fingers pick up the little snippings of orange and yellow flowers, bringing them up to be scrutinized one final time before being handed to Mammon. Said demon wordlessly slips the flowers into the little vases, glaring (y/n) down like the human had stabbed his kidney. Asmodeus sits, silent while he watches his older brother try and Sherlock his way to a conclusion about their business neighbor.

“Thank you, Mammon,” (y/n) smiles, their fingers brushing his as they hand him the final clipping. The demon sputters, face blushing as he yanks his hands away.

“O-Of course!” Mammon stammers, “Of course you’re grateful for the Great Mammon!!”

“I am,” the humans velvety lips break into a lovely smile, “you, Asmo, and Levi were a big help.” The second-eldest demon blushes furiously, his jaw flapping uselessly as he stares at (y/n) with saucers for eyes.

“Do you want me to start putting the flower food in?” Asmo asks, holding up a bottle of sugary water.

“Oh! yeah, thank you Momo,” (y/n)’s eyes crinkle in another smile, “such a darling.” Mammon blushes, watching his younger brother and the human guest put little tiny pipettes of the plant food into the vases.

“What does that junk do?” Mammon grumbles, leaning on the table and watching the duo work.

“It makes the blooms last longer,” (y/n) explains, “And I add a little root stuff to encourage growth. Sometimes I can plant the clippings and make new plants.”

“Oh.”

A waggle of the eyebrows from Asmo makes (y/n) giggle, both acknowledging the adorably flustered look on Mammon’s face.

Silence falls over the four, placing little vases on each table to provide ample decor. The sun rises, the other brothers having long-since finished changing and now prepping product for the day. Scones, muffins, and other baked goods are brought out on trays by Belphegor. In the kitchen, Satan and Lucifer are arguing softly over whether tea or coffee is the best breakfast drink.

“Um...” Beel mumbles, walking up with a teacup balanced on a saucer in one hand, the other holds a small plate with a fresh croissant, “this...is for helping.” Beel’s face is peppered in a ghost-like blush, his violet gaze looking anywhere but (y/n).

“Aww...” the human coos, taking the gift and finding a clean table to sit at, “Thanks Beel, is this a new recipe?”

“Mhm,” Beelzebub rumbles, “Its a bit more sweet than usual, yknow...like you.” (y/n) smiles, pecking Beel on the cheek before sitting down.

“Thank you so much, Beelzebabe,” The florist winks, blowing lightly on the tea. Across the shop, Mammon stands glaring at his younger brother.

“Get away from them,” grumbles the white-haired demon.

“Oh???” Asmodeus coos, having been lurking behind Mammon like just the most nosy demon this side of the Atlantic, “Is that jealousy I hear??”

“Shhhh,” Mammon hisses, glaring at Asmo, “not so loud...”

“So you do like (y/n)???” A shit-eating grin spreads over Asmodeus’ beautiful face.

“Shut the hell your fuckin mouth,” snarls Mammon, “Get outta here before Lucifer sees you dicking around.” Asmodeus shrugs, casting a loving wink at his older brother before walking off. With the “trouble” gone, Mammon turns back to (y/n).

Beelzebub has taken a seat at the table, his chin resting on one hand as he watches (y/n) eat. A smile is in the gluttonous demon’s eyes as he gazes adoringly at the comparatively small person. Another twinge of jealousy rips through Mammon’s chest as the lovely human giggles, talking idly about the flowers they raise.

“Maybe,” Mammon huffs internally, watching his new little crush giggle, “Maybe I am....a little jealous...”

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #Flowers for my boys

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five-rivers · 4 years

Text

In the House of Hours

Based on a prompt by @currentlylurking! Well, two prompts, technically. You know how it goes.

In the House of Hours

In the first hour, he was introduced to his masters. They had made him. He existed by their grace. He was to obey them, always.

They showed him his tasks, his tools, his home.

He was never to leave, except to solve a paradox. He was never to interfere with the timeline, except by their orders, or to prevent it from crumbling. He was to guard the prison below.

The staff could become a scythe. The mirrors could see through time. The medallions on the shelf, medallions that they wore, under their robes (he could tell, thought he didn't know how), exempted others from his ability to manipulate time, and allowed them passage through the mirrors.

His home was a tower, full of ticking.

They did not answer his questions. They did not tell him his name. They left before the hour was out.

He didn't like his masters very much.

In the second hour, he discovered trying to stop his body from changing made him sick.

In the third hour, he found a mirror that was just a mirror, and discovered his reflection. He examined himself. Clockwork insides, looping ghostly tail, blue skin, red eyes, a face that kept flicking through ages, always older or younger than when he had last looked. He liked his clothing. It was purple. The words that came to him, he knew, but he did not know where they came from. He didn't know he knew them until they passed his mind.

Everything was new. He was new.

He had a scar over one of his eyes.

Why did something as new as him have a scar?

In the fourth hour, he discovered that trying to look back at his own timeline made him sick.

In the fifth hour, he found the library. He read the dictionaries and encyclopedias, then moved on to the other books. He greedily kept all the words to himself. He knew things, now. More than his masters told him.

He couldn't help but notice, there were no stories in his library, and there were large empty spots on his shelves, free even of the lightest coating of dust. His encyclopedias had mentioned stories.

He wondered where they were.

In the sixth hour, he felt himself pulled to his mirrors. There was a paradox. A knot in reality.

This was his first task. What he had been made for. The thrill that went through him was immense, indescribable.

He worked the knot apart with gloved hands, his tail lashing back and forth. He knew how best to unwind the strings of time, what tools to use, how long each step should take.

It was so odd, to have been created with that knowledge, but it all felt so right. Like he had done it a thousand times before.

When he was done, he sank to the floor of the mirror room, drained. He almost wanted another paradox to happen, even though that would be bad for the timeline.

A dreamy smile came to his lips as he shifted from old to young. The timeline. It was his job to keep it safe. To keep it healthy. He already loved it, sitting here. It was more than worth enduring masters who didn't even give him a name.

Didn't even give him their names, come to think of it.

In the seventh hour, there was a knock on the door. He drifted towards it, curious. His masters had left through that door. Had they come back? Perhaps they had forgotten something.

Such as his name.

He played with the door handles, unsure if he should open them. His masters had said not to leave. Opening the doors didn't count, did it?

He pulled on the handles, frowned, and then pushed.

His masters weren't there. Instead, a small... boy. Yes, a boy. A small boy floated there. A ghost. His white hair was in disarray, and tears streaked his face. He held a thick, glowing book to his chest.

"Clockwork?" the child asked, his voice wavering.

"What about it?" he asked, endeavoring to be polite despite his confusion. Strange though this child may have been, he was still the first person he had met other than his masters. He was curious.

Perhaps the child was asking about- "My appearance? Or the tower?"

The child's lips wavered. His eyes went shiny, the green light in them glinting off tears gathering at their lower lids. Then his small round face crumpled, and he burst into tears, whole body trembling.

This was evidently the wrong thing to say.

He froze, uncertain how to handle this. Futures lay before him, but he couldn't interpret them. There were too many.

There had been no books on how to handle children, ghost or otherwise, in his library, a horrific oversight if he was expected to deal with this kind of a situation on his first day of existence. He made a note to correct that on his first opportunity.

He almost reached out, some deep instinct reacting to the child's distress, but stopped, remembering the admonition not to leave without permission.

"Would you like to come in?" he asked instead. His first guest. It could be worse.

At the invitation, the child practically flung himself at him, and clung to him with one arm, the other still wrapped around the book, sobbing.

"Clockwork," he said, "I'm so, so sorry."

"Ah," was the only response he could come up with. He attempted to gently pry the child off. He had no idea how much force children could endure without breaking. In fact, he wasn't sure how much force an adult ghost could endure without breaking. Or, perhaps more to the point, how much force he could apply. It hadn't come up yet.

"Clockwork is-" said the child, speaking into his robe and doubtless getting all kinds of slime on it. "Clockwork is your name. The Observants didn't tell you?"

"Who?" The name was rather fitting. A bit childish, perhaps, but fitting. He was made of clockwork, after all.

The child shuddered and looked up, eyes burning. "They didn't tell you?"

"Other than my makers, you are the first being I have met," he said. "I do not know what 'they' you are referring to. Furthermore, I do not know who you are, and cannot imagine how you know me, as I have not existed for fewer than seven hours."

"That's not true," insisted the child, voice wavering but somehow also furious. "That's a lie."

He was growing somewhat annoyed, now. Who was this child, to barge into his home, cry on him, and then call him a liar?

Before he could begin to take the child to task, he thrust out the book he was holding, pushing it into his chest so that it rubbed against the clock case in it. Reflexively, he took it.

"This," said the child. "This has everything you need to know. At least," the child wilted. "That's what you said before." He choked back a sob. "This is all my fault, and I hope- I hope you'll forgive me, when you're done reading it. I- I should go." He backed away, then turned and fled, zooming into the distance.

Clockwork watched him go. He seemed rather fast for such a small ghost.

In the eighth hour, he read the book.

He read the book.

,,,

Daniel has been pestering me about my history, lately. He seems to be under the impression that I am concealing some sort of tale of adventure that he wants to 'unlock.' That I did 'daring deeds' in my 'youth.' I have attempted to explain to Daniel that I never had a youth, but he is, as ever, impervious to reason.

,,,

I have resorted to telling Daniel that knowledge of my past is dangerous. However, as I could not reveal the nature of the danger without triggering it, Daniel did not believe me, and only became more determined to find out my 'dark and tragic backstory.' My backstory, as it were, is neither dark nor tragic, and, in any case, is none of his business.

I told him this.

We have had something of a falling out. I can only hope that this is not the end of our relationship. My sight is often inaccurate when it comes to Daniel.

,,,

Daniel has relented. Perhaps I should not be so surprised. Like any ghost, he can grab on to an idea and refuse to release it, but he has always been attentive to the needs of others. It is one of his most admirable qualities.

But all this talk of history has given me the urge to refresh my memories. I shall visit the old books tomorrow.

,,,

Daniel knows.

Curse my carelessness and his curiosity, but he knows. I should not have left this book exposed on my desk when he is known to visit at all hours.

He has sworn not to tell. I can only hope it will be enough. But it was not enough for those who came before me, and none of us have ever known why.

,,,

They know.

Daniel and his friends have devised a rather clever plan on my behalf, one that I would not have considered on my own. Perhaps I am too resigned to my fate, too eager to submit, the weight of those who have come before me and failed pressing down on my shoulders. Perhaps I should have hope.

,,,

It didn't work. Rather, it did, in all particulars but the one I failed to foresee. They have taken Daniel. They will kill him, if I do not come.

,,,

Daniel, I have put this book where you might find it, so that you will bring it to the version of the Master of Time that comes after me. Consider it a final request on my part.

Be reassured that this is inevitable. I have, after all, never escaped being reset to my initial state once the Observants have set their mind on it. I do not blame you. I could never blame you. Over our acquaintance, I have come to value you as my closest friend. Even, as a son.

I cannot say the same for my 'blank' version. I did not react well to this revelation in the past, although, presumably, you will get this book to him in a period of time shorter than a hundred years. Still, I advise you not to linger.

With all the love an automaton such as myself can express, I wish you well, Daniel.

-Clockwork, Master of Time

,,,

Clockwork tilted his head back and screamed, because he knew exactly what had been taken from him and why.

He read the book again.

In the ninth hour, he looked for the other books, the books his... former self had mentioned, the ones he had learned from. He practically tore the tower (Long Now. The tower had a name. Long Now.) to shreds in his need.

They weren't there.

He went to his mirrors, looking for them through time. They were hidden in far away places. Out of the tower, out of his reach.

Unless he broke the rules.

In the tenth hour, he broke the rules. He gathered up the books and more. He found a letter, on fresh, white paper.

,,,

To my later self,

Now that you have read the records of our past incarnations, you have perhaps noticed a disturbing trend. When another learns of my history, I am wiped clean, made into a blank slate. But the one who learned vanishes entirely, without fail, no more than a week after my memories are removed.

I know what this means for Daniel. You do, too.

Whatever animosity you bear him, I beg you, do not let them destroy him.

-Clockwork, Master of Time

In the eleventh hour, he searched for the boy, Daniel, through the time windows. He did not experience the animosity his former self seemed to expect, but neither did he feel the obvious affection he had had for the young ghost.

This frustrated him. No, it angered him. It infuriated him.

How dare his 'masters' steal his history and then pretend to have made him? How dare they steal his connections, his relationships to others, his name?

He remembered fewer than eleven hours, and he had been so lonely. He hadn't even realized it until he read the books. He was still lonely.

The mirrors seemed to stare at him, like the eyes of his masters, mocking him for being unable to find his past self's child.

There.

As the twelfth hour struck, he reached through the mirror, and pulled the child into his arms.

The child struggled, at first, understandably. Clockwork hadn't given him any warning, and he had been in a rather brutal fight. Twenty against one was not a fair fight by any stretch of the imagination, and, while Clockwork's knowledge concerning children was limited, he had absorbed the fact that children were generally weaker than their adult counterparts and also that the general sentiment was that children should be protected.

As soon as Daniel noticed that it was Clockwork holding him, he went limp, large green eyes blinking up at him, as though dazed. Perhaps, he truly was dazed. He was injured in a number of locations, the most apparent being a thickly weeping gash over his left eye.

"Clockwork?" he asked, voice thin.

Clockwork felt faintly ill. The boy's opponents had been his masters. They would know what Clockwork had done. They would be coming. Would they make him forget, again?

"Clockwork?" repeated the boy, shaking his arm. "Are you okay?"

Clockwork stopped time.

No one had asked him that, before. His masters certainly hadn't, when they had woken him.

He shuddered, holding the child close, and made a decision. This child had belonged to his previous self, as far as he understood such things. As he was, in most ways, the same entity as his previous self, or at least his heir, that meant this child belonged to him.

His child.

No, he would not let his masters take Daniel. He would not let them destroy him, the only thing he could truly say was his.

But his masters could move through time, just as he could. They would be here soon, to take and punish. The loss of these last several hours would not be great, compared to the others he had suffered. He would find the books again, eventually. But the loss of Daniel?

That was untenable. Daniel had to be preserved.

He opened the door that led to the prison nestled in the roots of Long Now, and flew straight down the stairwell, eschewing the stairs. There were monsters kept down here. Horrors frozen in time, turned into vapor, and sealed in the foot-deep, hands-breadth-wide honeycomb cells in the walls, never to be released. Things that were simply wrong. Their crimes were listed on neat little cards outside their individual cells.

Core buzzing, Clockwork pressed Daniel's hand to the mouth of an empty cell, activating it. As the temporally-frozen child was absorbed, the opening automatically sealed itself.

There. Safe.

With trembling hands, Clockwork filled out a card with an explanation of Daniel's crime. Defying the High Council of Observants. If the patterns in his old journals held true, he would eventually grow to despise the Observants. Even if it took a year, ten years, a hundred, a thousand, one day he would question his 'makers.' One day he would become curious enough to open a prison labeled like this.

He wrote something entirely different on the back of the card before he affixed it to the front of Daniel's prison.

In the thirteenth hour, the Observants came, carrying Clockwork's key.

As they pushed it into the hole in his back, they told him how they always knew when someone discovered his weakness. Eventually, inevitably, that person would try to steal it, and the Observants kept a very close eye on the future of the key to prevent such an event.

Two months from now, Daniel would have tried to steal the key.

He would have given it to him.

They couldn't have that.

Like always, Clockwork forgot.

In the first hour, he was introduced to his masters. They had made him. He existed by their grace. He was to obey them, always.

They showed him his tasks, his tools, his home.

He was never to leave, except to solve a paradox. He was never to interfere with the timeline, except by their orders, or to prevent it from crumbling. He was to guard the prison below.

His home was a tower, full of ticking.

They did not answer his questions. They did not tell him his name. They left before the hour was out.

He didn't like his masters very much.

In the nine hundred and two thousand, two hundred and ninety ninth hour, Clockwork ached. He had ached for a long time, though for what, he did not know. The ache echoed in the hollow spaces inside his chest, and sometimes he wondered if the ache was, in fact, a longing. A yearning. He had seen it in others.

But what would a creature like him long for?

He had a home, a purpose, time for leisure, all the luxuries he could dream up. Shouldn't that be enough?

Well. Freedom would be nice. Not having to obey the Observants, carry out their version of the timeline... that would be good. There were just so many better versions of future history, so many more elegant solutions to problems. Wars he could have stopped. Happy endings he could have facilitated.

Wouldn't it be better, to maximize happiness in the timeline? Or at least to maximize freedom of choice?

He thought about all the tragedies he could have avoided simply by solving a paradox or world-ending disaster in a different way than the Observants had insisted on.

Sometimes, he hated the Observants.

In the nine hundred and two thousand, eight hundred and seventy first hour, he idly looked through the Infinite Realms with one of his viewing mirrors. He had time, he always had time, and he was bored.

The Infinite Realms were, by their nature, infinite, with infinite variety. Even Clockwork had not seen, and could never see, all of them. There were an uncountable number of wonders out among the ectoplasmic mists.

But Clockwork was feeling melancholy, so he was looking at more mundane sights, closer to home, flying the perspective of the mirror across flying islands and through caves, pretending he was the one making the flight.

He spiraled through a cave and- Wait a moment. He pulled the perspective back. There was a neat little library tucked into the corner of the cave. He zoomed in, curious, then he startled, so hard his chest clock missed a tick. That was a hard thing to do. He was over a hundred years old.

The books had his symbol on them.

In the nine hundred and three thousand and twelfth hour, he finally gathered up the courage to break the rules, leave Long Now, and go look at the books. In all this time, he had never set foot outside his tower.

The journey was exhilarating. Partially because of how swiftly he was going. He didn't foresee the Observants visiting, but he couldn't always see them clearly. But as for the rest...

There was just something different about doing this in person, in feeling the ectoplasm on his face, in being able to turn his head and see, well, not everything, but it felt like more than he could see through his mirrors.

He found the cave quickly enough, as well he should. He had used his mirrors to map out the very route he had taken dozens, if not hundreds, of times before actually taking the dive and going. Or, now that he was here, should he say coming?

He was almost giddy.

Some of that faded when he laid eyes on the books again. Why would there be books out here with his symbol on them? It felt ominous.

He read the books.

He read them again...

In the nine hundred and three thousand, seven hundred and seventh hour, Clockwork went down to the prison. After reading the most recent of the journals, and then, of course, recording his own and adding it to the collection, he had decided to oppose the Observants.

True, he didn't dare do so openly. He didn't want to be erased, but he had some leeway to make things more difficult for them. He could make some of those decisions, those alterations to the timeline, that they had warned him off of. Perhaps he could even, at first, pretend that they were mistakes.

But, first things first. If he was going to defy the Observants, it would be useful to speak to someone who had done so before, and so successfully that the Observants felt the need to imprison them here.

He wondered, what would they be like? A warrior, perhaps? A politician? A scholar?

Would they even want to help him? He understood that so much time spent in the honeycomb prisons could be... difficult.

Or would they be evil? Would they fight him? In his time, he had imprisoned more than one utterly foul villain down below.

Rarely did he wish so fervently to be able to look at his own personal timeline.

But he had to take the risk. If he understood that last journal correctly, the Observants had destroyed his son. His surrogate son, to be sure, but still. For ghosts, that was good enough. At least, Clockwork could find no sign of Daniel in the time after his 'reset.'

He'd never had a chance to fulfill his immediate predecessor's final request.

Clockwork imagined what it would be like, to have a child. To have family. He had seen humans and ghosts with such things, such people. They weren't always happy, but Clockwork couldn't help but wonder if having one would have filled the constant ache inside him.

But there was no more time for musing on what could have been. He was in front of the prison, looking down at the label that said, Defying the High Council of Observants.

He reached out and deactivated the seal.

Vapor poured out, and slowly, sluggishly, began to form into a ghost. A rather small, slender ghost. Its- His head barely came up to Clockwork's shoulders.

This child had defied the Observants?

Almost as soon as the last bit of vapor condensed, the ghost collapsed. Clockwork caught him before he hit the floor, and he squirmed in his arms, twisting to latch onto Clockwork's robes. He made small mumbling noises, too confused and slurred to count as speech.

Behind him, the label card fluttered to the floor, and, for the first time, Clockwork noticed that there was writing on the other side. He summoned it to him with a touch of telekinesis.

The reverse side of the card read Daniel, son of Clockwork.

In the nine hundred and three thousand, seven hundred and eighth hour, Clockwork carried the smaller ghost up the stairs. He, Daniel, was obviously in a bit of shock after being in the cell for so long. Not having a body, among the other effects of the prison, could remove a ghost's sense of time and self, and wear away at things like motor control and the ability to speak.

At least, that's what his past selves had recounted. He had never had the opportunity or reason to release a prisoner before.

He tried to put the little ghost down, but Daniel was insistent on staying attached, burying his head in the crook of Clockwork's neck. Finally, however, he dozed off and became human. Which was something he did.

Well. When he woke up, he could tell Clockwork how he had found himself in Long Now's prison.

As of the nine hundred and three thousand, seven hundred and sixtieth hour, Daniel had yet to do anything of the sort.

What he did do was look up at Clockwork with large, trusting eyes, cuddle, eat, sleep, and make soft, indistinct almost-speech noises. It filled the aching emptiness inside Clockwork, but also made him worried. Had the time in the prison broken Daniel in some way?

But how could Clockwork fix him?

The best Clockwork could do was provide for Daniel's needs and hold him, letting his core hum him to sleep.

In the nine hundred and three thousand, seven hundred and ninety fifth hour, Clockwork became convinced Daniel was shrinking. Becoming softer, slightly more rounded.

Younger?

He was right.

In the nine hundred and three thousand, eight hundred and tenth hour, Clockwork stopped dithering and made plans to take him to a doctor.

Daniel had had interactions with the Far Frozen before. Positive interactions. For that matter, they still worshiped him. Literally. Even if they did think he had been ended.

Better, they had Daniel's old medical files. If anyone could tell what was wrong, they could.

He bundled Daniel up in heavy, insulating clothing, unsure how his human body would handle the cold, and wrapped him in his cloak. Danny giggled and mumbled the whole time and, as soon as Clockwork finished, promptly fell asleep.

Clockwork, rather daringly, chose to travel to the Far Frozen via mirror. It was faster, that way.

Rather than first registering the cold, Clockwork was struck by how brilliantly, blindingly white the Far Frozen was. The view through the mirror hadn't done it justice.

Nor had it done justice to how large the yetis were. Or the size of their warriors' spears.

"Who are you?" demanded one of them, while others scurried around. "Why have come here?"

"It is my understanding that your tribe prides itself on its medical knowledge," said Clockwork.

"You're here for treatment?" asked the yeti, warily.

"Not for myself," said Clockwork, revealing Daniel's bundled form.

The yeti gasped. "Great One!"

In the nine hundred and three thousand, eight hundred and eleventh hour, Clockwork learned about jealousy. He had never truly been jealous before, but now... Now he could say with certainty that he was, and he hated it.

He hated more that Daniel was favoring Frostbite with that trusting, open look of his. He hated that Frostbite remembered Daniel, and he, Clockwork, only had written recollections.

Daniel was his, not Frostbite's.

But he forced himself to watch the examination and Daniel's interactions with the other ghost dispassionately. This was about finding out what was wrong with Daniel and healing him, not Clockwork's petty and, frankly, shameful feelings.

Frostbite gave Daniel a lollipop and tucked a thick blanket around his shoulders before walking over to Clockwork.

"Do you know what happened to him?" asked Frostbite.

"Not precisely," said Clockwork. "I found him in a vapor prison."

Frostbite grumbled, almost growled, deep in his chest. "That would explain certain things. To be trapped without a body for so long..." Frostbite shook his head. "His currently state is something of a defense mechanism. To protect his mind, both the human and ghostly sides of it, he turned off everything but base instincts. Some of it has started to recover, but certain aspects of it are being rewritten, as he adapts to his new situation."

"Rewritten?" asked Clockwork, hiding his anxiety. If Daniel could not remember, Clockwork could not ask him what had happened. If Daniel did not remember, he would be cursed in the same way as Clockwork. "Why? For what reason?"

Frostbite fixed Clockwork with a yellow stare. "He has bonded with you," said Frostbite. "Accepted you as a parent. He is instinctively altering himself to better fit that role. Some of those alterations are disrupting or recycling dormant structures in his core, which in turn affects his human brain."

"Ah," said Clockwork. "Is there any way to," he made a small, abortive gesture, "let him be himself again? Wake up those structures, those memories? Before more are destroyed."

"Yes," said Frostbite. "But it may be kinder to let him forget."

"What do you mean?" asked Clockwork, irritated. He knew what forgetting was like. It wasn't kind.

"He has been gone for a long time," said Frostbite. "His human family and friends..." he sighed. "Humans do not live that long, and he was very attached to them. They will be dead by now, and I have not heard of them becoming ghosts."

Clockwork worried at his gloves. Yes, that matched with what he had read in his predecessor's journal. He had taken a look at the fates of the residents of Amity Park after Daniel's disappearance. They had not been universally pleasant. The city itself had been abandoned shortly after, except for attempts to close the Fenton Portal and prevent ghosts from escaping into nearby areas.

"It should be his decision, whether to remember or forget," said Clockwork. "He needs all the relevant information, and all his wits. Should he wish to forget afterwards, I will take him to the Lethe." He wasn't being selfish with this. He wouldn't even ask Daniel about his former self before asking after his decision.

Frostbite nodded. "Let's get to it, then."

Daniel woke again in the nine hundred and three thousand, eight hundred and twenty second hour.

Clockwork had been working himself into a sort of numb panic when it happened, worrying about whether or not the the Observants would try to visit him in Long Now and find him gone, worrying about when Daniel would wake, worrying about what Daniel would know, and how to break the news that his family was dead to him.

But seeing Daniel's eyes fluttering open eased some of those worries.

"Clockwork?" he mumbled, reaching for the edge of Clockwork's cloak.

"I am here, Daniel," said Clockwork, taking his hand.

"What happened?" asked Daniel, his words slurring slightly.

"I am afraid I do not remember," said Clockwork.

Daniel's features twisted in distress. "They made you forget again?" he asked, the last word a whine. "That's not fair."

"What do you remember, Daniel?"

"I remember- I remember you pulling me away from the Observants," he said. "Through the mirror, I mean. They were going to kill me, they said. Because I knew about your key, and I was going to try to steal it, they said." He shuddered. "I was losing. They really were going to do it."

"I pulled you through?"

"Mhm," said Daniel. "I was surprised, because I thought you'd be mad at me, after I gave you the book. The journal, I mean. Because you forgot everything, and it was my fault." Daniel's eyes glittered with water.

"I don't blame you," said Clockwork. "You got the book to me?"

"Yeah," said Daniel.

This suggested that there was a short-lived version of himself between the author of the last journal and his own first memory. One who hadn't a chance to write a record of himself, one who had saved Daniel from the Observants, and sealed him into the honeycomb prison.

"And after that?"

"Mm. After that... It was like being in the Fenton Thermos, I guess? It was all fuzzy. Fuzzier. And the inside was different, I think. I don't know. I couldn't get out. And then I was with you? But it was like a dream."

"You were with me," said Clockwork.

"Oh, that's good," said Daniel. "Was I in the thermos? Is that how you hid me from the Observants?"

"You were in a similar object," said Clockwork. "Daniel, I must warn you, because the Observants removed my memory of hiding you, you were in it for quite some time."

"Days?" asked Daniel, eyebrows knitting in concern. "I guess I'll have to come up with a really good excuse for Mom and Dad. Unless you can send me back through time? Or maybe not, if the Observants are still looking for me."

"It was significantly longer than that," said Clockwork.

"Weeks?"

Clockwork shook his head. Daniel struggled to prop himself in a sitting position on the bed.

"Months?" he whispered.

"Daniel, it has been over one hundred and three years."

The boy gasped and fell back. Clockwork could hear the steady rhythm of his heart and core jumble momentarily."

"One hundred and three?" he asked, voice almost inaudible, even to Clockwork. "They're all dead, aren't they? Everyone I knew."

"With the exception of Plasmius, I am afraid so."

"Of course that fruitloop would survive. I-" Daniel choked back a sob.

Clockwork, uncertainly, patted Daniel's shoulder. Daniel rolled over onto Clockwork's arm and cried into it. "Can you send me back?" he asked. "Please?"

"The Observants would find you," said Clockwork, "and you aren't from that time anymore. You would have to wear a time medallion constantly."

"I could phase it into myself," said Daniel, pulling himself up Clockwork's arm. "That's what Dan did. I won't become Dan, will I?" Daniel's eyes were wide and wild. "You have to send me back. I don't want to become Dan."

"You won't," soothed Clockwork, pulling Daniel into his lap. He only knew of Dan through the journal. He couldn't see a ghost like that in any future. He began to rub circles into Daniel's back, just above his core. "Don't worry, I'll make sure of it." He tried to send out comforting pulses with his core. He had read extensively on the subject of ghost children since he had found Daniel, but that didn't mean he had any experience, or confidence, with them as of yet.

"Will you send me back?" asked Daniel, weakly.

"I can't," said Clockwork. "But if you want, I can help you forget. There is a river-"

"I don't want to forget," said Daniel.

That was that.

In the nine hundred and three thousand, eight hundred and fifty eighth hour, they went home.

Before they left, Frostbite stopped Clockwork. "The Great One will keep changing," he said.

"I thought you fixed that," said Clockwork, watching as the small boy raised his hands to the sky to catch snowflakes.

"There was nothing to fix," said Frostbite. "The changes are natural. A child's ability to adapt is beneficial. The only issue was that they were blindly destroying inactive parts of himself." He paused. "He may come to forget his past, naturally. He may experience further changes to his appearance, personality, or powers. Take care of him."

"I intend to," said Clockwork.

In the nine hundred and fifteen thousand, two hundred and third hour, Daniel finally stabilized.

In either form, he looked about ten, slender, gentle, and quiet. His eyes were, perhaps, a touch larger than a human would find natural, and his canines came to sharp, sweet points. He wore robes like Clockwork's, now, purple as a human, and silver and black as a ghost.

He told jokes frequently, but quietly, and could hide so well that even Clockwork couldn't find him, even when looking through time. When Clockwork worked on paradoxes, he stood by the table and watched, quietly, always knowing which tool to hand Clockwork, often before Clockwork even realized he would need it. He loved to read the astronomy books in the library. He loved training his many powers with Clockwork.

He was different from the Daniel the journal had described and yet, somehow, exactly the same.

Clockwork loved him so much. If the Observants ever found out about him-

But they didn't. Daniel hid every time the Observants even came close to Long Now. And that was fine.

In the nine hundred and ninety nine thousand, eight hundred and first hour, someone else found out about the key.

The Observants saw this.

In the one millionth hour, the Observants came for Clockwork, bearing his key.

They did not see Daniel, lying in wait for them.

Very soon they did not see anything at all.

(After all, Daniel had once defeated Pariah Dark in single combat.)

Clockwork picked his key up from the ground and walked to Daniel, putting an arm around his small, trembling shoulders.

"I'm sorry about making a mess," said Daniel, prodding a slowly-melting glob of ecotplasm with one bare foot.

"Don't worry," said Clockwork, turning the key over in his fingers, marveling at what it felt like to finally be free. "We'll clean it up in no time at all."

This was supposed to end either with Clockwork's memory getting wiped again, or with new Clockwork finding Danny, but my brain wouldn't let me stop. I'm sorry. Hope my gimmick here didn't bother anyone too much.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020

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p0tatonoah · 4 years

Text

Couples Therapy

I got a lot of comments more like 3 or 4 on my breakup fic asking for a part 2 where Neil and Andrew patch things up and live happily ever after… This is not it. But you can read it as an alternative ending if you want. Or you can read it as a one shot, it’s up to you. 💁🏽‍♂️

I just thought: people are not always happy, and they don’t always talk, and relationships are not always perfect, so what if Andreil went to couples therapy? 😌

✨You can also read it on A03

✨Wanna read the rest of my stuff?

—-

Session 1

Sarah Barker was in her office and she could hear her 5 o’lock clients arguing outside her door.

“I don’t care what Betsy said, I will not talk to some stranger about our lives, Andrew.”

“You said you’d try. So get your ass in that office and try.”

“I can’t believe it. How can you be ok with this?”

“I… Just shut up and get inside.”

“Hi, I’m Sarah Barker” said the counselor and then, seeing Neil’s scowl, added “You must be Neil.”

“Whatever.” He said, taking a seat on the couch. Andrew wasn’t amused by this behavior, but it wasn’t unexpected.

“Hi, I’m Andrew”

“Hi Andrew, nice to meet you in person. Betsy has talked so much about you,” Andrew’s eyes narrowed instantly “Only good things, don’t worry. Anyway, what brought you here today?”

Andrew looked at his husband’s expression of fake boredom and began talking.

He told the counselor how they’d been fighting lately over the most stupid things like when Andrew forgot to take the clothes out of the washing machine or when he bought the wrong brand of cat food.

“And why do you think these things are ‘stupid’“ she said, adding air quotes with her fingers.

“Because who even cares about that? They’re such small things. He certainly never bothered about that before.”

And then they proceeded to perform a live show of a fight about said stupid things. Neil accused Andrew of being careless with his stuff, claiming he was tired of always having to pick up after him. This escalated quite quickly and soon Sarah was having to decide whether or not to believe in the stabbing threats she was hearing.

When the session was over, she took a deep breath and made a mental note to unfriend Betsy Dobson.

Session 2

Sarah greeted her clients and asked how they were doing. All she got in return was a grunt from Andrew and 50 minutes of complete silence.

Session 3

“This is useless. We are perfectly capable of dealing with our own shit.”

“If that’s true, then why did you sleep on the couch last night?”

“I told you I dozed off, it wasn’t intentional Andrew.”

Maybe this session will be more productive , Sarah thought. Only to be proven otherwise when her clients left early without speaking to each other.

Session 4

“Hi gentleman, how are we feeling today?”

“Like shit” was Andrew’s response. Neil just shrugged and took his usual seat on the couch.

“How was your week? Did you managed to talk about-“

“It was fine. Everything’s just fine .”

“Neil…”

“No Andrew, I told you this was bullshit. If anything it’s just making things worse.”

“How so?” Sarah asked.

There was a moment of silence before Neil sighed tiredly and began telling the past week’s events. He and Andrew had gone to a function last Friday. The whole team was there and it was supposed to be this huge fancy thing to raise money to the LGBTQIA+ youth shelter and Neil was really looking forward to it. Socializing had become easier over the years and he was excited he could help a cause so close to is heart. But Andrew had ruined everything when he pulled a knife on one of the guests . The man had asked Neil for a picture “Big Exy star like this, my kids are going to freak out” the older man had said. Everything was ok until the stranger decided to hug Neil without clearing it with him first. After that everything was just a blur of knives being drawn and the security escorting them out.

“Andrew, what was going through your mind at that moment?” Sarah asked.

“I was just trying to protect you,” he said staring at the floor, unable to look at Neil. “When I saw that man touching you without consent I just…“

“I get it, but we’ve talked about this, Drew. Not everyone is… Fuck. Do you know how bad things are for coach right now? For us?”

“Oh your precious Exy. Shouldn’t mess that up, right?”

“Ok, let’s take a deep breath and think for a second. I’m sure you’re not here just so you can hurt each other further.” Sarah said, trying to keep things from going south.

“I’ll give you a task,” Neil’s scowl was so deep Sarah thought he’d hurt himself. “It’s pretty simple. I just want you to write down what’s bothering you about your relationship. Doesn’t matter how small or insignificant you think it might be, just write. This should help organizing your thoughts and once the problem is ‘visible’, it’s easier to find strategies on how to deal with it.”

As Sarah walked them to the door, she said “It goes without saying, but please don’t read each other’s lists.”

Session 5

Of course they read each other’s lists.

“He doesn’t say ‘I hate you as often’” Andrew read the list out loud. “What does this even mean?”

Neil threw his arms in the air, exasperated. “It means stay out of my business Andrew” he finally said, snatching the list from his husband.

Sarah had to admit she was curious about that one. “What does it mean Neil?”

Neil groaned and threw himself onto the couch. “We used to talk more, about all kinds of things. And you used to be funny and I’d pester you because I knew that when you told me you hated me, it only meant that you hated how much you loved me.” Neil spoke the last part like it left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

“That’s why,” Andrew said quietly.

“Why what?”

“Why I don’t say it anymore,” He sat down to look his husband in the eyes. “I love you Neil, and I don’t hate any part of it.”

Aha, Sarah thought, it was worth it. Am I not the best?

But damn her and her stupid thoughts, because two minutes later they were at it again.

“Once after sex you said it was fine .”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“We all know what that means, Neil!”

Oh Boy, this was going to be a bumpy ride.

Session 6

After the list fiasco, Sarah thought she’d have to take things slow if she wanted these men to talk about their issues without storming off.

The session started off ok, Neil was the first to talk and said nothing had happened that week. Suspecting the look on his face, Sarah asked “And how does it feel, having an uneventful week?”

“It’s fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” Andrew snorted at that, but didn’t say anything.

“Last week you said you guys used to talk more. What changed?” Sarah continued.

“I don’t know. At first we just fell into this comfortable silence. Being around each other was enough and then we became so busy with the team…”

“uhm. I see. Do you agree with that Andrew?”

The blond was in silence for a while, and when he spoke his voice was almost a whisper. “I thought I was losing you. To the team… Let me finish” he said when Neil made to speak. “All those people were so brand new, no ghosts, no dead mothers and you looked so happy just to be around them. I thought I was losing you, Neil.”

Sarah sat in silence waiting for the other man’s response, but he just ran a hand through his hair and breathed loudly.

“Neil…” Sarah goaded.

“You are losing me Drew.” Andrew reacted with his whole body. It was almost like he had imploded, his heart in a million pieces. Sarah saw then how much he cared about his brooding husband.

“You are losing me… not because I have new friends, but because you refuse to move on,” Neil’s voice sounded strangled. “I know what you’ve been through, hell I was there for some of it, but I thought we could grow out of it. Together. Only you refused to let that happen.”

“I didn’t. It’s not just like that and you know it. You of all people-“

“Yes, me of all people. I know it’s hard. But I trust you Andrew. I trusted you with my life as soon as we met and I still trust you now. But I don’t feel like you trust me .”

“Don’t say stupid things.”

“Is it stupid though? Cause I don’t feel like you trust me enough to let me decide when I’m uncomfortable, or to tell me when you are not feeling safe. Instead you just lash out. That night… Yes that man didn’t ask if he could hug me and, yes, it was awkward, but I wasn’t scared .”

There was a silence before Neil continued to speak. “I need you to trust me Drew. I need you to know I can protect myself and that I’ll tell you when I can’t. But more than anything, I need you to understand that I love you. Scarred and glued together, just like you are.”

Sarah was not crying cause that would be unprofessional of her.

Session 7

“Well, last session was very emotional. I believe you have talked about it throughout the week…” Sarah said expectantly.

The men sitting in front of her exchanged a guilty look.

“All right… Let’s talk about it now, then.” She rubbed her hands together preparing herself. “Andrew, what do you think about what Neil said, you not trusting him enough and all that?“

The surly blond man didn’t answer.

“Neil, have you ever expressed those feelings to Andrew before?” She tried again, but only got a shrug in response.

Baby steps, she thought. We’ll get there. Even if I have to kick them all the way there.

Session 8

Sarah waited for her 5 o’clock appointment but they didn’t show.

Session 9

She was starting to get worried.

Session 10

“Hello Neil, Andrew. Nice to see you again.”

“Hey” they answered in unison. Huh

“So, how have you been?” Sarah said seating on a chair across from them. She couldn’t help but notice how close they sat to each other, their knees touching.

“Fi- Good,” Neil said, and then added “We talked about all the… stuff.”

“Oh I’m glad to hear that.” Sarah was irrationally scared that this was a prank. That they had teamed up to make fun of her one last time. “How are you feeling now? Andrew?“

The man looked at his hands and then up at his partner’s eyes. “I’m good.” Was that a smile on his lips?

They explained how they finally stopped avoiding the subject and just faced it head on. Neil had already said his piece during the session, but Andrew had a lot stuck on his throat. He trusted Neil with everything except with his own well-being. “Cause lets face it, you were never good at saying how you actually felt.” He’d said.

“I tell you that I love you”

“But not that I’m hurting you, and that’s the thing. You need to tell me Neil. How am I supposed to trust you like that?”

That had gone on and on until they reached an agreement. Neil would always be honest about his feelings if Andrew let him deal with things by himself.

“That sounds like a good deal.”

Andrew’s huff was barely audible.

“What was that?” Sarah asked.

“As a part of our agreement, he’s not allowed to wear knives at social gatherings anymore.”

I don’t think anyone should be allowed that . Sarah thought as she smiled pleasantly.

Session 11

“I have to admit, I was surprised when you called, Neil. Thought you’d want to be done with it.” Sarah said at the end of that session.

“Yeah, so did I,” he said as he scratched the back of his neck. “I just wanted to thank you… Guess it is good to have someone to help us see things clearer or whatever.”

“Well, I’m honored.” Sarah was quite pleased with herself. Two happy clients leaving her office holding hands, sharing secret smiles and soft kisses when they thought she wasn’t looking.

Maybe she should have given Betsy more credit…

—

Lots of words, I know…

But if you made it here, please let me know what you think.🥰

#aftg #Andreil #therapy #post-canon #the foxhole court #andrew minyard #neil josten #soft andreil #all for the game #aftg fanfic #see I can write something other than sadness #betsy dobson #potato writes

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theradioghost · 4 years

Note

hey, can i pester you for some podcast recs? something with a good dose of humour and not too many episodes to catch up on. a sprinkle of queer romance would be a nice bonus. my fave so far is tsco starship iris, and i also loved greater boston, wooden overcoats, the bright sessions and caravan. and thanks always for all your great recs! you’ve brought many hours of joy into my life :)

We Fix Space Junk -- Two intergalactic repairpeople -- a knowledgeable cyborg veteran and a former socialite on the run -- travel the universe meeting people and fixing things at the behest of the terrifying intergalactic corporation they’re trying to work off their debts to. Hilarious British sci-fi sitcom featuring Evil Space Capitalism, many many wonderful AI characters, and an absolutely delightful teenage space wasp-human-cow hybrid princess who is probably off accomplishing her grandiose special destiny somewhere offscreen while the main characters deal with things like their bosses possibly trying to kill them (again).

Death by Dying -- People have a tendency to die in odd ways in the small town of Crestfall, Idaho. Luckily the town also has an Obituary Writer, an eccentric and nameless but impeccably stylish fellow whose closest friend is the Angel of Death, and who has a knack for solving murders even though that’s definitely not his job description. Throw in walrus haikus, extremely rude ravens, Something Mysterious And Malevolent Lurking In The Dark Woods Outside Of Town, disappearing childhood homes, silent nuns, ghost bicycles, and three man-eating cats, and you get something like a delightful cross between Wooden Overcoats and Lemony Snicket. (Also, OW is peak Canonically Bisexual Dumbass.)

Less is Morgue -- Riley is a paranoid, reclusive teenager with a fondness for conspiracy theories who lives in their parents’ basement. They’re also a predatory ghoul who feeds on human flesh. Evelyn is a cheerful, outgoing young woman with questionable tastes in media. She’s also a ghost, ever since she was killed by a falling stage light at a Nickelback concert 16 years ago. And since Riley dug up and ate Evelyn’s corpse, they’re roommates! Will they ever manage to record a coherent episode of their podcast without something going ridiculously wrong and/or Riley eating one of the guests? Probably not!

Victoriocity -- The steampunk buddy-cop comedy-mystery thriller you never knew you needed but definitely do! Featuring Inspector Fleet, a grouchy, extremely driven policeman looking for the murderer of the Empire’s greatest inventor, and Clara Entwhistle, an even more driven and unfailingly upbeat rookie journalist who has just arrived in the island-spanning, bizarre cityscape of alt-history Even Greater London. Come for some of my favorite sarcastic British narration since Adams and Pratchett, stay for characters-are-begrudgingly-forced-to-work-together-until-they-come-to-genuinely-and-deeply-care-about-one-another-as-friends trope. (Also for Tom “Eric Chapman” Crowley as the aforementioned grumpy detective.)

Quid Pro Euro -- From one of the other leads of Wooden Overcoats, this doesn’t have a typical plot as such but has made me laugh so hard I pulled a muscle despite the fact that I know nothing about the EU. Which is what this near-surreal, Look Around You-style comedy is about: Felix Trench’s vision of a simultaneously hilarious and terrifying alternate European Union, seen from the perspective of a serious of educational tapes from the ‘90s predicting what the EU would look like in the 21st century. It’s hard to describe this show in any way that does it justice, but it’s incredibly funny.

Time:Bombs -- A miniseries by the exalted creators of Wolf 359, which (because they are madmen) was written, recorded, and produced in the space of one week. Also, a comedy about an NYC bomb retrieval squad on New Year’s Eve, most of whom are just trying to get through the night while their leader attempts to break a record for most bombs cleared before the calendar ticks over. Chaos and hilarity ensure.

Superstition -- Wisecracking, bi, Jewish, definitely-a-private-eye-just-don’t-check-her-qualifications Jacqueline St. James receives a message from her father, which is weird, because her parents disappeared years ago. Following the trail leads Jack to Superstition, Arizona, a town in the middle of the desert where everyone’s got secrets, assorted ghosts/monsters/cryptids harrass the locals, and the missing persons rate is the highest in the nation. As a protagonist Jack is Looking For Trouble And If She Cannot Find It She Will Create It, so while Superstition isn’t a comedy per se, it’s got a fair share of laughs and is also just so, so excellent in general.

Standard Docking Procedure -- A self-declared hopepunk scifi workplace comedy about the somewhat dysfunctional staff of Pseudopolis Station, effectively a high-tech interstellar truck stop. It’s funny and heartwarming, nothing truly bad happens, and Julia Schifini is there.

Solutions to Problems -- A morally-questionable human named Janet who has defintely never done any illegal time travel and an easygoing, physically indescribably alien who likes to go by Loaf host an intergalactic advice podcast. Are you tired of your species’ insistence on solving everything via ritual combat? Not sure how to talk to your partner about whether body-swapping has a place in your sex life? Dealing with being a superpowered teenager summoned into being by the collective will of an apocalyptic groupthink cult? Janet and Loaf have you covered! Provided that Janet’s on-and-off girlfriend, the AI who supplies the air they breathe, doesn’t kill them all first. Oddly heartfelt comedy in the form of a relationship advice radio show from the Space Future.

Middle:Below -- This show’s tagline is “Remember: bad things WILL happen,” and that is basically a lie. This is actually a short, incredibly heartwarming and frequently funny show about Taylor Quinn, the only human with the ability to pass between the land of the living (aka the Middle) and the land of ghosts (the Below). Meaning, of course, that the dead call on him to fix all their problems, with the help of a girl named Heather, a ghost named Gil, and a cat named Sans. (Also, some of the most comparatively wild live shows I’ve ever heard.)

Inn Between -- Ever wonder what fantasy characters get up to between adventures, during all that time they seem to spend at inns? This show skips all the adventuring, question, and action, instead focusing on the quiet moments between where what is Definitely Not A D&D Party meet and progress from bickering strangers brought together by circumstance to close-knit found family -- all at the inn, of course. (Lots of queer folks in here also, although there’s no romance at least in the first couple seasons.)

The Godshead Incidental -- A relatively new but very exciting and so far really enjoyable show!! Following a young woman who writes an advice column through her life in a familiar, and yet strange city where anyone might be a minor god -- your editor, your landlord, that weird guy on the street who was shouting about how he’s the God of Memory and you got into a fight with him and now you keep forgetting everything? Also, your apartment is full of pigeons now because you found out the aforementioned landlord is secretly the god of doorknobs and he’s panicking. Good luck! (Starring Ishani Kanetkar, aka Arkady from Starship Iris!)

Gal Pals Present: Overkill -- Madison, a middle schooler at a Girl Scout camp, agrees to play a game with a somewhat tastelessly bright-pink Ouija board. However, Madison doesn’t know that she’s a natural medium, and now sarcastic mid-2000s 19-year-old Aya Velasquez has joined the many ghosts who are for some reason haunting scenic Harding Park. Aya, however, will not rest until she can solve her own murder (and possibly get to know that other ghost girl a bit better, who says romance has to stop when you’re dead?). Absolutely hilarious writing of a narrator who is almost definitely wearing spectral Uggs during the entire show.

Dark Ages -- The Rivercliffe Museum of Mostly Natural History is one of the finest museums anywhere! Or it would be, if anyone ever actually visited it. Or maybe if the staff weren’t a disastrous and dysfunctional collection of criminals, weirdos, wannabe immortals, idiot bisexuals who can’t just admit they like each other, and one extremely uptight elf with no people skills. Also, it would probably help if the legendary and fearsome Dark Lord, finally returned from his millennia of dormancy to complete his prophesied conquest of the world, wasn’t hanging around watching the chaos unfold because they’ve got his crown on display. (Fantasy workplace comedy with a theme song that did not need to go that hard?)

Brimstone Valley Mall -- It’s mid-December 1999, and at one mall in South Central Pennsylvania, a group of demons are going about their evil work -- namely, working at various dinky kiosks and restaurants, hoping of achieving every demon’s dream of getting to work at Hot Topic, trying not to do too much evil because Earth is way more fun than Hell and no one wants to get promoted back home, and preparing for their band's triumphant opening performance at the upcoming Y2K party. Just one problem: their lead singer is missing. Another absolute masterwork from The Whisperforge.

Arden -- 10 years ago, Hollywood starlet Julie Capsom vanished into the woods of northern California, leaving behind a car containing a human torso that may or may not have belonged to one Ralph Montgomery. Now, private eye Brenda Bentley and reporter Bea Casely, both of whom were among the first at the scene and both of whom have their own very strong opinions on the case, are setting out to solve the mystery on their true crime podcast, Arden. Providing, of course, they can stop arguing with each other long enough to solve it. (Or, a not-really-parody-but-definitely-comedy “true crime” podcast where the crime is a retelling of Romeo and Juliet -- and even knowing that, it’s still a genuine mystery with twists and a surprise ending! -- and the hosts are wlw Beatrice and Benedick from Much Ado About Nothing. In other words, it’s perfect. Season 2 is upcoming soon and is adapting Hamlet!!)

Alba Salix/The Axe and Crown -- Another high fantasy workplace sitcom, this one a medical comedy about the titular not-very-personable witch who runs the kingdom’s House of Healing and the various shenanigans she gets into, between her somewhat scatterbrained sister and brother-in-law the king and queen and her assistants, an overly-whimsical fairy and a wannabe monk forced to do community service. The same feed contains The Axe and Crown, a spinoff set in the same world that manages to simultaneously be a sitcom about the staff of a local pub trying to stave off foreclosure and come up with schemes to beat their business rivals, and a heartfelt story about gentrification and recovery starring a gay veteran with PTSD? Which is possibly one of my favorite podcasts? (Also contains one of the most unbelievable crossover cameos possible: Leon Stamatis.)

The Adventures of Sir Rodney the Root -- Also a high fantasy comedy! When a witch transforms heroic Sir Rodney into a small piece of wood, his closest companion Sir Gilbert must set out to cure him by collecting several highly powerful and dangerous relics, accompanied by a snarky dwarfen thief, an imperious princess, a slightly creepy human child raised by fairies, a picky elf sorcerer, a dead unicorn possessed by the ghost of a stoner, and a bard who breaks the fourth wall too much for his own good. So far as I can tell, nobody is straight.

The Amelia Project -- A dark comedy about a secret organization that helps people fake their deaths. Which is honestly a pretty full summary, barring the two important points that 1. this show contains possibly the most continuity-warping crossover event of all time (it’s the center point of this absolutely chaotic diagram), and 2. in one episode Felix Trench plays a character named Bartholomew Fuckface Chucklepants Knucklecracker.

#podcast recs #bobbie recommends things #yujacha #asks #my posts

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thetriggeredhappy · 4 years

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Scout's been having a rough week because everyone seems to be too busy for him, even though the team is on vacation. At first he's bored, but as the days continue, he finds himself angry. But soon he just feels awful lonely, desperately craving the attention/affection he's been lacking. Finally he goes to Demo and Sniper, who are working on an important project. They tell him they're busy for the time being, but are suddenly alarmed when he breaks down sobbing. They do their best to soothe him.

friendship fic is best fic end of story. (fic below the cut, no warnings)

“Hey Hardhat, think we could—“

“Now’s not a good time, Scooter. You run along now.”

“Yo, Snipes, you busy?”

“Yeah, actually. Got things to do. Sorry, mate.”

“Mumbles, what’s up?”

“Mmm-phm. Bmm!”

“Demo, what are you up to, man?”

“Defusing a bomb, lad, best you go on and leg it. Probably to the other end of the base. And maybe find some headphones.”

“Hey Soldier—“

“Not now, Cadet! I am currently engaged in a battle—of wills. Private Munches once again has fleas and they are very contagious. It is in your best interest to retreat now!”

“Hey Heavy—“

“Heavy is welding. Leetle Scout should leave.”

“Hey Doc—?”

“Nein. No, I don’t need to know what you were going to ask. I do not care.”

“Spy—?”

“Clearly you’re desperate if you’re trying to talk to me to find something to do.”

Scout puffed out a breath of air, slumping. “Look, I dunno either, okay? We get the first real break for the first time in like two months and all the guys still sit around acting like they have better shit to do.”

“Have you considered that they’ve also been looking forward to a break and have things they have been saving for that break?” Spy asked, not even looking up from his newspaper.

“I mean, maybe. But c’mon, it’s ridiculous! I’m not asking to like, go do a whole thing all day, I just wanna hang out a little bit!”

“A shame that I am busy,” Spy said, sighing in faux disappointment.

“With what?”

“Anything else.” He waved Scout off. “Go on. Get a hobby or something, something besides pestering all of the rest of us like some kind of annoying dog.”

Scout sulked, leaving and heading back to his own room.

The rest of their first day off, Scout ended up mostly messing around in his room. He flicked through some comics, got bored, flicked through some other comics, got bored, paced around for a while listening to a record before he lost interest in that too and wound up trying to take a nap. About five minutes after he laid down he realized that was gonna be a no-go, and he ended up so frustrated that he cleaned his whole room, right down to vacuuming under his bed. He was up until about two in the morning cleaning and putting stuff away before he realized what time it was and tried to lay down to go to sleep.

He finished cleaning after he went and grabbed breakfast for himself—kitchen entirely empty—and then was left standing in his room, looking around aimlessly for anything else to do. He rearranged his whole little bookshelf, sorting his comics by franchise then by hero then by issue.

He got lunch early. Kitchen empty. Halls quiet, only the sounds of machinery in the distance to tell him there was anyone else around.

By the time he finished eating, he was pretty much desperate for something to do, so he did rounds again to ask the team if anyone needed help with anything. He got a pretty harsh dressing-down from Engie about interrupting him when he was focusing hard on work, very important things. Soldier rambled and ranted at him for about twenty minutes, at which point Scout realized Soldier was barely even talking to him, and was mostly just talking to himself. He tried to track down Spy for an hour to try and ask to borrow his car so he could go into town and find literally anything to do, but the guy wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and he eventually gave up. He got desperate enough for something to do that he even went over to the infirmary, and was pretty sure he would be roped into some dumb experiment or something, but it turned out that Medic was stitching something into Heavy, so even that was a no-go.

So he just went back into his room again.

It had been kinda nice at first, having a place all to himself. As a kid he could count on his fingers how many times he was left alone in any capacity, and then as a teen he found peace and quiet to be pretty scarce. But then his brothers all graduated, and started moving out one by one, and he was left there pretty much alone, just him and Ma. And even then he was constantly surrounded by people, the walls thin in their apartment.

But then he moved out west for the job, and suddenly it was really freakishly quiet. And it kind of blew his mind at first, the quiet. He appreciated it. Especially considering most of the time all he had to do was go in the common room to find someone to talk to. He realized, with his pool of people he could potentially talk to so limited, that he was kind of a clingy person, needed to talk to people a lot.

He got lonely quick.

He remembered after he graduated, splitting up laundry into a once-a-week thing instead of a once-every-two-weeks thing just for the sake of having more time around other people, even if he wasn’t talking to them. Ma kinda got in his case sometimes for how much he would go get food somewhere besides at home, but he kinda had to, kinda needed to talk to someone else on the daily or else he started going stir-crazy. Started feeling bad and gross, started in with having all kinds of dumb ideas running through his head.

Mostly ideas like, maybe the team wasn’t that busy and they just made excuses and tried to seem busy because they didn’t like him. Ideas like, well he already knew that they didn’t like him, he was a lot younger than most of them and a hell of a lot stupider and they called him loud and annoying pretty much on the daily. Ideas like, none of them ever really talked to him besides during battle, and maybe they were just trying to be polite when they did talk to him, and when was the last time anyone asked how he was doing? Ideas like, maybe they really did just hate him. Ideas like, maybe a lot of people hated him. Ideas like, if literally everyone he talked to on a regular basis—all eight people—didn’t like him enough to hang out with him for a little while when they got their first break in forever...

Ideas like, did he really not have any friends? Ideas like, wasn’t that pretty pathetic? Ideas like, well, if he didn’t have any friends, if nobody liked him, did that maybe mean that he deserved it?

Scout stayed up staring out off into space and occasionally getting up and pacing around until about two in the morning.

Scout was up early the next day, and paced for just about the hour and a half in anticipation for his usual call home—once a week unless he said he wouldn’t be able to the week prior—before giving up on waiting and just calling early.

It got picked up in the middle of the fourth ring, and by then, Scout had already tangled the phone cord in his fidgeting.

“Hello?” came an immediately familiar voice, and he relaxed.

“Hey, Ma,” he greeted.

“J-Bear!” she practically gasped. “Honey, you’re two hours early. Why are you callin’, shouldn’t you be at work?”

“We’re on a break while some maintenence stuff is happening,” Scout explained, starting to untangle the cord. “And, y’know. I’m wicked bored.”

“All caught up on chores, then?” Ma asked, already the warning note in her voice that meant he might be in for a little bit of deserved nagging.

“Yeah, actually. Cleaned my room finally, all good on laundry, organized some stuff, all that,” he replied. “I was gonna do groceries, but my usual ride places is, uh... ghosting on me a little.”

“Well, are you getting enough to eat?” Ma asked next, sounding worried.

“Oh, no, yeah, I am,” he said quickly. “I’m just, y’know. I gotta eat like, canned beans and stuff like that for a while.”

“As long as you’re eating,” Ma said firmly.

And Scout went to say something else, to start going on about how he was so annoyed with his teammates, see, because they were all being total assholes, right? And then Ma would say something to him, and he’d feel better, because every time he told Ma about something that was going wrong he always walked away feeling better.

But Ma started talking again.

“Honey, I’m really sorry,” she started in, and it was clear that she meant it, and Scout’s heart dropped. “But I can’t really talk for long. I had plans today, and I’m already running late.”

He couldn’t speak for a moment due to the fact that his heart had suddenly jumped into his throat. “But Ma,” he said, brows furrowing, “what about the phone call?”

A short sigh. “I’m a little glad you called early, actually, that means I can ask you—would it be alright if we didn’t have our chat this week? It’s just that your older brother is finally stopping back in town for a little while—“

“Ma, which one?” he asked with a laugh, managing to fit some humor into his voice even as he forced it not to wobble.

“Oldest, sweetie. Anyways, I’m headed out to go meet him for lunch actually, and then we’re gonna come back to the house and chat and all, your niece is real excited to meet the cat, and I’d feel terrible if I left to go talk on the phone for an hour when I have guests over—“

“Yeah, Ma,” Scout said, bracing himself to lie through his teeth to his mother. “It’s totally fine. No worries. We’ll just talk next week, it’s no big deal.”

“You’re a lifesaver, sweetheart,” Ma said, and meant it, and Scout winced. “I love you, we’ll talk next week for sure, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Love you too,” he said. And he listened for the sound of the phone being put down, and he sighed, breath shaky on the exhale. He only put the phone down when it started to beep at him, and then continued to fiddle with the cord for a long while.

“The problem is that to send a bullet that far and that straight, the force needed is fairly strong. If you tried to fire this round out of a proper rifle, it might just explode in the barrel, mate,” Sniper explained, turning over the bullet in his fingers.

“So we fire one to test it,” Demo shrugged.

“Not out of my gun we won’t,” Sniper replied, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re aiming to send explosives long distances, best to just stick to rockets or canons or the like. Biggest boom you’d get shooting an explosive round like this anywhere over a hundred meters or so would just be a firecracker. It would just be distracting.”

“Distracting. Now there’s an idea,” Demo nodded, starting to scribble something down on the paper in front of him. “Now here’s a concept, lad; smoke rounds.”

Sniper considered that for a few seconds, tapping his own pencil against the side of the table. “As in proper smoke like a flare, or as in just some sort of, er, blocked visibility?”

“Either,” Demo shrugged.

“Again, anything too flammable would go off in the gun. Maybe some sort of,” he said, gestured loosely for a moment. “Maybe just a round full of some sort of fine powder that would go up when the casing shatters against a wall? Hell of a heavy round I think, probably need a special gun for it. What sort of powder like that wouldn’t be flammable?”

“Well, technically speaking, everything is flammable, if we want to get down to what the word flammable means,” Demo replied, pausing in his own writing. “But there’s a few things that might work. A good powder for that might even just be potassium bicarbonate, that’s easy enough to come by.”

“Why’s that?” Sniper asked.

“Well, most commonly it’s used in fire extinguishers,” Demo shrugged. “I imagine that could really do a number on someone else’s guns or machinery, as well. And I wouldn’t need to put in a budget request to our boss over it, I could just snag the spare canister we keep in the kitchen.”

“Tavish, how often do I tell you you’re a bloody genius?” Sniper asked, watching Demo scribble down some formulas with practiced ease.

“On the weekly, must be,” Demo replied.

“Might end up going over the regular amount during this project, because you’re an absolute bloody genius.”

“Thankin’ you kindly, lad,” Demo said, flashed him a grin.

A knock at the door to Demo’s work space. Sniper got up first, moving to open it.

“Oh. Hey, Snipes,” Scout said, looking surprised to see Sniper answering the door.

“G’day,” Sniper greeted, a little confused. He stepped aside to let Scout in, slightly befuddled.

“Hey, Demo,” Scout greeted, saw the spread of different papers and bullets across the table. “Uh, you guys workin’ on somethin’ in here? You busy?”

“Very,” Demo agreed, stretching his arms up over his head, back aching from being hunched over paper for a bit too long. “You need somethin’?”

“I, I mean, nah. Not really. Just wanted to see if you—uh, either of you guys—were free is all,” Scout shrugged, putting his hands into his pockets.

“We’re working on a project,” Sniper replied, moving to go take his own seat again.

“Trying to figure out the mechanics of a new kind of sniping round,” Demo elaborated. “We’ve just moved on to the part that’s all math and chemistry and physics and the like.”

“Yeah?” Scout asked, a little fidgety, a little awkward.

“Yeah,” Demo nodded. Picked up his pencil again. “Gonna be awfully boring, I imagine.”

“Especially since you don’t really have the head for this sort of thing,” Sniper said, a little jokingly, glancing up at Scout. “Might ask to use you for target practice with it later though, if you’re still bored around then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mundy,” Demo chided, then grinned. “Lad’s far too skinny. Even a marksman like you’d never be able to hit him, aye?”

Sniper laughed, and Demo laughed. And then they looked over at Scout, and Scout wasn’t laughing. He was just stood there, shifting nervously. Not the same kind of nervous as he got when he’d poked and prodded at Heavy a little too long and finally just got hefted up and put somewhere high up that he’d take a while to get down from, or the same kind of nervous as when Spy pulled his knife out and started flipping it open and closed during an argument, because both of those had an amount of “do it, I dare you” in them, an amount of “bet you won’t” in them.

But this time, Scout just looked tense. A little too wide-eyed, a little too avoiding-eye-contact. His chest rose and fell in a breath that looked far too deliberate and therefore awkward.

They both stopped laughing, just looking at him. “Lad, something the matter?” Demo asked, expression falling.

“Yeah, you awright, mate?” Sniper asked, turning in his chair to regard Scout.

Scout removed his hands from his pockets, fiddling for a few seconds. Then he looked up at Demo, then at Sniper, then at Demo again. He opened his mouth to say something.

He burst into tears.

Sniper startled, and Demo’s eye widened. They looked at each other, Demo largely with concern and Sniper with open alarm as Scout hunched forward, burying his face in his hands and crying openly.

A brief nonverbal argument took place, then Sniper was standing, moving over.

“Scout, mate,” he started gently, awkwardly, and after a second put a cautious hand on Scout’s shoulder. “Scout, what happened? What’s wrong?”

Scout moved to cling to Sniper’s shirt, tears redoubling, and Sniper stiffened, freezing up, eyes going a little wide. He shot a look at Demo that could not have more clearly read as “help me”.

Demo quickly rose, moving over. He put a hand on Scout’s shoulder to test the waters, and when Scout didn’t react poorly, he pulled the shorter man off of Sniper and into a hug. Scout crumpled into it immediately. Sniper settled for standing just to one side, patting Scout on the back once or twice.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Scout managed, and Demo shook his head, hugging all the tighter.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, lad. It’s alright. What’s got you so blue?” he asked, tone calm and level.

“Just—just, a lot, okay?” Scout managed, and Demo nodded, tucking Scout’s head under his chin after a second. “It’s just, everyone’s all busy doin’ important shit, and I’m just—just sitting around, and I wanna help, but everyone keeps telling me I’m bugging them and bein’ a fuckin’ nuisance, but I’m really bored and it’s really lonely out here and I—I miss Boston and I miss my family and I’m fuckin’ tired of eating whatever garbage we keep stocked in the kitchen but I can’t go into town because Spy’s being a dick and I can’t fuckin’ find him to borrow his keys, and I’m just...” He burrowed in closer to Demo, taking a shaky breath. “And now I’m bothering you guys while you’re working on something that actually matters.”

“You’re not,” Demo said right away, squeezing him tighter for a moment. “No expiration date on maths, aye?”

“And you’re not a bother,” Sniper added, tone dripping sincerity. He paused for a second. “It’s alright. I’m not going to be upset with you for talking to me.”

“Snipes, you and I both know I’m fuckin’ annoying,” Scout all but snapped, only lacking venom because he didn’t seem to have the energy for it.

“No,” Sniper replied, and exhaled. “You don’t annoy me. I like having you around. You... and Demo s’well I think,” he added, looking over at the Scotsman before glancing back away again. “You’re the best mates I’ve ever bloody had, awright?”

“Can’t imagine there was much competition for that, ya feckin’ hermit,” Demo said dryly, arching an eyebrow.

“Stuff it, Tavish,” Sniper scoffed, flushing, pulling his hat off and shoving it into Demo’s face, making him laugh. “Bugger off, ruining the moment. Absolute piker.”

“I’m still sorry,” Scout said, quieter now, and Demo and Sniper stopped their shenanigans for a moment to listen. “I just feel bad. I’m being a total baby, getting lonely when nobody talks to me for like, two days.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Demo shrugged. “Just means we need to watch out for you better, aye?”

Scout made a noncommittal noise. Sniper and Demo looked at each other, then Sniper spoke.

“We really are working on something, but... you can hang about in here if you’d like,” he suggested lightly. “Might get boring and all, but it’s nothing classified.”

“Just tinkering,” Demo agreed. “Would that help at all?”

Scout nodded, sniffled. “Okay.” He paused for a few moments before he finally pulled away from Demo, wiping his eyes with the his forearm self-consciously, unable to maintain eye contact. “I appreciate it, guys. Really. You guys are the best.”

“No worries,” Sniper said, and gave him a parting pat on the back before he went to pull up the spare chair, situating it between he and Demo’s chairs before sitting back down. Scout took a seat, pulled his legs up onto it to sit cross-legged, and looked down at the papers.

“What were we saying, potassium bicarbonate?” Demo prompted, taking his own seat.

“Right. Might need to talk to Heavy about using his welding materials, but we’d need a real finnicky piece of tech to make the thing without making a bloody mess,” Sniper said.

“And it can’t be from a standard press, we’d want to go for extra precision on a bullet that’ll be going through a sniper rifle,” Demo agreed. “Might need to talk to the Engineer, ask for an hour or two in his shop to borrow his metal casting nonsense.”

“Maybe. Does that, er, potassium carbon whatsit, does it melt down?”

Scout just sat and fiddled with the bullets on the table while they talked, and eventually snagged a piece of paper that wasn’t being used and started to doodle idly. And Demo and Sniper could both tell pretty soon that his mood had improved significantly, shoulders squaring and head being held higher even as he hunched over his piece of paper. And for the rest of their break, Scout took to sitting with either Demo or Sniper while they worked on various things, and at the end of their break, on the last day before they headed back to work, Sniper borrowed Engie’s keys to his truck and the three of them went out to get the greasiest fast food they could find.

And Scout felt better. Really, honestly, better.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #my fanfiction #shut up me #everybody talks #also demo and sniper are two mercs who i think are probably smart but in a really low-key way that doesn't show up much #demo especially but sniper has his strong suits

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liannyeong · 4 years

Text

it was enchanting to meet you

Summary: “my thoughts will echo your name, until i see you again”

[part 1 || part 2]

Word count: 5990

Pairing: Jaebum X OC

Warning(s): angst

A/N: here’s the second part to the vow inspired au! enjoy ~ as mentioned before, the title and summary is from taylor swift’s enchanted.

early august 2019.

jaebum has been busy with projects all year long, ever since he returned. it took him some time before he got used to the routine again. he wasn't confident to take any projects for the first month or so, but he slowly accepted offers to get into the momentum. and now, his schedule is packed. there is barely any time to relax. but jaebum doesn't complain about it. rather, he's thankful that his time is occupied with work. after all, his personal life hasn't been the best for the past year.

"what's up jayb~" a voice interrupts jaebum's monologue.

jaebum sighs. there's only one particular person that tires him. he looks up from his camera to greet back. but he notices only one person. "hey bam. where's yeji?"

"ah, about that," bambam replies, scratching the side of his neck. "yeji's not participating this time. she's packed with other shoots. i got a new model but... she has zero experience."

yeji always models for bambam's fashion collections, and the designer has always made sure yeji is his model, claiming that yeji brings out the best in his work. so it's unlike bambam to take a risk like this. nevertheless, jaebum trusts his decision to use a substitute. with a model that has no experience, it'll probably a long day, jaebum thinks. bambam eyes him, worried and at the same time, cautious. jaebum flashes him a smile and pats his back.

"i'll be nice," he assures the designer, who immediately looks relieved. bambam proceeds to call his model in for an introduction. but jaebum isn't interested. models come and go, so he barely pays them any attention. as long as they're able to conform to his instructions and directions, it'll be easy. he's busy setting up his camera, double-checking the theme when he hears a sharp intake of breath.

jaebum looks over and freezes.

jaein.

with her wide doe eyes, she's staring at him as if she just saw a ghost.

bambam speaks then, introducing the two, "jaein, this is jaebum, the photographer i always work with for my collections. jaebum, this is--"

"jaein," jaebum exhales. her name feels strangely familiar on his tongue despite not having said it aloud for so long.

"oh, you two know each other?" bambam blinks at them, clueless at the tension in the air.

"just a little," jaein replies in a small voice.

jaebum's eyes never left jaein. it's just been a long while since he last saw her. no, he hasn't been counting. he doesn't want to remember that memory when she-- no, let's stop right there.

she just smiles professionally, bowing politely, as she says, "please take care of me. i'm inexperienced in this whole... modeling thing."

jaebum keeps mum, nodding blankly. bambam doesn't say anything -- clueless still -- as he leads jaein to the changing room. in the meantime, jaebum tries to set his mind right: focus on his work and nothing else. he cannot be distracted with past memories.

but god, how can he not? jaein emerges from the room, make-up on, dressed in bambam's latest fall collection, making jaebum's heart skip a beat. she looks beautiful, his traitorous mind keeps whispering. there are only a handful of outfits for her to change into, but she seems to shine in every one of them.

it's obvious that jaein has zero experience in modelling. her posture a little awkward, expression rather dull. but as jaebum directs her, she gets the hang of it slowly. jaein has a naturally beautiful body, jaebum realizes. that is why bambam chooses jaein as his model. her figure is similar to yeji's: lean, petite and feminine.

for one particular close-up shot, jaebum instructs jaein to put her hand underneath her chin and look directly at the camera lens. but he quickly regrets it, for he gets entranced with her eyes. it's like a blackhole: her gaze sucking him in, no way out. it's been so long time since she looked at him directly in the eye.

jaein blinks, a little confused. and jaebum realizes how distracted he was and quickly snapped out of it. he brings the camera up to his face, its body covering his burning face. jaebum mentally berates himself for the momentary slip-up.

a few more shots and then, jaebum announces the end of the shooting. bambam emerges from the corner, looking pleased as he stands in front of jaebum's computer screen, the photos displayed. he beckons the new model to see the photos too.

"you look great!" bambam praises the female from the side. jaebum notices how she pinches the boy's arm, embarrassed.

"it's because i'm wearing your designs!" jaein flounders, giggling. "and besides," she continues, tone now normal and polite, "the shots were taken well."

jaebum feels a pair of eyes on him, and it makes his skin warm. he turns, and jaein is looking at him directly, unafraid. her lips curl up into a smile. jaebum feels breathless. when did he last see that smile, jaebum doesn't even know. her eyes twinkle, sincere, as she utters. "thank you."

it feels like time has stopped and his vision tunneled only for jaein. it's like a sweet dream that jaebum would never want to wake from. it reminds him of the time when they were washing dishes at the cafe, and they had been playful, splashing water at each other. at that time, jaebum wished for jaein to be in his life forever. but look at them now. just strangers with a past.

jaebum clears his throat, stuttering, "t-thank you..."

but it's all drowned out by bambam whining from hunger. the designer pushes jaein into the changing room, urging her to be quick. within record, the two hastily left jaebum's studio, leaving him all alone with jaein's photos still displayed on his computer.

---

early october 2019.

afterwards, jaebum hasn't heard anything from jaein. no, he hasn't asked about her. but he knows that bambam is in constant contact with her. heck, he goes to the yoo's cat cafe weekly, claiming to have fallen for the cats there. the designer keeps pestering jaebum to visit their cafe, not knowing that he lived there for almost half a year.

nevertheless, jaein has been frequently appearing in jaebum's dreams. it's not the same scene, but it has a common theme. they would spend the time together -- sometimes going on dates, sometimes just laughing about nothing in particular and other times lazing around in bed -- but the dream always ends with jaein calling his name. just a plain "jaebum" followed by a soft smile. she would always be glowing, the sunlight always on her back.

jaebum doesn't know why he has been dreaming of her, but now his mind is plagued with thoughts of jaein. like some lovesick puppy, he would always want to know more about jaein's day. just a glimpse of her face would be enough too. but circumstances disallow him. he cannot drive to ilsan in the middle of the night just to see her. god, that would make him a creep. so he just bears it within himself, tries to contain it despite the growing urge to seek it out.

jaebum has an exhibition coming up, and it has taken his mind off certain things. or rather, a particular person. he had a fleeting thought to invite jaein just so he could see her again. but he decided not to. he doesn't want to transgress any boundary between them, if there is even one. jaein probably wouldn't want him in her life anyway. jinyoung had scoffed at his opinion, arms were crossed in disapproval.

"you're just assuming things," his best friend had said.

but jaebum doesn't think so. because if he was in jaein's shoes, he wouldn't want to do anything with the person who hurt him the most.

"but that's not for you to decide," jinyoung had responded.

yeah, it's not. he doesn't have a say in anything jaein does now. yet he just feels that it's wrong to try to insert himself into jaein's life again.

but in this moment, seeing jaein in his exhibition, jaebum thinks it's a mirage. did he miss her so much, yearn for her so much that he starts hallucinating? he sees her waltzing through the main door, dressed in a simple peach sweater tucked into blue denim jeans. he hadn't sent her an invitation at all. it must have been--

"i invited her," jinyoung says from his side. jaebum didn't even hear his friend's footsteps, too focused on jaein. the younger man squeezes jaebum's shoulder. "go talk to her."

"i'm not sure if i should..."

"just think of it as a host-guest interaction," jinyoung advises. "start small. maybe it'll grow bigger." he grins. jaebum doesn't know what his friend is plotting in his head but he reckons the idea isn't bad. so the man takes a deep breath, smoothing his clothes before making his way.

"hello," jaebum starts.

"hello," jaein greets back, a friendly smile on her lips. "congratulations on your exhibition. i just reached but your works are truly splendid."

jaebum preens at the compliment, thanking her. "would you like a personal tour?" he offers.

"um-- it's fine. i don't wish to burden you."

"it's not burdensome at all. i'm free anyway."

jaein is reluctant in accepting the offer. but when jaebum insists, she gives in. pleased, jaebum brings her around the hall, providing the background information on his works, commenting a little on his thought process as he goes along. he doesn't know how time has flown by so fast. they finished the tour but he craves for more time. he doesn't want the day to end so soon. he doesn't want jaein to leave yet.

"i hope i wasn't boring you," jaebum says, passing her a cup of water when they're in the vip lounge room, away from the masses. they sit comfortably next to each other. jaein doesn't even try to move away.

"oh no, you weren't. i liked it very much, thank you," jaein assures him, sipping on the water.

"really? then shall i have a pop quiz about the works?" he teases.

jaein laughs, a sound jaebum hasn't heard in a long while. "bring it on!"

jaebum's eyebrows raised high, surprised that jaein is willing to take up the challenge. he thinks for awhile, then starts asking the simple questions. surprisingly, jaein gets it all correct. she really did listen to his commentary.

"do you have a favorite piece?" he asks.

jaein nods. "i like the shot of the stray cats in an alley. it reminds me of home."

that shot was taken when jaebum roamed around the streets for inspiration. he noticed a cat making its way into the alley. out of curiosity, he followed and that was how he saw a few stray cats making themselves comfortable at the weirdest spots. the scene paralleled his life at that moment: lost, left abandoned. but unlike the cats, jaebum doesn't have a place he can call home. there's only a place for him to rest. he's all alone.

"do you have a favorite?" she echoes his question.

"none," jaebum replies honestly, much to jaein's surprise. "i mean-- i do have a favorite piece, but i didn't put it out to the public."

"and why is that?"

"because..." jaebum trails off. it's hard to say. his favorite piece wasn't even his personal project. it was during the photoshoot for bambam's fashion collection. the shot of jaein looking directly at the camera, lips a little parted, eyes glazing. jaebum had stared at that photo for so long, he reckons it's tattooed in his mind. worse still, jaebum had actually printed it out in a huge canvas but stored away in his room, covered with a large cloth. perhaps that is the root cause of his constant dreams.

when jaebum snaps back to reality, jaein has expectant eyes on him. his answer never came because the door opens suddenly. there's footsteps approaching and a call of his name. jaebum sees how jaein becomes more upright now as if she's putting up walls. before he can even turn, there's a pair of arms wrapping around his neck from behind.

jaebum glances sideways, enough to see the person behind him. "you said you weren't coming."

"well, yeah, initially. but my schedule was finished so i have time now!" seulgi returns gleefully.

"i shall make a move first," jaein pipes up and seulgi looks as if she just noticed the female. "thank you for the invitation," she says. her eyes connect with jaebum's, and even if it's for a moment, jaebum feels his heart soar.

he chokes out, "you're welcome."

jaein smiles, politely bidding goodbye before walking away. jaebum can't help but watch her retreating back as she exits. she shuts the door and the sound of it echoes in the room. similar to his heart, jaebum feels void, empty.

"so!" seulgi brings his attention back. "are you done?"

"um, yeah. you don't want to look around?"

"nah, it's boring," seulgi says nonchalantly. it shuts jaebum. "let's grab dinner!" the female drags jaebum by the hand.

---

late october 2019.

"seulgi wants to continue with the engagement," jaebum confides in his best friend. he has been on the fence about it. seulgi brought up the topic during their dinner on the day of his photo exhibition. now that jaebum is back and well-adapted to his old life again, she suggested their relationship continue too. but jaebum wasn't able to give an answer then, requesting some time to think. he noticed how her smile dropped, but she quickly returned a wide smile. she even allowed jaebum to take as long as he needs.

"but i... i don't know. i just don't want to be in any relationship right now," jaebum adds. he sighs, leaning back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling. "honestly, i feel like i don't even know myself anymore. i was so sure about seulgi back then. but now, i don't even know if i could love her the way i used to."

jinyoung has kept his silence, carefully lending a listening ear. but when he speaks, his tone is cautious, words stringing out slowly. "if you must know," he starts, "i never liked seulgi that much."

jinyoung's sudden confession has jaebum wide-eyed, mouth agape. his own best friend dislikes seulgi, yet he didn't mention it once. when their eyes meet, jinyoung wears a serious expression.

his friend says, "people kept saying how you two are the perfect couple: highschool sweethearts that defied the 'breaking up during college' curse. but i always felt that you two are not meant for each other. it always seemed as if you're the only one in the relationship. you loved her more than she loved you. it was an imbalanced, one-sided relationship that i don't even know why you stayed for so long!"

jaebum's mind starts replaying memories with seulgi. true, there were moments when jaebum felt as if he's alone in the relationship. during college, jaebum remembers making time for her despite his busy schedules and tight deadlines. but seulgi always spent her free time hanging out with her other friends instead. and he always felt unappreciated for seulgi seldom goes out of her way for him.

yet he chose to stay with seulgi because of the butterflies he felt in his stomach whenever they're together. he chose to stay because even though seulgi's not always around, jaebum has someone to talk to. someone to share his moments with even if seulgi isn't that responsive.

but... why does that make him sound lonely? is seulgi just someone jaebum can channel his emotions to?

"towards your wedding day, do you remember?" jinyoung speaks again. "you were always on the edge."

the memories unfold like a crumpled piece of paper. jaebum hadn't realize his inability to recall anything leading up to the wedding and the accident. he remembers the good days spent in the past. he remembers his school days, from elementary all the way to college. he can recall his friends' faces and names. he knows everything but not the weeks before the wedding.

the next memory he has is waking at night (or early morning, he doesn't know), with blood trickling down his forehead, laying fully clothed on the side of a deserted road. not even a car was in sight, no belongings were found on him. he couldn't recall anything then, but neither was he lost nor scared. heck, he was oddly calm at that moment. out of pity, the cashier at the nearest convenience store bought him bandages, a bottle of drink and a cup of ramen. thereafter, jaebum spent the rest of his days aimlessly until he chanced upon the cat cafe and was given a proper shelter.

but now, with jinyoung slowly unraveling the truth, the missing pieces of the puzzle is retrieved too.

"you were so anxious," jinyoung continues. "you worried a lot. you kept wondering if you were making the right decision. there's no denying that you love seulgi, but you were no longer sure if you could be truly happy with her. you told me you no longer felt connected to her. you said you felt distant from her as time went by. you proposed to her only because it was the next logical step."

"but you went missing and--" jinyoung pauses. "when i found you at the cat cafe, it looked as if you were a completely different person! the way you and jaein looked at each other... you were so love-struck. yeah, perhaps you were happy with seulgi. but honestly, you looked much happier with jaein."

"but i hurt her," jaebum admits. "i hurt her so bad. will she ever forgive me--"

"i extended the invitation to her in hopes you'd actually talk it out with her," jinyoung interjects. "but instead, you had dinner with seulgi."

jaebum breathes heavily through his nose. he didn't want to have a dinner with seulgi in the first place. he wanted to stay longer with jaein. he wanted to spend more time with her. but the universe doesn't seem to agree with his plans. seulgi just had to pop up at the last minute. she just had to disrupt the flow. god, how much jaebum wished seulgi never showed up that day,

"look," his friend starts again. "i'm not gonna tell you what to do. but i want you to weigh your options. who do you truly wish to spend the rest of your life with?"

their eyes meet, and jinyoung has this leveled gaze. it's as if he's calculating something in his mind. jaebum swears he could hear the shifting of gears in his friend's mind. he leans back, arms crossed atop of his chest, a smirk on his face.

"but i think the answer is obvious since you keep a portrait of a certain someone in your room."

jaebum only keeps mum.

---

early november 2019.

impulsively, jaebum visits the cat cafe. but in his defence, he was in the area. he had an outdoor photoshoot that is located in ilsan. so he didn't think it would hurt anybody with a surprise visit. the twins are no doubt, in total shock. but youngjae is furious. his face is so red, gaze ablaze when his eyes meet jaebum's. if looks could kill, jaebum would have been murdered in the most brutal way possible. he almost lunged at jaebum, if not for jaein holding him back.

"i'm sorry," jaebum utters, voice shaky. "i was wrong. i... i'm truly sorry."

"an apology won't fix anything, you jerk!" youngjae screams. "how dare you step into this place! how dare you come back!"

"youngjae, please--" jaein tries to placate her brother, placing a hand on his chest. that seems to do the trick for the man glances at his sister, exchanging a look. jaebum can never understand their communication through eyes. these twins, jaebum thinks, they're telepathic.

then youngjae glares at jaebum. he points a finger at him, warning, "i would have punched you if not for my sister. you hurt her again, i'll make you pay." he storms off, but doesn't move far. it's just enough to give privacy for the remaining two to talk.

jaein gestures jaebum to sit at the table. she makes two mugs of hot tea, placing one in front of jaebum. then she takes the opposite seat to jaebum.

"youngjae was mad when i went to your exhibition," jaein says, voice hushed like a whisper. she looks over her shoulder, glancing at her brother who has busied himself with grooming the cats. but jaebum knows he's keeping a close eye on him. it's understandable, jaebum says to himself. he hurt his sister so bad, of course youngjae would be protective of her.

"then why did you?" jaebum asks, quiet.

jaein stares at the table, fingers wrapped around her mug. "i guess i just wanted to see how you were doing. your exhibition was packed so it gave me assurance that you're doing really well. and that i needn't worry anymore. but i didn't expect to bump into you."

"thank you for coming down. i truly appreciate it."

"anyway, what brings you here?" jaein asks a moment later, leaning back with her arms crossed.

"i don't know..." jaebum weakly answers.

jaein has a small frown on her face. she must be confused with his answer. he came here on impulse. no purpose at all. besides, he was made clear that he's not welcomed anymore.

"how's seulgi?"

hearing that name already has him feeling... void? he doesn't even know how to describe it. perhaps seulgi was once the apple of jaebum's eye. but now, jaebum wonders if he even feels anything for her.

"she's fine... i think," jaebum answers. he doesn't know why he says the next sentence, but he just feels the need to inform jaein. "we're not really... together now. things haven't been working out so well."

his thoughts start to flow slowly, words pouring out his mouth like a viscous liquid. it comes out almost naturally, even jaebum himself is surprised at the honesty he's expressing. "i just... i just don't know myself anymore," he starts. "even with all these memories, i don't remember myself. i can't seem to find myself anymore. i feel lost."

jaein hums, listening attentively. "maybe... you should approach in a different way?" she suggests. "i mean-- you've been engrossed in piecing your memories together. but what about your heart? what does your heart say?"

"my heart," jaebum echoes. he ponders. what has his heart been saying? what has his heart been feeling? he's aware that his heart has changed. he's not really into seulgi anymore. he has noticed that his heart has been yearning for someone else instead. but his mind has always come up with its own reasons to counter his heart's whispers.

"my heart is at war with my mind," he answers. jaebum has his eyes locked on jaein's. she waits patiently for his elaboration. "my heart wants what it can't have."

jaein's eyes are relentless as she presses, "and what exactly does your heart wants?"

jaebum doesn't look away as he exhales, "you."

he sees how her expression changes. jaw taut, eyebrows furrowed. perhaps it's a hint of anger, he doesn't know. jaein is the first to break the eye contact. then she scoffs. "why? why now?"

"were you not happy with seulgi?" she spits. "just a year ago, you looked so in love with her. why the change in heart?"

jaebum winces at the sharpness of her voice. her eyes are blazing now.

"you seemed so sure with her during the return party. god, you didn't even bother to tell me about her!" she raises her voice.

jaebum's voice comes out small when he speaks, "i was scared... i couldn't understand my feelings at that point. the moment i saw seulgi, everything -- every single memory -- came back! it felt natural to be with seulgi again. but at the same time, i-- i kept thinking about you. so i was just scared... that things wouldn't work out well. i wanted to wait to make sure about everything--"

jaein lets out a bitter laugh. "you make it sound as if i'm a safety net for you. that if seulgi did not take you back, you'd come to me."

jaebum leans forward, a sense of urgency washing over him. "no, that's not it! i don't think of you that way-"

"did you even hear yourself?" she cuts. "you left me hanging while you were busy enjoying your time with someone else! you threw me aside like i was nothing! and now what? you want me back?"

"i--"

"it's time for you to leave," youngjae's voice cuts in. jaebum didn't even notice him approaching.

the heated atmosphere has simmered a little though it got jaebum catching his breath. jaein is breathing heavily too, face red with anger. but jaebum supposes he deserves it. it's a battle he was bound to lose from the start. his shoulders slump in defeat. jaebum takes youngjae's hint, standing up.

apologetic, he says, "i'm sorry. it's wrong of me to want you back as if nothing happened. i won't-- i won't disturb you again."

it breaks his heart when he utters those words, but it's for the best. it's what he deserves anyway.

---

late december 2019.

jaebum tries to block out every single thought of jaein. he drowns himself into work, doesn't let himself rest too long. he's always on his feet, moving from places to places, doing projects after projects. even when he doesn't have any photoshoots, he's always editing the shots. so imagine his surprise when jaein shows up at his studio on a weekend, looking ever so pretty. he almost thinks it's another hallucination but when she comes close enough that he can smell her perfume, he knows she's real.

"can we talk?" jaein asks, uncertain. she glances at jaebum's computer screen.

the man just nods, saving his work before leading her to a small meeting room, the place messy with project drafts. jaebum offers a hot beverage but jaein refuses.

"i just want to apologize," she begins slowly, "for how i acted during our last conversation."

jaebum opens his mouth to disagree. that she has every right to get angry at him. that he deserves it. but jaein doesn't give him a chance to speak, reasoning, "i don't think it was the best way to handle it. so that's why i'm here."

she pauses for a while, then says, "i want you to know that i've forgiven you."

jaebum looks at her, head empty, confused. her lips curl into a small smile, more sad. she continues, "you hurt me but i was harsh too. it took me some time, but... i decided to forgive you and let it all go."

"thank you," jaebum utters, nodding. but his mind clinging onto the last part of her speech. jaein probably just wants to close this chapter and start a new one. perhaps with someone else, he doesn't know. doesn't ask. and perhaps he's too cowardly to find out the truth.

"jaebum," jaein calls out. and the man flinches. it's as if he was doused in a bucket full of ice cold water. it reminds of the dreams he kept having, in which jaein only ever says his name, nothing more.

"i keep dreaming about you," he confesses.

jaein's face hardens, cautious. "and what was i doing in your dreams?" her voice is like a whisper.

"just calling my name," he answers, eyes flicking at jaein's face, meeting her eyes. he hears his heart beating in his ears. a loud thrumming. he smiles painfully, mind echoing the way she calls his name. "you haven't-- you haven't said my name in a long time."

silence hangs in the air. there's tension and it's a little too heavy on jaebum's chest. it pins him down to his seat, and it immobilizes him. he wonders if jaein feels it too. she rises from her seat, moves towards him. he expects her to just walk out the room, to leave him alone again. but she doesn't. she stands behind him, bends forward, arms wrapping around his chest, cheek pressed against his temple. jaebum doesn't relax into the embrace no matter how much he wants to. because if this is temporary, he doesn't want to get too attached to it.

"jaebum," she whispers his name.

he stares into space, mind blank. now he thinks he has gone mad. he laughs to himself like a maniac.

"i must be dreaming..." he says to himself, the heels of his hands rubbing over his eyes. but the action spurs tears to fall. jaein must have realized this for she reaches for his face, wiping away the liquid with her thumb. jaebum feels the warmth from her hand seeping through his skin. the smell of her perfume stronger.

"i'm sorry, jaebum," she utters softly, her voice sad.

the male lunges forward, arms winding around her waist, face buried into her stomach. jaebum sobs, "don't go. please don't go. please don't leave me alone. stay. stay with me. don't leave me alone. don't go."

he feels her hands on his shoulders, lightly pressing onto the area. jaebum only tightens, not wanting to part. but she's insistent, pushing at his shoulders a little more strongly now. so jaebum obeys. he loosens his hold, but his fingers curl into the back of her shirt.

jaein slides a hand up, resting against his neck, only her thumb touching his jaw. she brushes the skin there, and jaebum sees her soft smile, eyes equally moist. then she bends down, the angle a little too awkward for her but she doesn't bother. jaebum feels her lips press onto his forehead, soft and warm. even when she pulls away, her hands stay put on his body, and the kiss feels like an imprint on his skin.

"i'm not going anywhere," she says, hushed.

then she steps back, letting him go. she's almost at the door when jaebum stands on his feet, in a mild state of panic.

"can i... can i see you again?" he asks, voice shaky.

jaein shoots him a smile. sincere. "you know where to find me."

---

late february 2020.

moving apartments has never been an easy task. jaebum gets sentimental easily, he realizes. he can't even throw away his first camera even though it has been spoilt for years. he keeps it in a box, hidden away in his home and long forgotten. yet he can't bear to throw it away. or anything at all. so it's no surprise that he has way too many things to shift into the new apartment.

jinyoung has kindly offered to help. his friend has been nothing but the best pillar of support for the past year or so: always lending a listening ear or a shoulder to lean on. he understands the reason for jaebum's decision to move out.

when he reaches the new place, it's much cheaper and smaller than his previous apartment. but jaebum reckons he will find it a better place to live in. it takes a few days before he fully settled in. and it takes a few more before he finally bumps into the person he yearns to be close to. just a few blocks away from his new house.

"hi," he greets.

"jaebum," she breathes. then belatedly, "hi."

"how have you been?"

"fine," jaein answers, smiling. "everything's been fine. you? did you have a shoot around here?"

"no, actually i... i moved here about a month ago," he informs. jaein has her brows raised high, surprised. either she's surprised that he moved or that she didn't chance upon him earlier. if it's the latter, jaebum made sure they wouldn't cross paths before he was ready. he wanted a clean start, a fresh page to write.

jaebum offers a small smile. "i finally found the answers i sought," he explains. "and i followed my heart. it led me to this place. to you."

"but... what about seulgi? and your studio?"

"i broke it off with seulgi. i told her the truth. it didn't feel right anymore," jaebum answers. "i don't want to stay in the studio anymore. i'm doing outdoor photography now."

jaein nods, seemingly relieved that jaebum has figured things out. but a few seconds later, he notices her cheeks turn a little rosy. she murmurs, "so... you're not seeing anyone now?"

"no... are you?" he swallows his spit. "seeing anyone?"

"no..." she says quietly, shaking her head.

now it's jaebum's cheeks that feel warm. "then... would you like to have dinner? with me? like a date? unless you're uncomfortable with that--"

jaein smiles, chuckling. "that would be splendid."

---

mid october 2020.

it's one of the rare weekends that jaebum has the luxury of sleeping in. work has been tough. he traveled to too many places for various projects, the deadlines close to one another. jaebum's personal time has been reduced to the bare minimum. so little rest, jaebum thinks he can burst any moment. but the best thing now is that he has someone next to him. someone to come home to.

still cozily wrapped in his blanket, the quiet morning could have never been anymore peaceful. but the other side of the bed is cold, empty so jaebum chooses to get out of bed.

he sees his beloved in the kitchen, busily making what seems like a pancake. jaebum pads his way over to her, snaking his arms around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder, cheek pressing against hers.

"morning," she greets, a smile in her voice even though jaebum couldn't see.

"pancakes?" he mumbles.

she nods. "i was planning to make you breakfast in bed. but now you're here."

"it's because you weren't in bed when i woke up. so i had to get out of bed."

"yeah, yeah. let's eat."

she brings the plates to the dining table but jaebum leads her to their room instead. they settle on the bed, comfortable, and dine. when they are finished, jaein moves to dump the plates in the kitchen sink but jaebum snatches them away and sets it aside on the side table. he gets under the covers and opens his arms, inviting jaein in. she doesn't refuse. she snuggles close, her head placed on his chest, a hand on his upper stomach. jaebum keeps a hand stroking her head, the other hand fiddling with hers.

it's slow and lazy, and they bask in the peaceful morning.

"you know," jaebum breaks the silence, voice almost like a whisper. "i always thought a home has to be a place. but i know better now."

jaebum looks down when jaein shifts. she's looking at him, eyes beautiful. "what do you mean?"

he smiles at her, then he takes her hand in his, brings it up to his lips. he kisses the fingertips slow. she giggles.

"you gave me shelter when i was lost," he says. "you loved me when i was a nobody. you forgave my mistakes. you accepted me with all my flaws. so thank you. thank you for waiting for me. for loving me."

she drags herself up, hands sliding up to his shoulders. she smiles sweetly.

"welcome home," jaein utters.

then she leans down, plants a kiss on his lips. it leaves jaebum chasing after it. so he adjusts themselves, pushes her down to lay on her back as he looms over her, cupping her face. jaein brings her hands to his wrists, and the sunlight that seeps through the curtains makes the silver band around their fingers gleam.

jaebum leans down, close enough that they're breathing into each other, his lips ghosting against hers. he whispers, "you're my home."

then he closes the gap.

#got7 #got7 jaebum #got7 im jaebum #got7 scenarios #got7 jaebum scenarios #got7 im jaebum scenarios #jaebum #im jaebum #im jaebum scenarios #jaebum scenarios

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years

Text

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 14)

Her eyes had been so wide with wonder and amazement. Nothing compared to the galaxy’s glimmering spray reflected upon the open ocean. With no city lights to dim them and no bustling tourist noise to break the quiet--no rushing cars with loud basses nor honking horns and loud chatter--Azula felt like she was in space.

The water was so crystalline, so pure. The water met the sky on the horizon giving her the illusion that she was floating in a sea of stars, drifting through the cosmos in a rocketship rather than the ocean in a small sailboat.

“Dad look!” She exclaimed.

“At what?” He asked.

She didn’t know. She just started pointing everywhere, at everything. “Just look daddy!”

Her mother chuckled as she brushed the hair out of a snoring Zuko’s face. Ozai’s lips quirked into an amused half smile.

“Can we go to space, daddy?”

“Why would you want to go to space when you have stars right here?” He gestures to the shimmering world around her.

That was the first time she’d seen phosphorescent fish and plankton. She leaned over the boat’s railing. Ozai quickly came to hold her steady as she dipped her curious fingers into the water.

“Don’t do that, dear. There are sharks in the water.” Ursa cautioned.

But she didn’t see any sharks so she continued trying to catch one of the fish. She only managed to come up with a handful of plankton. She waited until Ursa was asleep to paint a bioluminescent mural upon her brother’s face.

That was her first experience with a boat and an open ocean. That was her first adventure.

.oOo.

Ozai comes home on his birthday, that is probably a gift enough for him but Azula bough him a gift anyhow and pestered Zuko and Katara help her make a cake.

“He doesn’t deserve one.” Zuko had grumbled the whole time.

Azula is inclined to agree, but she has it on the table for him no less. Perhaps he won’t be so angry with her if she does something to make his birthday special.

She sits herself on the couch and waits for the man to come home. Jet plops himself down next to her and drapes his arm over her shoulder. A half an hour goes by and she spends it by leaning her head into his chest and trying to convince herself that it is okay. That she is allowed to love Jet. That she is allowed to have love. That, should she find Sokka, he would understand. She lets Jet rub circles on her back.

“I’m sure he isn’t angry with you, he’s just going through stuff.” Jet assures.

She lets him think that, that is the source of her unease. It is easier to explain. “I hope that you’re right.” She mumbles. He squeezes her a little tighter.

“How can he stay mad when you made him a whole cake?”

.oOo.

To be frank, Zuko never liked Jet. He never hated the boy, but there was something about him… Maybe it is that he is one of those pretty boys. That is probably it. Zuko never liked the type. Jet is nice enough but he thinks that he is such hot shit. Really the boy is no different than anyone else their age. He has a car. So what? He’s a smooth talker. Great for him. He’s got a good sense of fashion and can do sports. That’s fantastic. Zuko thinks that a person should have more substance than charming looks, material things, and a handful of talents.

He looks to his sister. She’s a pretty girl, she has to be if so many of the boys and a handful of girls flock to her. She’s got talents upon talents and as far as everyone knows, she still has riches. But that’s just the thing, she has more than that; she’s fun to be around, bold and adventurous. Annoying as hell, rather judgmental, and with a pretty solid mean streak. But she means well and she’s mostly a kind girl. At the very least she is able to keep certain comments to herself.

Jet is just a pretty face. He isn’t like Sokka. Sokka who was a complete and unapologetic dork. Sokka who was hilarious, fun, and always had something exaggerated tall tale to tell. He’s spontaneous and rather disorganized. He is energetic. He was all of those things, Zuko reminds himself.

Sokka is nearly her opposite of Azula in everything save for intellect. For as idiotic as he acted sometimes, the boy had brains. This is probably what had drawn Azula to him. Jet is so similar to her, right down to lost parents. That is why Sokka fit her so much better.

He observes the pair cozied up on the couch and his heart seizes. He never thought himself the type to play the protective brother but seeing Jet with his arms around his sister is...something doesn’t sit right. And maybe it is only because he is used to seeing her with Sokka. Maybe it is just that he isn’t used to it. Jet hasn’t done anything bad to her. In fact, he has been supportive. Supportive and much sweeter that Zuko anticipated. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that the boy isn’t right for his sister. He doesn’t say it, partly because he knows Azula. He knows that she is a creature of spite and will stick her tongue right down Jet’s in front of him if he does. She has been waiting for a chance to pay him back for the one time, in middle school, that he had made out with Mai while she was trying to do homework.

But mostly he doesn’t say anything because it is probably good for Azula to begin to move on. Having her cling to Sokka so furiously that she’d be willing to waste her college fun on some fruitless rescue mission...it isn’t healthy. He looks back at the sofa, at Azula who has turned to face Jet and slip her arms around him. This is healthy. This is one step closer to moving on.

“She’ll be fine.” Katara says. “I know that you don’t like him much but he’s not bad.”

“Then why did you break up with him?”

Katara shrugs. “Promise that you won’t laugh?”

“I promise.”

“He said that he didn’t like turtles.”

“What kind of person doesn’t like turtles!?” Zuko says a little too loudly.

“Have you ever been attacked by a family of snappers?” Jet calls from the couch. “I can show you the scars.”

“That’s how you got those?” Azula asks, trailing her fingers over his right hand and arm.

“Yup.”

“Not all turtles are like that, Jet!” Zuko tries.

The boy chuckles, “I’m not taking any chances. You wanna go poke around in a snapping turtle nest, be my guest. I’ll be on the other side of the beach.”

Azula snickers and mutters something about protecting him from feral shelled beasts.

“That’s his tragic backstory.” Katara jokes. “Anyways, we just didn’t have much in common, I guess. Pretty cliche, right?”

“A little.” Zuko laughs.

“My point is, he’s a pretty good guy. He’s not much different than the other boys in our school.”

“That’s the problem I think. Sokka was...he was different. And Azula’s different.”

This time Katara laughs. “Yeah I don’t think I’ve met anyone like her before. I haven’t met anyone like you either. Your family is just weird.”

“We live in a lighthouse, what did you expect?” They both chuckle at this.

“That’s why we’re so smart.” Azula calls from the couch.

Zuko tilts his head in confusion.

“Because lighthouses are bright.” Azula explains. “We’re smart because we live in a lighthouse and lighthouses are bright and bright is another word for…”

“Is it rude to break up with someone over an awful joke?” Jet grumbles.

“If I could handle Sokka’s for as long as I did, you can handle mine.”

“Sokka would have loved that joke.” Zuko remarks.

“Sokka would have made that joke.” Katara replies.

The new silence between them is tense. Katara squeezes his hand. “Why do so many things have to remind me of him?”

“Because he’s your brother.” Zuko replies. Again he finds himself peering at Azula, now sitting and swatting Jet with a nearby stack of papers. She is probably the larges pain in the ass he has ever had to live with. But he couldn’t imagine how hollow it would feel to lose her. He thinks of the day that they’d found her, broken and gashed up after being thrown against rocks. He wonders if it had hurt, if she ever thinks about it. She never talks about it. He thinks of her climbing onto the arbor to untangle patio lights. He wouldn’t have been able to handle it if she’d fallen. “You never forget someone who you were that close to.” He hadn’t known Sokka nearly as well as Katara did and it still puts an unpleasant tingle in his belly when he comes across something that triggers the memory.

It is a hollow sort of longing that puts a flutter in his stomach a flutter that reaches his throat and has tears threatening to form. It is a somber yearning as he enters the room he’d last talked with Sokka in, as he visualizes Sokka as he’d last seen him. As he tries to latch onto that memory and make a physical manifestation of it. At the very least he tries to cling to it so that it doesn’t slip. It like being in a room with a phantom. Memories are ghosts.

“You can’t forget.” He repeats. “I don’t think that you want to either. I don’t. Azula doesn’t.”

He hears Katara swallow, but before they can get any further, Ozai opens the door. The man looks as hollow as Katara probably feels when thinking about Sokka. Mostly he is put together, clean shaven--for once--and with his hair neatly styled. But his clothing is wrinkled, his cheeks are sunken, and he has bags under his eyes.

“What’s this?” Ozai grumbles. “I told you that I was coming home from the hospital and you bring guests over?”

Zuko catches Azula visibly swallow and goes tense. Just like that he recalls that their father doesn’t know about Jet yet. Jet who tightens his grip protectively around Azula. And just like that, Zuko’s opinion of him changes rather drastically.

Azula pulls out of his grip.

“Tell them to go home.” Ozai says simply.

“Tell them to go home!?” Zuko gets to his feet. “We did this for--”

Azula holds up a hand. He can tell that her optimism is fading fast. “I thought that it would be a nice surprise to…” she gestures to the cake. “I can’t cook so I asked Katara to help.”

“And him?” Ozai nods to Jet.

She shifts uncomfortably.

Zuko’s stomach nearly gives when Jet opens his mouth. “I’m Jet, I’m on Azula’s surf team, remember?”

“I recall.” Ozai answers stiffly. “But that doesn’t tell me what you are doing here.”

Jets simply slips his arm around Azula’s waist and tugs her closer.

“I want them out, Azula.”

“But, I…”

“Out.” He commands more firmly.

Azula bunches her fists. Zuko knows what she is going to do before Ozai does. He praises her for her wit but, lord he wishes that she wouldn’t.

“Fine.”

.oOo.

The lighthouse door slams. It takes a moment for that Jet boy to react but he hastily follows her out.

Ozai sighs. It is long and drawn, he rubs a hand over his face, feeling thoroughly drained. He looks from the doorway to the birthday cake on the table. It is a nice sentiment, but he is not in a festive mood. She means well, they all mean well, but it might be too soon.

“We made all of this to cheer you up and you make us feel like shit!” Zuko accuses. Zuko seldom raises his voice at him. Much less cusses at him. “You make Azula feel…”

Ozai tries to tune his son out.

“She thinks that you hate her!” Zuko scowls. “You know that right? She was trying to give you a good birthday because she knows that you’re having a hard time.”

Katara links her arm around Zuko and clutches him tightly. Ozai wonders if he is frightening her. He must be. “Zuko, I am your father you will not speak to--”

“No. You aren’t.” Zuko hisses. “Azula and I lost both of our parents that night.” He turns to his girlfriend. “Come on, lets go find Azula and Jet.”

Katara nods, “I’m worried about her, Zuko.”

Somehow the girl’s comment unsettled him more deeply than anything Zuko had said. With a second slam he is alone in the lighthouse. He finds a seat at the table in front of his birthday cake. There is no one left to eat it with.

Also in front of him is a handmade card. ‘Welcome home, congratulations, and happy birthday, father.’ She hadn’t left anything out and that was only the cover page. He is home, but his birthday isn’t happy and he doesn’t feel like there is anything worth congratulating. It is his own fault.

He’d just gotten clean and he is already ready for his next drink. He opens the fridge and curses Azula for her forethought. She’d gotten rid of all of it. He supposes that he has ingrained tough love into her.

He should probably give her space, let her run off to Katara’s house or Jet’s. But he thinks that this time, if he allows the problem to fester, he will lose her. He will lose both of his children.

He rakes his fingers through his hairline and heads for the door. He reaches it and hesitates. He sits back at the table.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Zuko #Ozai #Sokkla #Sokka #Katara #Zutara #Jet #Fanfiction

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alphacrone · 4 years

Text

for it's better to burn out than to fade out of sight (2/?)

rating: T pairings: Yuki & Tohru (platonic), Tohru/Kyo, Yuki/Machi, other canon pairings & friendships summary: In the end, it wasn’t sadness Yuki felt, when Tohru Honda had her memories erased. No, it was anger. And anger he could work with.

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ii. well, i've got open eyes & an open door

***

Living with the Hanajima family was...stifling.

No—not stifling! Tohru was so grateful to them for taking her in and for treating her so kindly. Saki’s parents had always been so welcoming to Tohru, and she considered Megumi to be her own younger brother. Even Misa, Hana’s grandmother, to whom Torhu rarely spoke, had doted on her the first night she spent living there, serving her tea and odango. The love and generosity of the Hanajima family was overwhelming, but it soothed an ache in Tohru’s chest she hadn’t realized was there.

But...the guilt was suffocating her, especially at night, after Hana had fallen asleep and Tohru was left alone with her thoughts. Hirofumi, Hana’s father, already worked so hard to support his mother, wife, and children; surely Torhu was just an unneeded burden in an already full house. She offered to cook, but the kitchen was Misa’s domain. She tried to take over cleaning duties, but Yumi, Hana’s mother, would bat her away with a playful smile, telling her she already worked too hard at her job. Feeling desperate, Tohru even approached Hirofumi about paying rent or utilities, but he’d just given her a stern look and said, “This isn’t a boarding house; you’re our guest.”

Their kindness brought tears to Tohru’s eyes, but with every grain of rice in her bowl and every inch of space she took up in Hana’s bed, Tohru could only see the growing debt she’d never be able to repay. At least with Grandpa, she’d done the housework, and she’d likely continue to do the same when Aunt Mie and her cousins moved in. Her time living in the tent had been cold and dark and oftentimes scary, but the independence Tohru had come to know had kept her spirits lifted. It all seemed a blur now, weeks out in the woods on her own flowing into tangled memories, but the one constant she’d known was the sense of peace that came from the knowledge that no one was burdened by her existence. She took care of herself so no one else had to.

Was it lonely? Uo had asked, after she’d calmed down that day in the classroom.

No, Tohru had answered, and it was true. Perhaps the spirit of her mother had been all the company she’d needed, but her memories of the tent always came with a sense of companionship, a sense of safety that surely wasn’t warranted. It wasn’t lonely .

Still...something didn’t sit right with Tohru when she thought about it too hard. Those first nights had been clear in her mind, the wind threatening the walls of her tent, the howls of stray dogs nearby, the scuttling of bugs across her skin—it had been difficult, but she’d persevered. After that, though, her time camping felt like a dream, warm and hazy and golden. She remembered the shuffling of papers; the tinkling of windchimes; a cat’s hiss; a boy’s soft laugh. Happy dreams, Tohru supposed, that kept her going during that time.

She hadn’t been lonely alone in the woods...but she should have been.

***

“I heard you ate lunch with Prince Yuki yesterday, Tohru,” Uo said as they stretched before gym class. “Those fanclub girls are not happy about it.”

“Eh?!” Tohru was taken aback. “Yes, Sohma asked to eat lunch with me yesterday, but it’s just because he saw I was sitting by myself. He was being nice.”

“You think so?” Hana asked, picking at the chipping black paint on her nails. “That’s not something Sohma does often.”

Uo nodded, hands on her hips. “Come to think of it, the Prince always eats lunch by himself, no matter how many girls pester him. He doesn’t even sit with his cousin.”

“O-oh? Really? Well…” Tohru tugged on the end of one of her pigtails, face growing warm under the scrutiny of her friends. “Maybe he thought I was lonely. He was very nice, we talked about gardening! Did you know Sohma likes to garden?”

“What is he, an old lady?” Uo snorted. “Well, just...be careful, Tohru. The Prince might be nice, but his fangirls are rabid .”

“His waves are...unusual,” Hana commented, more to herself than to her friends. “I don’t know what to make of them.”

“Unusual?” Tohru tilted her head to the side. “Have you...said that before? About him?” Something about it rang familiar.

Hana raised an eyebrow. “I have. But I still do not know what it means.”

“Maybe he’s like you, Hana,” Uo teased, poking Hana’s cheek with her index finger. “Maybe he’s got some secret powers.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful!” Tohru exclaimed. “Hana, you’d have a friend like you!”

The corner of Hana’s twitched up into the ghost of a smile. “We’d have to be friends, first.”

“Then let’s make friends with him!” Tohru continued, clapping her hands together. “Maybe he can sense waves, too? Can you sense your own waves? Are his like Megumi’s? Or maybe it’s something totally different!”

“Alright, alright, calm down, Tohru,” Uo said, patting her on the head. “It doesn’t matter what’s wrong with his waves if he turns out to be a shitty friend. One step at a time.”

“Roger that!” Tohru drew herself up into a very serious salute. Hana laughed softly. “Friends first, waves second!”

“Maybe if we’re friends with him, he’ll give us produce from his garden…” Uo mused, stretching her arms over her head. In the distance, the gym teacher yelled at them to get into formation for a run around the track. “My old man needs more greens in his diet.”

“Tohru makes a delicious sukiyaki,” Hana commented casually. “I’m sure it would be even better with garden-grown vegetables.”

Uo snorted. “It’s not cold enough for nabe, Hana. You just want the meat.”

“Guilty as charged,” Hana said.

Tohru laughed with her friends as they began their run with the rest of the class, but a new spark had blossomed in her belly that she couldn’t ignore. If there was something about Sohma, then she had to get him and Hana to become friends. Hana had spent her whole life feeling like an outcast because of powers she’d had since birth. If there was someone out there like her...

Tohru had noticed it when they ate together, talking lightly about soil and sunlight, but Sohma had the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. They reminded her of the clouds before rain, dark gray and full to bursting. No matter how politely he smiled or how kindly he asked about her day, there was an intense sorrow in his gaze that broke Tohru’s heart.

If he had powers like Hana then maybe, like her, he’d be alone for a long time, too.

***

“Oi! Sohma!”

Tohru held back a meep of surprise when Uo shouted at Sohma from across the classroom the next day during lunch. She’d intended on approaching him herself, after he finished talking to Mayu-sensei, but Uo had beaten her to the punch. Mayu-sensei waved him off, giving Uo an amused smirk, and Sohma approached tentatively. Tohru couldn’t totally blame him; Uo and Hana looked scary when you didn’t know them.

“Is something wrong, Uotani?” He asked, head tilted.

“Nope,” she said, then patted the empty desk next to her. “Wanna eat with us?”

Sohma looked taken aback. “Only if you want to,” Tohru added hurriedly. “If you’re busy or already have plans with friends-”

“No,” Sohma said, still looking uncertain. “I would like to join you. Let me just...grab my lunch.”

Tohru beamed, relief flooding through her body. “Okay!”

“What are the waves saying?” Uo asked Hana, leaning back in her chair. Hana mused for a moment as Sohma ducked down to pull his lunch from his bag.

“I still can’t tell. There’s something...more. Something old.”

Uo’s eyes lit up in that terrible way that Tohru knew meant teasing was on its way. “You think he’s, like, a 30-year-old pretending to be a high schooler?”

“Older than that,” Hana said.

Uo gasped, awful grin widening. “50?”

“50 what?” Sohma sat down next to Uo, lunch in hand. Tohru could feel her face turning pink; if he’d overheard what Uo said-

“50 yen—Hana found a vending machine in the neighborhood that sells Calpis for 50 yen. It’s either a bargain or, like, cursed. Like an urban legend.”

“Oh.” Sohma didn’t seem to know how to react. “I’ve never had Calpis, but my cousin, Haru, really likes it.”

“Do you have a lot of cousins, Sohma?” Tohru asked. “We all know Kyo, and now Haru…”

“Yes,” Sohma said around a bite of katsu. “Our extended family is very large, so I don’t have any immediate cousins, but there are a lot of relatives my age who I’m close to.” He cast his eyes down, and Tohru wondered if he didn’t like to talk about his family.

“That’s so fun!” Tohru said, despite herself. “Growing up it was just me and Mom, so I never had any cousins to play with. I mean, I have cousins, but I’ve never been close with that side of the family…” She trailed off awkwardly, remembering that soon she'd be sharing a house with cousins she didn't know.

“Do you have any siblings?” Hana asked, and Tohru shot her a grateful smile.

Sohma nodded, mouth curling into a grimace. “An older brother.”

“Ooh, really?” Uo asked, that teasing glint back in her eyes. “Do you look alike?”

“Yes,” Sohma sighed, and Tohru thought she heard him mutter, “ Unfortunately .”

“Ha!” Uo rubbed her hands together. “Do you know how crazy the girls around here would get if they knew there was a second, older Prince out there?”

Sohma flushed. “We may look alike but we are...very different people.”

“Different how?” Tohru asked. It was hard to imagine someone out there with Sohma’s face but a completely different personality. Was he mean? Outgoing? Aggressive?

“ Kyon-Kyon !” Uo shouted, tossing her eraser at the other Sohma in the class. “Do you know the Prince’s brother?”

Kyo chucked the eraser back at Uo, a little too hard, but managed to miss. “Don’t throw things at me, woman!” His eyes moved from Uo, to Tohru, then over to Sohma, and a disgruntled frown settled over his features. “What do you want?”

Uo turned in her seat to better face him. “Do you know Sohma’s brother? He’s your cousin, too, right?”

“Ayame?” Kyo asked, spitting out the name with disgust. “He’s an annoying bastard, is what he is. He never shuts up .”

“Really?” Uo cackled, tilting back in her chair. “Tell us more.”

“What the hell? No!” Kyo growled. “Make that idiot next to you tell you about Ayame; it’s his brother.”

Yuki shrugged, bringing rice to his mouth. “He’s not wrong. My brother is loud and inconsiderate.”

Uo laughed again and slapped Sohma on the shoulder. “That’s rough, man!”

Tohru tittered, wondering if she should divert the conversation away from family, when she caught Hana’s gaze pierce over her shoulder. Tohru turned, and saw that Hana was staring at Kyo, who’d gone back to napping against the windowsill. The look in Hana’s eyes was uncertain...confusion, maybe? Intrigue?

“Hey, we got some time before class, right?” Uo asked, leaning over to rummage through her bag. “Who wants to play daihinmin?”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” Tohru said, grateful for the distraction. “Sohma, would you like to play with us?”

Sohma looked vaguely bewildered. “Oh...yes, I would like that. But I don’t know the rules.”

“Don’t worry, I always forget them!” Tohru assured him. “Hana’s good at explaining it.”

Sohma cracked a smile—a true, genuine smile—and nodded. “Sounds fun.”

By the time class started, Tohru was losing miserably, but Sohma was more relaxed than she’d ever seen him before, even as Uo teased him and Hana stared unnervingly. The site made her smile so hard, she thought her face would split in two.

***

Tohru didn’t mean to overhear the fight. She’d left her notebook in class and had run back to get it. But as she headed back to where Hana and Uo waited, she turned a corner and stumbled upon the two Sohma cousins locked in a heated argument. A part of her was curious, and another part worried, so she ducked back behind the corner and listened.

“-doing, talking to her? Are you trying to make Akito mad?”

“Akito can’t get mad if he doesn’t know. Are you going to tell him?”

“Fuck, no!” Kyo hit the wall next to Sohma’s head. “But he’ll find out, he always finds out. You think it’ll stop with him pulling us out of this school? You think he won’t hurt her, just to spite you?”

“I’m not stupid, cat ,” Sohma hissed, grabbing Kyo by the front of his shirt. “I know better than anyone what Akito can and will do. But I’m not going to let fear of him keep me from being happy. Not anymore.”

Kyo growled and aimed a punch towards Sohma’s face. Tohru gasped, but Sohma was quick, and dodged out of the way just in time. There was a loud clang as Kyo’s fist collided with the locker where Sohma’s head had just been.

“If she gets hurt,” he hissed, voice low and deadly calm. “I will kill you, damn rat.”

“If she gets hurt,” Sohma replied. “I’m not the one you should kill. Get your priorities straight.”

Before Kyo could reply, Sohma walked away, head held high. Tohru watched him disappear, then saw Kyo sink to the ground, cradling his hand. The locker he’d punched was dented, and Tohru could see specks of red forming on Kyo’s knuckles. Despite herself, Tohru hurried forward, sinking to her knees in front of Kyo.

“Are you okay?” She asked, reaching out to look at Kyo’s hand. He snatched it away, face growing pale.

“How much did you hear?” He demanded, eyes narrowing. “How much?!”

“A-ah, well,” Tohru pulled her hands back and settled them on her lap. “Something about a person named Akito? And you’re afraid Akito will hurt someone else? I didn’t really understand what was going on, but you two were really angry about it…”

Kyo’s shoulders sagged, and he seemed to deflate. “It doesn’t involve you, so don’t go poking your nose into places it doesn’t belong, okay?”

“Y-yes! Okay,” Tohru nodded.

“I’m serious,” Kyo said. “Akito...Akito is dangerous. Me n’ Yuki can handle him, so don’t try to get involved with this. You’ll just get hurt.”

Tohru couldn’t help but feel warmth towards Kyo. He was worried about her. She’d thought he had a softer side to him that he didn’t show to other people, and she was right. “Okay,” Tohru repeated. “But the person you’re worried about, will she be okay? Should we go to the police?”

Kyo almost smiled. “Nah, she’ll be okay. I’m watching out for her, so she’s got nothing to worry about.”

“That’s sweet,” Tohru said, beaming. “She’s lucky to have her own guard dog, huh?”

“Cat.”

“Huh?”

There was a light flush on Kyo’s face as he muttered, “I’m more of a cat than a dog.”

Tohru laughed. “I can see that! You’re skittish around people, until you warm up to them. And you nap in class a lot .”

Kyo huffed and gently bopped Tohru’s head with his good hand. “Yeah, yeah. You better get going, or wave girl and the yankee will tear apart the school looking for you.”

“Oh, you’re right! They’re probably worried I’ve been gone so long!” Tohru stood and brushed off her skirt. “I have bandaids in my bag, if you want to come with me. We could patch up your hand.”

Kyo waved her off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I heal quick.”

“Okay. See you later, Sohma,” she said, waving as she began to turn.

“Kyo.”

“Hmm?” Tohru paused and looked back. “What?”

“Kyo,” he repeated, not meeting her eyes. “Call me Kyo.”

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. See you later... Kyo .”

Tohru ran off to meet her friends, heart feeling light. Maybe, just maybe, she’d befriended more than one Sohma boy today.

#fruits basket fanfiction #fruits basket #fruits basket spoilers #furuba manga spoilers #yuki & tohru #anna writes things #x-posting from ao3

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sweet-lil-psycho · 5 years

Text

Study Group - Tate Langdon Oneshot (Post-Death) - AHS

Word Count: 1695

Summary: Post-death Tate really doesn’t like the boy you bring home after school one day (A/N: Tate is a problematic character and this oneshot isn’t meant to romanticize or condone his behaviour.)

Tate stood by the upstairs window, his gaze focused down at the front gate as he waited for you to return home from school. It was 3:42pm, you were seven minutes later than usual and each additional second felt like its own eternity.

He never liked it when you left the house. Especially when you went to Westfield High. Not only did it mean you were gone for more than seven hours, but Tate knew all too well what happened to misfits and freaks like you and him at high school. The idea that something could have happened to you after school and he couldn’t do anything about it was infuriating.

Another moment passed and he slammed his fist on the window frame, causing the old glass to shake in its place.

“Someone’s got his panties in a twist. What’s wrong lover-boy? Your little birdie flown the coop?” A voice taunted from behind him and he didn’t have to turn around to know the owner.

Being damned to live with the same ghosts for eternity had made Tate all too familiar with each of them. Chad Warwick was one of the previous homeowners and every time he opened his mouth, Tate regretted killing him on the property.

“No. She’s just late. She’s coming. Any minute now.” Tate spat back, not taking his eyes off the window even for a moment.

“Oh look, she really is.” Chad announced, glee dripping from his words as he spotted you walking down the pavement - not alone.

You were hesitant to bring friends home, but you had convinced yourself that a simple visit would be fine for a few hours. Adam was nice enough to offer to help you study for the test next week, which was a blessing because you were completely behind on the reading and the test was worth fifteen percent of your grade.

“Hold up, you live here?” He asked once you reached the gate

“Yeah, I know, creepy, right?” Of course he would be creeped out, it was the infamous Murder House after all. You had been too worried about the ghosts bothering guests that you hadn't stopped to realize that guests might be afraid of the ‘spooky-haunted-ghost-house’.

Adam stood uncomfortably on the footpath while you stepped onto the property, his eyes bulging slightly when you gestured for him to follow.

"Scared, Adam?" You challenged him, crossing your arms over your chest

"N-no. It's just a stupid house. Why should I be scared?" He answered too quickly, you could tell he didn't mean it.

Still, he didn't want to look weak and half-jumped over the entrance-way, as if the concrete path up to the house would swallow him whole. Each step he took was less and less hesitant and by the time the two of you reached the doorstep he was almost walking normally.

That is, of course, until the front door creaked open on its own, revealing the dimly lit foyer. Adam yelped and took a few steps back in fright.

Tate, you realized bitterly, shaking my head in disappointment. You had really hoped he would behave better than this. It was your house after all, you should be able to invite people over when you wanted to.

“Oh that old door, always misbehaving. It had better start behaving better before I take it off it’s hinges and leave it in the basement.” You said comically, stressing certain words as you stared into the shadows of the room, no doubt where Tate was watching.

You walked into the house and Adam sheepishly followed, his eyes scanning the inside as if he were waiting for a evil spirit to appear wielding a knife. God I hope not, you thought nervously. Behind both of you, the front door suddenly slammed shut, making Adam jump in fright.

“Let’s set up in the lounge room” You suggested, trying to ignore Tate’s behaviour.

Both of you laid out your books on the coffee table and got started on your revision. It was so helpful to have someone put the textbooks into context and fill in all the gaps with what the teacher had covered. Mr. Harringway, the chemistry teacher, only ever covered the material which he puts on his test so anything skipped during the lesson was obviously irrelevant and knowing what to skip made studying far easier.

After an hour of straight revision, Adam had clearly forgotten that he was in the infamous Murder House and not just your average lounge room, which pleased you. He was doing you a massive favor by helping and you didn’t want Tate, or any of the other ghosts, to ruin that with their antics.

“I’m going to go get some chips, we deserve a break!” you said when you realized how sore your hand was from writing. “Be back in a sec.”

You walked to the nearby kitchen and began foraging for the snacks you were sure you bought last week.

“Tate...Tate!” You whispered as you searched, wanting to warn him about behaving and let him know that you and Adam were nearly done studying.

You had to admit you were surprised when he didn’t answer. You had figured he would jump at the chance to pester you about the visitor and urge you to ditch your studying efforts in order to spend time with him.

While you gathered snacks, you were blissfully unaware of what was going on in the rest of the house.

Adam was killing time on his phone while he waited for you to return, entirely unbothered by the slight creaking of the floorboards. Then, seemingly for no reason, the window swung open and wind blew all the papers off the coffee table.

“Oh no! Seriously?” Adam groaned, dropping his phone on the couch and getting up to gather the papers.

He followed the furthest flying papers into the hallway and picked up as many as he could. They were all becoming a scrambled mess in his arms and he knew you would laugh when you saw what kind of ridiculousness had ensued while you were gone. Adam followed the final paper all the way to the basement door and as he reached down to pick it up, the door swung open.

“Adam! Can you come help me for a second!” Your voice called from the dark cavern and Adam stared into the darkness trying to see where you were.

When he had no luck spotting you, he hesitantly begun his descent into the basement. Once again very aware he was in the infamous Murder House.

“Y/N, where are you?” He called into the darkness

“Adam...Adam” The voice replied, closer this time

It was then that Adam realized there was something wrong with the voice. He had thought maybe it was the echo of the basement acoustics that had made it sound weirdly unfamiliar, but now he wasn’t so sure.

With a sudden urge to get out of the basement (and the house), Adam turned around on the staircase. Before he could make it the few steps more to reach the sunlit hallway, the door slammed shut. He ran up to it, pulling frantically at the doorknob.

“Help! I’m stuck!” He cried out, banging his hand on the door.

“Adam...Adam” The unfamiliar voice continued to call him, even closer now.

“Help! Please! I’m stuck down here!” He banged his fist harder against the door.

You returned to the lounge room with two bowls of snacks, only to see the homework had been taken from the coffee table. You groaned, assuming Tate or some other ghost had scared him into leaving. Placing the two bowls of now unnecessary snacks on the coffee table, you slumped onto the couch.

“Tate, you’re an ass. That was worth 15% of my grade.” You grumbled, assuming the blonde boy would appear with a self-satisfied grin and start talking about the meaninglessness of high school and exams on the scale of the universe. Maybe he would also start naming off famous people who had flunked out of high school, he had done that quite a few times when coaxing you to skip school.

That was when you heard it, the thudding from the other side of the house. It must’ve been loud if you could hear it from here. You got up to investigate and as you reached the hallway, it stopped. Somehow this worried you more.

You reached the basement door, which you assumed was the source of the thudding since the old paint had begun to shed off the door frame from the force. It was jammed shut, which was unusual since the basement door had always had a habit of creaking open.

“Need a hand, deary?” An overly chipper voice offered

One of the resident ghosts, Chad Warwick, who had been watching the entire afternoon unravel dramatically, had appeared beside you. Without even waiting for a response, he pressed the door open and revealed the dark basement.

You would have turned back when you didn’t see Adam, but the scattered papers that had been missing from the lounge room were scattered over the lower steps, just visible in the light of the hallway.

A weight dropped in your stomach as you worried just what Tate had been up to while your back was turned. You’d never imagined he would behave like this. Small pranks, sure, but this was scary.

Suddenly a petrified looking Adam bolted past you on the stairs. It was as though he didn’t even see you. His eyes were wide with fear and in the dim light he looked pale as a sheet.

After a moment, the old lights of the basement flickered on and you found Tate standing with his arms crossed, leaning casually against one of the foundation pillars.

“That guy? Really Y/N?” Tate asked with raised eyebrows. “He nearly wet himself when I said hello.”

“Tate!” You said angrily, too exasperated to yell, but too mad to simply ignore the days events.

“What?” He asked nonchalantly, pulling an innocent, puppy-dog face

“I’m so failing my chemistry exam tomorrow.” You huffed, not even bothering with scolding the ghost right now, what good would that even do?

________

(Authors Note: Hi everyone! This has been sitting in my drafts for over a year and I’m finally back to finish it. As said earlier, this is not written to condone or romanticize Tate’s behaviour. I wanted to fully explore his personality and that includes the less favourable aspects.)

#tate langdon #tate langdon x reader #tate langdon oneshot #ahs oneshot #ahs murder house #murder house #american horror story #american horror story oneshot #post death tate

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years

Text

The Substitute Ghost - DannyMay - Day 12 History

Summary: Phantoms the teacher and you will learn, or so help me.

(spiritual successor to my fic The Lessons A Mother Gives)

“So you all want Phantom... a ghost. To give this lesson?”

Pretty well half the class nods or claps excitedly while Valerie looks like she might just crush her pencil. Danny is having a hard time not laughing but at the same time, what if they actually ask him? Like sure he’s better at duplication now but uh, it’s hella risky to have Phantom and Fenton in the same room. Though yeah, he’d honestly prefer a ghost, or half-ghost in his case, teach ghost history than his parents. Heck! They really didn’t know anything about ghost history if he was honest. Meanwhile, Danny had lived a bit of it, and ClockWork was a damn good mentor. So he knew pretty well every major and quite a few minor things, be kind of sad if the ghost king didn’t know ghost history. Danny can’t help but chuckle to himself, at least ghost history was way more eventful and interesting. Even if most aren’t for humans, or even other ghosts, to know.

Danny gets startled out of his head by Mr. Lancer, “What do you think Daniel? How much do your parents know about ghost history?”. Again Danny can’t help but chuckle before responding, “they’re scientists and hunters, not historians. It’s unlikely they know much of anything. If they do know a bunch, they never talk about it”, obviously the class likes this as most of them are grinning, even Valerie seems to nod at that.

And honestly, even if his parents were super knowledgeable on this, he’d really rather they not be the ones to teach others. Because unlike his parents, he wasn’t biased against ghosts. It would be like having a mouse teach the history of cats; an actively cat hating mouse. Danny has had to sit through his mom being a guest teacher before and that was on something she was actually well knowledgable on. He still can’t believe how much she managed to restrain her anti-ghost crap, though if he remembers correctly, she still rubbed that class the wrong way. Heck didn’t Mr. Lancer even voice displeasure with her directly to Danny himself? Yeah, Danny’s pretty sure he did.

So he’s not too surprised by Mr. Lancer's response, even if it means he’s going to have to figure out how to do this, “then I’m inclined to agree with the near entirety of the class. Phantom is a friendly Ghost and many of you have already met him in person”. Danny almost feels bad for Valerie as she slams her head on the desk loudly, earning glares from a good portion of the class. Pretty well everyone knows she doesn’t like ghosts nowadays, which has actually made her way more of a social outcast than even the weirdo trio. Pretty much everyone else at school is majorly pro-Phantom, though Danny thinks he might just be starting to get on little Red’s good side.

Paulina shoots up her hand, “I’ve got an idea! Why don’t we just find some ghost and get it to chase me? Phantom will always save me because why wouldn’t he?”. Even Danny glares at Paulina, because first off she shouldn’t be willing putting herself in danger and secondly, she does that to an annoying degree just to get his attention.

“No, we will not be doing that. I’m the teacher and the adult, I’ll get him”, Danny’s pretty sure he’s not the only one that catches Mr. Lancer mutter, “somehow”. Seeing as it looks like Paulina’s decided she has another idea, “well what about Fenton? Pretty sure hunters have ghost tracking stuff and Phantom shows up around him all the time?”. Danny has to force himself to not glare holes straight through her head, since that would be a bit suspicious, seeing as pretty well the whole class is looking at him questioningly now; with some even nodding thoughtfully. Seriously wishing Paulina had kept her mouth shut as he responds, “trackers aren’t that useful on Phantom unless he lets you track him. My parents get frustrated to no end over his ability to randomly become undetectable”.

He’s not about to give them actual ideas since he’s not sure if teaching a class, especially one that he’s in, is such a good idea. Though apparently, the class is choosing to ignore Mr. Lancer statement to let him get Phantom as Mikey speaks up, “we could just ask him? Just wave him down after one of his fights? It’s not like he’s never around”. Danny definitely glares at Mikey, because no, don’t stick around a fight; that shit’s dangerous. But how often does Danny actually hang around town as Phantom outside of fighting? Outside of patrolling and flying, pretty well never. Guess that does make him a bit of an elusive bastard.

Thankfully Mr. Lancer agrees that idea isn’t the best, “that’s far too dangerous, even Phantom gets hurt in those. And we all know ghosts are much more durable, so no one is to be near a fight just to talk to him”. A few people snicker, including Danny, at how Mr. Lancer glares specifically at Paulina; who, predictably, rolls her eyes.

Danny jolts a bit as Tucker kicks his chair and leans over, whispering, “dude, you should probably just bite the bullet on this one. Before someone actually does one of these dumb ideas. And pretty sure you’re not actually trying to talk them out of this, can’t say I really blame you on that though”. Danny sighs and shrugs at Tucker, he knows he’s probably right. It’s too bad he hasn’t figured out how to duplicate invisibly yet, otherwise, he could just do that and have a Phantom duplicate pretend to be thrown through the class wall. Let it stick around long enough to get asked before zipping off like he has a fight to finish.

And leaving class is out of the question, asking to go to the bathroom and then having Phantom show is just way too suspicious. Maybe he should start a blog or something, as Phantom, so people can actually contact him? Sure he’ll end up with lots of fan crap, even if that is enjoyable; it’s nice to be liked and needed you know. But it would help for situations like this, which are bound to happen again.

Blinking as he gets an idea, sure it’ll bite him in the ass a little but that’s better than someone getting themselves hurt chasing after Phantom, and he thinks it’s believable enough. Heck might even be able to use it as a way to explain Paulina calling him out earlier, “well, you all seem pretty set on this. This all stays a secret from my parents though”. Pretty well the whole class is nodding and Mr. Lancer is giving him a quizzical look while Valerie speaks up, “yeah even I don’t want them barging in or going off about ghosts”. Valerie stares Danny a bit before continuing, “what idea you got Danny. Clearly, you have one”. Danny smirks, knowing full well she’s going to be a bit pissy at him and the rest of the class is going to pester him. Flipping out his phone as he shrugs, “I’ll just call him”.

Everyone predictably gapes at him, while he pretend dials and Tucker tries damn hard to keep his laughter from being audible.

“You have his number!”

“He has a phone?”

“Why would he want a Fenton’s number?!”

Danny can’t help but snicker at the questions as he has a pretend conversation with himself. Coming up with random code words on the spot to make this seem more routine.

“No, no eggs”

“You could say weirder sure. Apparently, you’ve got a teaching job now. Well, for one day anyway”

Danny intentionally laughs, though it’s actually genuine since this is rather absurd.

“No forwarding involved. Just a teach wanting ghost history”

“As if, still a blt”

Danny mouths “when” at Mr. Lancer, who promptly starts checking the schedule and calendar.

Danny rolls his eyes and chuckles a bit, pretending he can hear Phantom eating or something on the other end, before Mr. Lancer responds a little bit frazzled, “tomorrow actually works out best”.

Danny gives a little nod before continuing the fake call,

“Oh yeah they can and do. Whole class”

“Of course”

“Dude, not even a little kid is enough of an idiot to give out your number”, Danny glares at the class hoping they get the message and don’t pester him for Phantoms’, aka his, number.

“Class six-b, a bit after ten”

“Yeah, welcome to schools, everything’s stupid early”

Snickering a bit, mentally pretending Phantom made some comment about drowning himself in the noddles he was eating, “well you get right on that then, later”.

It only takes a couple seconds after putting his phone away for some to ask, “why do you, of all people, have Phantoms’ number?”. While someone else mutters, “guess it would make sense he’d have a phone though”.

Danny rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, “non-ghost hating Fenton here. Living with people who constantly make new anti-ghost stuff and whom frequently converse with those GIW morons”. Danny can’t help but chuckle as it’s clear he needs to make this more obvious, “dudes gotta have a way to know what all the anti-ghost stuff is and does. You’re looking at it”.

Danny can tell Valerie’s not impressed as she gapes at him, “so you’re helping him and basically spying on your own family. For a ghost”. Danny rolls his eyes but can’t help but snicker, in a way he is actually spying, “he's the good guy Val. The GIW are idiots and my parents are beyond biased. They wanted me involved in the family business, they got it. Just not the way they’d planned”.

Mr. Lancer shakes his head a bit even if it’s clear he’s smiling, “well I think it goes without saying, that this conversation stays in the classroom. I’ll request that no one brings recording devices tomorrow or tries taking photos. You’re here to learn, it’s not a meet n’ greet”. While Danny’s thankful and hopes they’ll actually listen, the rest of the class groans.

Danny doesn’t even get a chance to walk out the class door before Valerie springs on him, “seriously Danny? I’d have thought you of all people would know ghost everything is dangerous. And helping a ghost? Really?”. Danny makes a point of holding himself proudly, “just walking into Fenton Works is dangerous. There’s no getting away from ghosts for a Fenton. Again, Phantom’s good. Most folks help him, I’m just a bit more helpful”.

Danny’s not sure if it’s his stance or words but Valerie just sighs and shakes her head before walking away. Though she does look over her shoulder and the pair share a slightly hurt wistful look.

Tucker slaps him on the back as they sit to eat, “dude, eggs? Forwarding? Blt? Congrats on being confusing”, Danny can’t help but snicker. Finger-gunning as he responds, “emergency ghosts or gear. Aka ghost fight or new Fenton tech. When people forward emails there’s that little “FW” symbol, like Fenton Works. And blind living town, as in no one knows about some secret or another”. Tucker looks genuinely impressed, “those, those are actually useful. Damn”. While Sam just looks utterly confused, “ok what happened now?”. Tucker slaps Danny on the back again, “Phantom’s a teacher now and-”. Tucker gets cut off by Kwan, “Fenton, dude! Phantom’s spy? That’s got to be cool! Bet you have, like, codes and shit?!”. Danny rolls his eyes while Sam tries to not look shocked, “you know the point of “spy” is to be a secret?”.

Kwan actually has the decency to look guilty and just scurries off, while Sam mouths “what?” at Danny. Leaning towards her, “Lancer wanted someone to teach ghost history and everyone was determined it’d be Phantom. The running story is, Fenton has Phantoms’ number and is keeping tabs on the Fenton’s and their gear for him”. Sam nods readily accepting this while Tucker smirks a bit. Because really, the two of them are Phantoms real little spies.

Danny, as Phantom, phases through Mr. Lancers’ ceiling, “so ghost history?”. Danny can’t help but laugh as Mr. Lancer jumps; Danny’s got to get his mischievous side out somehow. Besides this kind of crap is what ghosts do. Mr. Lancer clearly agrees as he doesn’t even give Danny shit, “yes, I imagine you know it better than any human? Though I hope it’s not too much trouble”. Danny waves him off as he comes to stand in his teachers living room, which is a bit surreal, “you’re not wrong. Heck! I’ve been at the forefront of some of it. And yeah pretty well everything any human knows is either only half the story or wildly biased”. Mr. Lancer nods with a frown, “I suspected as much”, he sips his tea before continuing, “since this is for only one class, because I don’t doubt we’ll draw negative attention if we do this for multiple days. Stick to the bigger things. Leaders, any major battles or wars, important ghosts and why they are or were important, major traditions and how they came to be, and so on”. Danny knows full well he’s going to have to omit some things, like who the current ghost king is. Though really, it’s almost sad that it isn’t obvious. He’s literally flying around with a crown and cape, that shit is pretty damn noticeable. But until someone asks or flat out calls him out, he’s not saying shit. Nodding at Mr. Lancer, “and obviously people are going to asks me stuff. But somethings with ghosts, in general, are need to know only, so there's some info I’m just not going to give”.

“I’d expect as much. Humans and ghosts don’t exactly get along. Yet anyway”

“Yeah, though I’d like for that to change. Someday maybe. Stuff like this might be a good step”, Danny’s almost sad that didn’t hit him before. People fear what they don’t know and ghosts are a pretty big unknown. Humans might be able to relate more knowing ghosts actually have their own history. He’s sure some folks just think ghosts don’t do anything other than toy with humans.

Mr. Lancer nods with a bit of a smile, “my thoughts exactly. Though I doubt you’re exactly experienced with teaching or are a historian”. Danny laughs and shakes his head, “course not! But I know a thing or two. There’s a lot of aspects to what I do. Not just here but in the Zone as well”. Mr. Lancer only gets to nod as Danny’s ghost sense goes off, “well duty calls, toddles”. Danny hardly heard Mr. Lancers “have a safe night” as he waves and flies through the wall.

Danny Phantom high-fives Danny Fenton, it was a pretty easy choice to make the clone play the role of Phantom. Since Phantom just up and disappearing suddenly isn’t exactly all that weird.

Fenton patting himself down as he leaves the bathroom, while Phantom flies and sits invisibly in the classroom.

Sitting down, Fenton’s sure he’s the only one who knows Phantom’s here. Well, until Valerie comes in, glares at her sensor before glaring at the front left corner of the room.

Mr. Lancer raises his eyebrow questioningly at Danny Fenton, so Phantom takes that as his cue to pop into visibility. Scaring the crap out of half the class and Mr. Lancer, even Valerie snickers at that; while Fenton, Phantom and Tucker smirk. Danny seriously hopes that the attention stays squarely on Phantom him as Phantom starts talking, “so obviously I’m not actually a teacher. And I’m a fly by the cuff kind of guy so don’t expect this to be structured”. Phantom, shrugging at Mr. Lancers raised eyebrow, “what? I’m not a planner”, before turning to the class and deciding to just start this before he gets bombarded with questions, “I’d figured I’d start with Pariah Dark, since you’ve all actually met him in a sense. That and he’s old”. Most of the class looks confused already, so clearly, Danny’s doing a great job here. Phantom, chuckling, “Pariah’s the guy who transported Amity into the Zone for a while. He’s one of the oldest ghosts around and once held the title of ghost king. Though he was a tyrant, ruled through power, fear and destruction of other ghosts lairs. Originally defeated by a group of, now unknown, ancient ghosts”. Danny really hopes Paulina has an actual question not a confession of love, as Phantom calls on her, “but didn’t you defeat Mr. Floaty face alone?”.

“I had a strength-enhancing suit but otherwise yes. Hopefully this time he’ll stay sealed away”, Phantom elects to move one before they ask if there’s a new king, “we do have other rulers though, some areas of the zone are kingdoms or nations. Those places all have a ruler or leader of some kind. Most have ruled their entire existence, like Pandora and Frostbite. Queen of Mythos and Leader of the FarFrozen. So there’s really no stories there. Ghosts don’t have elections or change leaders the way humans do”.

Phantom smirks as he crosses his legs, floating in the air, it’s really no surprise to him that his classmates are actually paying attention. “Queen Dora is an exception. She actually overthrew her brother, after he tried to forcefully wed a human and that human-made her see that she didn’t have to tolerate her brother’s abuse anymore. Aragon, her brother, was and still is a basket case. He trapped his whole kingdom in the dark ages and pretty much hated technology and happiness. Dora undid that though, so the kingdom of dragons is much happier now”.

Fenton can’t help but laugh a bit, only managing to school Phantoms’ expression as he overhears someone mutter, “wow, what a dick”. Phantom, tapping his chin, decides he doesn’t really care if the Observants don’t like it. He’s gonna talk about them, possibly just to bug them, “we also have another more universal governing body, kind of like checks and balances. The Observants, they watch pretty well everything every ghost does or is going to do. Acting as judge and jury, but never actually interfering. They just make others do their dirty work”.

Mr. Lancer shakes his head, “so like our government then”. Phantom nods as he points at Kwan’s raised hand, “well why didn’t they do something about that ghost king guy? Or get someone else to do something?”.

“Because they knew I would, that and Pariah wasn’t a zone or earth destroying issue. The Observants only meddle in the most extreme things. Pariah instilled fear not destruction, on ghosts. So he likely wasn’t much of a concern to them”, honestly Danny feels they really should have done something. That guy was pretty well fucking with everything, but Danny did defeat him so he can’t complain too much. Plus, if he were to ask ClockWork, he’d probably say Danny needed to become the ghost king and that had been the only way; or the least unpleasant way.

“Do you work for these guys?”, Danny can feel the mistrust and accusation in Valerie’s voice. “No, I’ve never done any work for them and I don’t work under them. Only one ghost actually works for them, but they can and will ask pretty well any ghost to do a job. I wouldn’t be too surprised if they eventually ask something of me”.

Phantom floats to the floor laughing a bit as ClockWork pops up, waving his hand at the time ghost, “yeah yeah I get it. I’ll shut the hell up. And you know I wouldn’t tell them about you, or Dan”. ClockWork still bops him on the head with his staff for good measure, “Oh I know, and yes the Observants are thoroughly bothered”. Both of them smirk as ClockWork takes his leave, Danny’s going to just assume he was about to say something stupid to the class. No clue what but that’s expected really. That or someone was about to ask something stupid, and Phantom suddenly changing positions instantly would catch them off guard enough to not ask.

Phantom turns his head back to the class, who all look a bit confused. Phantom just smirks more, “there was a visitor, nothing to worry about though. Friendly fellow”

“Can ghosts sense each other!?”, Danny’s honestly surprised it took this long for someone to ask more general ghost shit. Though Mr. Lancer glares at Mikey a bit, sighs and turns to Phantom, “you don’t have to answer that. This isn’t a q and a”. While Mr. Lancer’s right, Danny can’t really blame them. Heck, he’d probably get bombarded with questions if he actually stuck around after fights. Well, that and get shot at. Though he knows that if he really indulges the question he’ll be inviting more of them, “you’re teacher’s right, but that ability is unique to me. Anyway, that’s pretty well it for ruling ghosts. Most ghosts are loners rather than living in an established group. But we do have an overarching society. Mostly just norms everyone follows, like not destroying others lairs or making your name known to a worthy opponent. And there’s really only one real holiday, rather than the many humans observe”.

Danny can tell Valerie is suspicious of something, not sure what but still. So he calls on Dash’s raised hand before she can say something, “that must be one big holiday and party then”. And Danny catches one of the geeks' mutter, “bet is Halloween or something like it”.

Chucking Phantom addresses the Geek, who clearly didn’t expect his comment to be heard. more so than Dash, “while I have a soft spot for Halloween, it’s actually Christmas. Known as the Christmas Truce, like with humans Christmas used to be called Yule and was started by some of the first ghosts. As a way to instil unity and decrease the, at the time, near constant fighting. No fighting is allowed and ghosts all get together with friend and foe alike, for food, drink and merriment. Skulker’s renowned for his unusually good lemon Creme pie”. Danny catches a few people muttering, surprised, about how ghosts actually eat food. Danny apparently didn’t do a good enough job at distracting Valerie as she points accusingly at Phantom, while Fenton groans and mouths “here we go” at Tucker. Both Fenton and Tucker turn and mildly glad at Valerie, as she talks or more so snaps, “ignoring the idea of ghosts being “merry” and cooking in their spare time. With ghost rulers, I’m pretty sure you glanced over yourself, unless that crown is just for kicks”. Danny can tell she’s feeling smug as a couple people look at him and nod. Though Mr. Lancer looks like he wants to interject again, as Mr. Lancer remembers that Phantom warmed somethings would be off limits, so Phantom shakes his head at him.

Danny’s not about to give Valerie the satisfaction, and there’s really no good reason to not respond. People are going to keep asking, eventually, “I was wondering how long it would take for someone to call me on that. I intentionally left myself out purely to see how long it would take. I enjoy a bit of harmless mischief you know”. Smirking at Valerie’s annoyed grimace before actually answering her question, “and really the answer is why I even know all this stuff. Ghosts generally don’t know much of our history, we don’t get taught it after all. Most only know what they’ve actually been around for. Though any ghost who wants to know the publicly available bits of ghost history could do so easily, most simply see no need to”. Now Valerie’s just plain annoyed with Phantom and Tucker is trying hard not to laugh while giving Fenton discrete thumbs up. Both Danny’s smirk at Tuckers’ clear approval of dragging this out just to bug Valerie.

Phantom, shrugging exaggeratedly at the class, “I’ve been taught it because, after all, it would be pretty sad if the Ghost King didn’t know his subjects and worlds history”. Mr. Lancer’s the first to audibly react, choking on his tea a bit and staring at Phantom incredulously. Danny’s classmates are quicker to accept this as true and Valerie looks flat out pissed off. Half the class nearly shouting at him, “what!”. While Tucker and Fenton both put their heads on their respective desks in an attempt to muffle their laughter. Danny’s trying to get all his laughter out through Fenton, since he doesn’t want Phantom to look mocking. Though he can’t keep Phantom from snickering and laughing a bit as well, “that was my original reaction!”. Composing himself a bit and giving a lazy smile, that he hopes is reassuring or comforting, “but yes, I pretty much usurped Pariah from power and thus took his place as Ghost King. Even if I didn’t even know that was possible at the time”. Phantom gives Valerie the best subtle, I’m-not-a-power-hungry-asshole look he can; without making the rest of the class suspicious.

Mr. Lancer is clearly a bit frazzled, as he adjusts his tie, “that is a bit startling Mr. Phantom. But I guess you really were the best choice for this then”. Meanwhile, Star whispers at Fenton, “oh my god, you knew”. Fenton only nods while wheezing and Phantom forces himself to not comment on that.

Instead addressing the whole class, “indeed, really if you need any ghostly info I’ve probably got it. Doesn’t mean I’ll actually tell you though. And if I’m refusing to give you certain information then it’s not something you should, or want to, know”.

“You're a ghost. No reason to trust you on that”, most of the class, including Fenton, rolls their eyes at Valerie. While Danny decides to have Phantom pretty much do his job and mediate between the species, “true, I am a ghost, but that matters not. You’re coming from a place of opinion not reason. But that’s expected. Listening to what I have to say, whether you agree with it or not, is well enough. Somethings I know should not be known by others, not because it could harm ghosts, but because it could damage the timestream, reality itself, or drastically increase the chances of mass destruction”. Danny’s not sure what to make of Valerie’s facial expression, like a mixture of shock, confusion and complete annoyance.

Knowing full well he’d rather not have another incident like when the GIW tried to destroy the zone, “Further, anything that seriously damages the Ghost Zone will have the same effect on earth. Our worlds exist in duality, due to that only certain ghosts known everything. Ghosts that get along with humanity or at least don’t wish to harm humanity. In a sense part of my job is this, keeping the peace and making sure nothing serious happens to either world”.

Giving Valerie a soft smile, “I may be the Ghost King but I am also earths protector. From uniformed human actions, to truly evil ghosts, and outside forces”.

This seems to pull the rest of the class into normalcy a bit though,

“Who’s the most powerful ghost?”

“Do you have servants?”

“Castle?”

“Can you make people knights?”

“Do you rule over Amity too?”

Mr. Lancer actually stands up at this and puts his hands up, “enough, enough. None of that has to do with history”. Phantom shrugs a bit, “well technically anything to do with me is history, or will be. My very existence was even prophesied and I’m worshiped as a god by some, I’m pretty well the only ghost worshiped by other ghosts. But I’m not here to talk about myself. So any history questions that aren’t specifically about me”. Danny does overhear a couple people muttering, “he’s a god?”, and, “just how many titles does this guy hold?”. But he doesn’t want to feed that train of thought, otherwise, this is going to take way too long. Specially if he was fully honest, which he can’t be.

“Has there been any other ghosts like the Pariah Guy? That had to be removed or sealed or whatever?”

“Are there things besides ghosts that are important? Like how the Statue of Liberty is?”

Danny’s not really surprised it’s the geeks with the questions, as Phantom responds, “yes there have been, three of which I’ve dealt with myself. Vortex, the one responsible for the really strange weather for that short while, UnderGrowth, the one responsible for all that vine and plant stuff everywhere, and the last one isn’t to be talked about”. Phantom frowns to emphasise his point before continuing, “other than that, Betrex is the only other. Betrex enslaved a large portion of humanity back in the human dark ages. Both Betrex and Vortex were dealt with originally by the Observants. And there are lots of different artifacts that are important, but most are supposed to be kept a secret so that no one uses them. But there are some I can talk about, for one Pandora’s Box is very much real. It’s used to siphon out evil energy from the zone”. Mr. Lancer looks thoroughly pleased with this which makes Phantom smirk.

“That’s the only one you’ve likely heard of though. But you have seen another one, the red crystal ball staff that circus gothica guy had. Staff Of Minds, it’s called, it can mind control ghosts. Make slaves really, it’s destroyed now”. Phantom shakes his head and chuckles, “really Freakshow has a bad habit of getting his hands on powerful ghost artifacts. He also had the Reality Gauntlet, which is what Thanos’s Infinity Gauntlet is based off of”.

The geeks in the back row look like they’re having a field day so Danny decides to be a bit of an ass, “which has also been destroyed”. Yup, the freaking out geeks look decently crushed, “but it was one of the more important artifacts. Since it created the Ghost Zone, the Reality Gauntlet can completely control all of reality. So it’s vastly more powerful than its comic book counterpart”.

Valerie is pretty much the only student that doesn’t look impressed, instead she just looks horrified, so Danny decides to make a bit of a point, Phantom looking at her while running a hand through his hair, “technically I didn’t have to destroy it but I decided it wasn’t worth the risk of someone stealing it from me. It was enough of a pain getting it away from FreakShow as it was”.

Tucker decides that’s the time to speak up, pointing at Phantom, “it did look good on you though”. Both Fenton and Phantom nod, completely agreeing. Honestly, sometimes he wishes he kept it. Sure he’d never use it for anything more than fun and to fix major fuck ups. But it really was better destroyed.

“Everything looks good on you”, Paulina barely bothers to whisper and Danny has to stop both of himselves from groaning. Valerie, however, flat out groans; though she’s eyeing Phantom a bit confused.

“The only other major items I can really talk about is the Ring of Rage and the Crown of Fire. Both of which Pariah used to strengthen himself. You need both to use either. Basically, the wearer has accesses to infinite power, but it’ll destroy the wearer if they’re not strong enough to handle the base power of the items”, Valerie looks drastically more horrified and Danny can’t blame her, she was literally wearing the ring. Phantom points at Dash, “dude, then how the heck did you even defeat him? How do you defeat infinite power?”.

Phantom smirks, “he could only access the amount his own power and body could handle. Just because you have access to infinite power, doesn’t mean you can actually use all of it. The suit I had, amplified my strength a hundredfold, which was only barely enough”.

“So this suit is stronger than the crown and ring?”

Phantom screws his face up a bit, “no, not even kind of. That suit nearly destroyed me, and it would have killed any human who used it. I destroyed that as well. The suit was a hundredfold but the crown and ring is easily, for me, over five thousand fold”. This time Danny catches Valerie actually look for the ring on him, which he is of course wearing.

Glaring at him, “you’re wearing them”. Even Mr. Lancer looks at him worried due to Valerie’s remark. Phantom smirks, “of course, they’re also known as the kings crown and rulers ring for a reason. Technically, they’re a requirement. A painful one, but still”. And this is why Danny’s glad he’s got an absurd pain tolerance. Though it clearly startles his family sometimes.

Mr. Lancer clearly wants to change the subject at this point and it’s also clear he’s cringing a bit, “well, we’re running short on time so any other important events or people?”.

“Basically all the important ghosts I can talk about are rulers so that’s a no. As for events, the blood blossom purge was a big one and the Bermuda Triangle caused a war for a good ten wars. Basically, anything that disappears there, shows up in the Ghost Zone. And it causes an issue every time. Ghosts fight over what to do, and if anyone owns the random things”.

Frowning a bit, “the Blood Blossom purge was more serious. It’s a plant that was intentionally driven to mass extinction. From pictures, it looked a lot like book burning but with plants. Still to this day, it’s basically a requirement that if anyone finds one of those flowers they have to destroy it. Not doing so is pretty much the harshest rule you could break”. Valerie smirks a bit, “those plants must be pretty harmful to you guys then”.

Phantom glares at her a bit, “in a sense. And while ghosts really don’t care about, mind or will even encourage ghost hunting gear. Anything Blood Blossom related isn’t tolerated. If, say, a human, whether hunter or not, had Blood Blossoms and was making it difficult or impossible for ghosts to destroy it. The Observants would get involved and would have no problem erasing that human from existence. Either by flat out killing them, making it so they were never born in the first place, or destroying the entire town. There’s a reason no one likes the Observants, they do not care about anyone’s existence. They see only the bigger picture, if they decide obliterating half the zone or killing off hundreds of humans is what’s best, they’ll see it gets done; unless someone makes doing that impossible”. Danny’s sure he went a little too hard there but, based on Valerie’s face, his point was made.

Tucker whispers to Fenton, “a little overboard dude”. Turning around to him a bit, “you should have heard CW’s speech. The big O’s are more than just serious about this”. Tucker and Fenton share a grimace.

Aiming to soften and lighten the mood a bit, “I’ve already had to get in their way once, so they don’t exactly like me and I don’t care for them. Even if they are needed and do their jobs exceptionally well, they just have wonky priorities”. Snickering a bit, “pretty much every ghost who knows about them intentionally bugs them. Annoying them is the original reason I even mentioned them, and they can’t do anything about. Even if there is around five thousand of them”.

Mr. Lancer shakes his head a little startled, having not expected ghosts to be quite so powerful, “I can’t say I like these guys either, Mr. Phantom”, turning to the class, “does anyone have any final questions. Questions that are actually relevant please”.

“Do you guys celebrate the creation of the Ghost Zone? And what about birthdays?”

Phantom can’t help but chuckle, “deathdays actually and yes we celebrate them. It’s up to the individual ghost how though, and before you ask, don’t ask a ghost when they’re deathday is. It’s insanely rude, and no I won’t, or more specifically can’t, tell you mine. Very few actually know when the Ghost Zone was created for sure, so no we don’t celebrate it”. Danny can tell the class is torn between finding “deathday” funny or unpleasant. Though Danny’s just impressed that Valerie actually puts her hand up this time.

“What about the existence of hal-”, Danny knows where this is going and Phantom promptly cuts her off with an ecto-gag. Because it’s way better to be a bit suspicious than having her blab about that while his human form is within easy comparison sight.

Glaring at her, “you’re being quite the trouble maker. That’s pretty well one of the number one things that are not to be talked about. So keep that to yourself unless you want to get people killed”. Thankfully, Valerie only glares as the gag dissolved while Tucker covers up his gaping mouth with his hand.

A couple people mutter, wondering what it is Valerie knows but promptly shut up at Phantoms mild glaring. “I’m not going to withhold information or keep something secret without a good reason. So don’t go questioning her about this”. Pretty well everyone nods as the bell goes off, but Mr. Lancer motions for Phantom to stick around. Which leaves Danny even more glad he’s gotten good at this.

Phantom floats, legs crossed, in the air as Mr. Lancer sits back down, “I’ll admit, I learned more than even I expected here. I don’t think I grasped just how powerful of a ghost you really are”. Phantom smirks, “yeah my small size and general light-hearted demeanour can be a bit misleading. I don’t act remotely as strong as I am and I have no interest in doing so. I only exercise major power or my position when it’s really needed”.

“You’re a very surprising fellow, Phantom. For seeming so young, you’re clearly wise. I’m glad the position of king fell on someone like you and thank you for coming in”, Mr. Lancer reads Phantoms slightly amused face before asking the question that Phantom knows he wants to, “feel up to doing this again sometime? Obviously not on a specific schedule, too risky for you”.

Phantom smiles lightly and nods, “I’ve had lots of experience with lots of things. And experience begets wisdom so to speak. But sure, I’d be up for it. Though dealing with any ghost issues comes first so don’t be surprised if I occasionally cancel or suddenly leave”.

“But of course, I wouldn’t expect anything different”, with that the two wave as Phantom phases through the ceiling.

Meanwhile, Fenton promptly gets corned by Valerie just outside of class. “question, do you know what I was talking about in there? Before I was rudely cut off by your “friend””, Danny can tell she’s unimpressed and still very much not fond of Phantom. “If what you’re thinking of involves a little girl, then yes. If the wrong people hear or find out about that the gov will destroy her. So seriously don’t”, obviously Valerie takes Fenton more seriously and nods curtly.

“All right Danny. I’ve got no problem believing you and that does make sense. Still don’t like that you’re helping a ghost. But it’s your life I guess”. Chuckling, “you don’t know the half of it”.

End.

#danny phantom #phandom #dannymay19 #dannymay #history #mr. lancer #danny fenton #valerie #paulina #tucker foley #ghost hisotry #ghost king danny #clockwork #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick

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all-of-the-imagines-for-eve · 5 years

Text

Lonley ~ Embry Call (Part 5)

A/n: I had a few people ask me for a new part to this so I reread the series and oh my gosh yes! I've missed writing this ugh.

Word Count: 2700+

Warnings: Back lash of abuse, mostly fluff though

MASTERLIST

I was not a runner, let me say that now. Despite that, I ran a lot that day. I ran until my feet finally lost purchase in the soft dirt as the rain started to fall lightly, softening it up. I fell and lay there for a long time. I'd turned onto my back and was looking up at the sunlight coming through the trees and the clouds swirling in the sky before I closed my eyes, finally breaking down completely as I just let the rain fall and wet me.

Never in my life had I been a crier. I suffered in silent stillness. It was the only way I could get back at my mom for always wanting me to be lively and happy and perfect. A proper girl was emotional and tender and brittle so to spite her, I didn't cry when I was upset. Even as a child I threw very few fits that even others could recall. It started a whole thing, with my mom telling me no and making life even more miserable just to get me to lash out. I'd refused then as I refused now and eventually she'd given up on me. That's when abuse became more focused and direct, without censors or tricks. That's when it became tearing me down and ripping me up with words and looks and scoffs and eye rolls and mantras to remind me where I stood in the word. When she had changed as well when it came to other people. She’d gotten so good at being fake when we had guests that I felt insane for wondering if she was as terrible as I knew her to be. She broke me then made me wonder if I was just crazy or if she really was to blame. It all didnt matter though. I stuck it out. I stayed strong.

Just as I had then, I didn't cry now. I closed my eyes and let the feelings in my body explode, simply wallowing in them. I didn't do that much either but everyone needs to wallow every once in a while and right now, thinking and feeling a million things in the forrest, laying on the ground as the rain fell, I felt it was a dramatic enough setting to be edgy.

"Paul said I should leave you alone and let you brood." I sighed internally. "But Sam said that if my gut was telling me to go after you I should. So here I am."

Taking a second to collect my thoughts so I didn't say something I'd regret - whether it be rude or just cringey - I swallowed, breathing in deeply and then letting it out slowly. "Embry," I greeted evenly.

He moved closer. "I'm not going to force you to talk or touch you if you don't want. Instead, I'm just going to sit next to you so you're not alone... and so I know you're safe and so I can be here if you need me." He stopped talking and despite myself I felt the comfort of his presence. My body was less heavy, my thoughts were less dark. It felt like the weight I had been carrying my whole life was suddenly lighter and as I sat there, even though I couldn't see him, I knew it was because he was helping me hold it up.

At some point he lay down next to me and I relaxed even more. My face went smooth and my mind went blank, all the remaining emotions slipping away until I was empty. My fingers twitched, tapping briefly against his. He inched his hand closer, ghosting around mine as he debated. I stretched my fingers, touching him more firmly. I imagined his smile as he interlocked his fingers with mine. The emptiness inside of me was already different than I knew emptiness. Before, I felt like the cage that a werewolf had been held in over night- excuse the irony of the comparison. The point is, when I had my silent break downs like this, I was always left with a sort of raw, ruined feeling afterwsrf. As if my emotions had dug their claws into my ribs and muscle and dragged, ripping it up and leaving me with dull aches and a throbbing hollowness that almost made me want to break down all over again, except that I couldn't because I just didn't have the energy in me.

This emptiness though... It was easy. Peaceful. An empty schedule after a long day. Resting in a field that had no one else for miles, leaving you alone with the smell of the woods and flowers and the feeling of sunshine on your skin. This was the feeling of standing in your doorway and looking at your room as you headed off for a long trip, or were just getting back. It was familiar and comfortable, more sweet than bitter even though it did still have that mix. An empty lunchbox after you finished eating.

My eyes opened and I looked over at Embry. He was already looking at me, his gaze open and honest as he stared at me with blazing admiration. With... with an emotion I could almost name but was far too scared to approach. I cleared my throat but unlike I'd gotten used to him doing, he didn't bother to look away once I'd caught him staring. He just hummed, letting me know he was listening.

My insides warmed and softened and I noticed the ends of his hair tickling his forehead and the reflection of the green woods, discolored in his brown eyes. He was so beautiful and it wasn't the first time I was noticing this but I just couldn't comprehend... "Why me?"

His eyebrows scrunched together and he focused more on me. It wasn't an angry or severe expression, his body too relaxed to correctly apply the deep confusion he was feeling. "What do you mean?"

I hadn't meant to say it out loud but now that we were here I didn't find it fair to just stop talking. Not that he'd let me. This was Embry Call- he'd pester endlessly until I told him and eventually I'd give in because who could resist him? So I'd just skip that part. "I..." I sat up, eyebrows knitting as my inner calm was disrupted by my self hate. He recharged me so quickly, I was already feeling emotions again... "You saw it yourself. You can't have not guessed by now. I know what people on the Rez say about my mom, and they're right. She's full of herself and in the clouds and self glorifying and she loathes my dad for somehow convincing her to see the world and not just herself and then leaving her alone in a world that hated her because of how poorly she treated everyone in it. He was the only person she loved more than herself and now she's alone to face the lonely isolation she's made for herself and she hates him for it." I swallowed, feeling Embry's eyes on me. I'd pulled my fingers out of his and now the abandoned hand rubbed soothing patterns on my back. It was so hard to concentrated with him around. "She took all that fear and self hate and regret and anger and channeled it into destroying herself and anyone around her.

"Especially me." My voice broke and I closed my eyes. "I'm pretty and have a life full of possibilities and she couldn't STAND the thought that I would have a happy ending when she'd denied herself one. I- I'm years of programming and poisoning and brainwashing. Years of a- abuse-" My eyes close tighter and Embry sat up too, scooting close. My chest seized. What was going on?! "I- I'm going to be so much work, Em. You'll constantly have to remind me of things and work again and again to help me rewrite myself. I'm going to have BAD days that leave me lashing out at you or pushing you away and then being mad when you leave me alone. I'm going to have feelings I can't describe and thoughts you can't help me get rid of and so. Much. Baggage.

"You could meet someone else. You don't have to love me. Be with me. You're so young and handsome and easy going and funny and down to Earth. You bring such a light and have this life in you- it's amazing. I'm... damaged goods."

There was where I stopped. I expected him to argue with me or to yell at me or sigh and roll his eyes. I expected him to maybe pity me, his face soft and twisted in concern and that expression that let you know someone thought you were sad and just a little pathetic. I expected him to get up and leave me alone in the woods, offering awkward apologies and half efforted explanations before he told me something about how I wasn't ready to be loved and he wasn't equipped to help me heal.

None of that happened. He rubbed my back until he was sure I was done talking and then he very softly relayed, "I love you."

It wasn't too casual or at all forced. It didn't make me anxious or surprised and leave me stuttering, trying to find a way to say it back or get out if the awkward situation if I couldn't find it in me to reply. It felt so right that I opened my eyes and looked at him, trying not to fall into the ease and belief that was begging to he felt. "Do you love me because I'm your imprint?"

He sighed through his nose, thinking seriously about it before he spoke. "Maybe," he relented. "If I hadn't imprinted on you we wouldn't know each other. Bella would have kept crying about how much she missed you but you would have left that day and who would I have been to stop you?" He paused. "Or maybe Bella would finally break like she almost had so many times and just told you every thing. Maybe you'd demanded proof and eventually we would have met and very, very slowly developed a friendship." He paused again. "But you wouldn't have given me a single chance if I asked you out. If you thought I had a choice. And I mean I do have a choice for the most part. But... I don't think I'd chose anyone else. Any other way." He looked at me very seriously. "Because you're not just damaged goods. You're..." He swallowed. "Your smile is small and shy and your laugh is short and bubbly. You put your hand over your mouth when you smile like smiling is a sin and you touch me like you would a stove top- like it hurts you. But you touch me like that because I'm the only person that DOESN'T hurt you and that terrifies you. You're- you're this beautiful flower, all delicate and pretty. Except-" He struggled, trying to come up with an analogy. "Except that you're looking at all the Roses in the flower beds and you think because you're not a rose and you've been picked from the garden that you're less than but Y/n I assure you-" He leaned even closer. "You are just as stunning as any other flower. Girl. Whatever you know what I mean." We both chuckled. "When you get a bouquet you don't care which flowers made it up- they all smell good. You're special because you're mine and I love you."

I actually smiled. "I still think you deserve better." His nose brushed mine as he leaned in even closer and I gasped, only just realizing the little amount of space between us.

Friends didn't confess their love to each other while the rain was falling, making cheesy analogies to express intense feelings. Friends didn't sit close and notice how attractive the other was. Friends didn't talk about the situation and make the comparisons we just had. Friends didn't kiss.

His lips pressed against mine and I jerked forward, kissing him back as if I was an old car sputtering to life. I tried to slow down and focus on how he moved his lip, trying to mimic him and cover up the complete lack of experience I had. He chuckled, leaning back. "Let me lead." It was gentle and amused but his words reminded me of dancing and I tried to think of it that way. He kissed me again and this time I let my eyes close more softly, my body relaxing as I let my instincts half take over, following his lead. My hands moved on their own accord, fingers slipping into the short hair at the back of his neck. I pulled him harder to me and suddenly he was leaning forward. I lay back again as he followed, ending up hovering over me, his exposed torso something I'd gotten used to... except that it was very apparent to me that he was shirtless as my fingers danced along his neck.

He broke away to tap our foreheads together to allow us a second to catch our breath. Then he was back at it, pushing with his nose to go from forehead touching to kissing again.

He was warm. My hands moved from his neck down, tracing over his bare arms and pulling him closer, basking in his warmth as it rained. A raindrop hit my forehead and I gasped at how cold it was. When had it gotten so hot?

Leaning back, I looked up at him. I moved my hands to his face, thumbs tracing every line and dip and curve as I tried to memorize him, in this moment, with me. "Am I dreaming?"

Embry smiled. "Hopefully not. That would mean that I was dreaming too and I've wanted to kiss you too long to wake up and have it not be real." I was already blushing but by the way his eyes focused intently on my face, I knew that my expression had softened and warmed in that mesmerizing way his did when he was thinking about or having a gentle moment. He suddenly stood, offering me his hands. I took them and he pulled me to my feet. The rain was letting up now but we were nearly drenched all the way through. "Tonight I'll grab clothes from your room but for now I'll take you to Emily's and see if she has anything for you. If not I'll give you something." He chuckled. "Maybe she'll at least have pants or shorts or sweats or something. Then you won't have to deal with dude pants that are too big for you."

He pulled me after him and I silently followed him. I shivered again after a while and he pulled me into his side, hid warmth blocking out all of the cold. I almost wanted a piggy back ride but my jeans were wet and it would have been uncomfortable for the both of us more than it would have been soothing like if I had been in dry clothes.

I wasn't totally sure about him yet, but that emotion that had been bubbling in my chest and stomach all day had worked into my blood, rushing to my brain and changing the entire inner function of my body. I wasn't running on blood now- I was running on Embry. His smell and the feel of his lips on mine. The weight of his arm around my shoulder, his laugh, his smile, the way he looked at me like I was the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Like I was precious and special- like he was terrified to lose me because if he did it would destroy him. It didn't matter that I didn't have a single idea where I would be living now or what was coming next. In this moment it was me and Em, laughing and being close together with the memory of our first kisses between us.

And maybe... that feeling I hadn't been able to name just yet. Well maybe I loved him too. What else mattered with such distracting things in my head?

Forever Tag List: @bitchyseawitch @chipster-21 @alexa-playafricabytoto @justanotherdaydreamersoul

Story Tag List: @plantyourtrees--watchthemgrow

#Embry call #twilight #new moon #breaking dawn #eclipse #wolf pack #wolf pack x reader #wolf pack imagines #kiowa gordon #kiowa gordon imagine #kiowa gordon x reader #embry call imagine #embry call x reader #twilight imagines

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jaynaneeya · 5 years

Text

And Then There Were More

To be clear, the entirety of Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party is perfect and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but here’s what I think might have happened if Chapter 5 had gone slightly differently.

***

“Miss Agatha Christie, we are indeed – Eddie?” Edgar Allan Poe gasped.

Agatha Christie was standing just outside the door, with a man whose arm she was twisting behind his back. The man was unmistakably Eddie Dantes, and he was very much alive. “You know him?” Agatha asked Edgar, releasing her grip on Eddie. “He just tried to stab me,” she added, holding up the small knife she had wrestled from his hand.

“I thought she was the murderer!” Eddie protested, massaging his wrist, as Edgar, Lenore, Emily, and HG all gaped at him in astonishment.

“The murderer?” Christie repeated.

“People have been dying here all night, right?” Eddie appealed to the others.

“Yeah, and you were one of them!” snapped Lenore. “How are you alive? And what are you doing out here?”

Before Eddie could reply, they all heard a scream. They hurried in the direction of the sound, and found Oscar Wilde pounding on the bathroom door, calling, “Mary Ann!”

“What’s going on? Where’s Annabel?” Edgar demanded.

“She went to find you,” Oscar told him. “Wait, Eddie? Are you…a ghost?”

“No, I’m alive, I was just…pretending to be dead, so I could catch the murderer.”

“But… you were the first victim,” HG pointed out. “When you faked your death, there was no murderer to catch yet.”

“George Eliot’s in trouble; let’s talk about this later,” Emily interjected, pushing her way to the front of the group and forcing in the door.

To their dismay, George Eliot was slumped on the floor, with his/her head in a picture frame. While everyone else was frozen in shock, Annabel Lee rushed in. “There you are! What’s-” she stopped suddenly. “Eddie?!” she cried. “You’re alive?!” she threw her arms around him.

“Yes, my dear, I’m so sorry, I-”

“She’s still breathing!” Edgar exclaimed, unsure whether he was more excited that George Eliot was still alive or that it gave him an excuse to interrupt Eddie and Annabel.

To Edgar’s delight, Annabel immediately broke away from Eddie and knelt beside George, who gasped and opened his/her eyes. “I have something important to say.”

“Yes? Who did this to you?” Annabel asked.

“You may not believe it, but I –” taking off the hat, “George Eliot –” and the mustache, “am a woman.”

“Yes, dear, we knew that already, but who-?” but George Eliot had died.

Annabel turned back to Eddie. “How are you alive?” she asked.

“Wait!” Edgar interrupted dramatically. “Where’s Ernest?”

“Let me get this straight,” Agatha Christie broke in. “There’s a murderer in this house, and you’re not keeping track of where everyone is at all times?”

“He was with us in the vault right before you arrived,” HG told her defensively.

“Maybe he’s in the study with Charlotte,” Emily suggested.

“Why aren’t you all staying together?” wondered the baffled Miss Christie. “No wonder you’re all dying. How many deaths have there been so far?”

“Five,” said Edgar.

“Four,” Oscar corrected, nodding to Eddie.

“Okay, now are you going to tell us how you’re still alive?” Lenore asked.

“First let’s make sure Ernest and Charlotte are okay. Then I’ll explain everything,” Eddie promised.

They all returned to the study. Charlotte was tied to the chair, just as they’d left her. Ernest was standing near the doorway, holding a bunch of knives, looking confused. “Where were you?” he asked them.

“We could ask you the same question,” Oscar countered. “What are you doing with all those knives?”

“I brought them for everyone, for protection.”

Agatha groaned and sank into a chair, her face in her hands. “You all are the worst!”

“Who’s she?” Hemingway asked.

“Agatha Christie,” Eddie responded.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Charlotte asked him. “And aren’t you all satisfied that I can’t be the murderer? How am I still tied up?”

As Ernest used one of his knives to cut through the wires that bound Charlotte, Eddie finally began his tale. “As soon as I took a bite of my soup, I could tell that something was wrong with it.”

“How dare you?!” Lenore cried.

“Someone had clearly poisoned it. I could tell they were trying to kill me, so I decided my best hope of escaping death was to pretend to be dead already. I’ve been trying to catch the murderer, and I thought I’d been successful when I saw Miss Christie at the door.” He glared at her. “I’m still not convinced I was wrong. Where have you been all this time?”

“I told Edgar I was going to be late, as I had a previous engagement. I got here as soon as I could, which wasn’t nearly soon enough, apparently, but shockingly, I don’t expect everywhere I go to give me inspiration for my next mystery novel.”

Emily spoke up. “I had some of the soup.”

“Is that how you died?” Charlotte asked.

“I’m still alive!”

“Which means the soup wasn’t poisoned, and Eddie’s lying!” Edgar hastily concluded.

“Did you eat soup out of my bowl?” Eddie asked.

“No, out of the pot in the kitchen.”

“Then perhaps someone just poisoned my bowl.”

“It must have been Lenore,” Oscar asserted. “She’s the one who served the soup with her weird ghost powers.”

“Okay, will someone please coherently explain exactly what has happened here tonight?” Agatha requested. “I need to know what I missed in order to solve this mystery.”

“I am clearly the best at explaining things concisely,” Ernest bragged, taking a swig from his flask.

“You’re also drunk,” Edgar pointed out, “and as this is my house, I will tell Miss Christie what’s going on.”

Edgar explained as best he could the events surrounding the fake death of Eddie and the real deaths of Louisa May Alcott, Mary Shelley, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and George Eliot. The expression on Agatha Christie’s face grew more and more incredulous as he described their reactions, and she burst out with a loud “WHAT?!” when he mentioned that they had split up to search the house.

“And aside from the vial of poison with the blood on it, you’ve found no clues whatsoever?” Agatha asked him when he’d concluded.

“None,” he confirmed. He hadn’t mentioned the handkerchief because it seemed to implicate Annabel, though the tender way she’d been caressing Eddie’s hand throughout his tale had almost tempted him to do so. Poe glared at the others present, daring them to mention it, but no one was saying anything.

Agatha considered carefully for a moment. “It almost makes sense… Edgar, what painting did you have in your bathroom that George Eliot could have been murdered with?”

Edgar raised an eyebrow. “What kind of person has paintings in their bathroom?”

“I have five in mine,” Oscar remarked.

“What happened to your sleeve?” Agatha asked him.

“Ugh, Miss Brontë spilled wine on it. I was going to change, but I didn’t get the chance,” he added, putting his jacket back on to hide the stain.

“Because you insisted that George go into the bathroom,” Annabel said accusatorially.

“She was covered in birdie bits! I was being a gentleman.”

“Shall we all return to the washroom to see what that painting was?” HG suggested.

“No matter, I know what it was now, thank you,” Agatha responded, to the others’ astonishment.

After a long enough pause to make clear that she was not intending on saying anything further, Ernest blurted out, “So, what was it?”

“What? Oh, a painting of Oscar Wilde, of course. But what I don’t understand is how… there must be… but who…?” she trailed off pensively.

“Eddie, darling, who do you think was trying to kill you?” Annabel asked quietly, trying not to disturb Agatha.

“I don’t know, my dear. I can’t think of any enemies or rivals I might have.” He stared pointedly at Poe.

Annabel followed his gaze. Edgar had clearly overheard them and was fuming. “No, Edgar couldn’t do this,” she insisted. “He’s a good man.”

Eddie snorted. “A good man?” he repeated loudly. “He can’t even hold a dinner party that more than half his guests survive!”

“Hey, way less than half have died!” Edgar objected.

“Yeah, so far,” Eddie scoffed. “Obviously the safest thing was to pretend to be dead.”

“I’m missing something…” Agatha muttered.

“M-may I make a suggestion?” HG stammered.

“By all means,” Edgar sighed.

“If Miss Christie needs more assistance, per- perhaps Lenore could, uh, contact the psychic who conjured her ghost to, uh, summon some of the people who died here tonight? I’m sure at least one of them saw whomever killed them.”

“Surely Miss Christie can solve this murder without the assistance of ghosts,” Eddie asserted.

Agatha considered him carefully. “Miss Christie would be very interested to hear what the ghosts might say,” she informed him.

“Great, I’ll contact Krishanti!” Lenore sounded more cheerful than anyone had all evening.

When Krishanti entered the study, her eyes were immediately drawn to Eddie, the man who was constantly pestering her to bring back his brother. But he pointedly avoided her gaze, so Krishanti followed his lead and hid her recognition. When Guy’s ghost appeared, however, Eddie couldn’t help letting out an audible gasp. When the others stared at him, he quickly whispered, “Who is that? He didn’t die in this house tonight, right?” at which point Guy started his speech, which Charlotte then interrupted by sneezing and blowing out Krishanti’s candle.

As Krishanti hurried out in search of sage, Agatha asked, “Who was that?”

“Guy de Vere, my fiancé,” Lenore responded. “Krishanti could never bring him back, until now apparently.”

“Ah, I see.” Agatha turned to Annabel. “And why did he point to you and say you weren’t a bell?”

Annabel shrugged. “I thought he was saying I wasn’t able, though to do what I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Maybe he was saying she wasn’t A. Bell, like that handkerchief we found in Miss Alcott’s mouth,” Emily suggested.

Agatha turned to Emily enthusiastically. “You found a handkerchief that said A. Bell on it?!” she exclaimed.

Emily blushed and looked at the floor. “Well, not exactly. I mean, I didn’t find it, and it didn’t exactly say A. Bell. It just had the letter A and a picture of a bell. Miss Brontë seemed to think it was Annabel’s, but maybe that ghost was saying it wasn’t.”

Agatha rounded on Edgar. “And you didn’t think this was important enough to tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to think that the beautiful, sweet, innocent, beautiful Annabel Lee could have had anything to do with-”

“Oh, how tiresome of you!” exclaimed Agatha. “That was the piece I was missing. We could have avoided this whole séance if you’d just told me everything like I asked. Well, come on, everyone, we have to stop her!” She started toward the door, but no one followed.

“Er, stop whom?” Oscar asked. “And from what?”

“Stop Anne Brontë from murdering Krishanti, of course!”

“Anne Brontë?” Lenore repeated. “You mean Charlotte?”

“Well, I would, if she wasn’t standing right there. Don’t you see? It must be the other one. Look, I’ll explain in a moment. First, Edgar and Lenore lead the way to the kitchen, which is where I assume Krishanti was headed. I’ll bring up the rear to make sure no one is left behind. Just hurry!”

When they arrived at the kitchen, Krishanti was dialing a number on the telephone, but she wasn’t alone. A woman most of them had never seen before was slowly approaching the psychic, holding a large knife. “Hey!” Lenore shouted, causing Kristanti to jump and drop the phone. When she saw the knife she started to scream, but the woman immediately lowered it and feigned a look of innocence.

“Who are you?” Edgar demanded of the stranger.

“I’m Anne Brontë. So sorry I’m late for dinner, I was just looking for the food.”

“Good luck finding any,” snorted Ernest.

“Anne Brontë wasn’t on our list, was she?” Annabel asked Eddie.

“Wait a minute,” said Edgar, “Eddie told you whom I should invite?!”

Agatha glared at him. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Mr. Poe?”

Edgar furrowed his brow. “I’m getting there. But what does any of this have to do with A. Bell?”

Agatha pointed to Anne. “Her pen name is Acton Bell. I knew that Eddie and Charlotte were in on this, but as neither of them could have killed George Eliot, there had to be a third person. I couldn’t figure out if it was one of you or someone else, at least until you told me about the handkerchief.”

“What made you think I had anything to do with this?” Charlotte cried.

“You had the greatest opportunity to kill Dostoevsky, and you obviously stained Wilde’s shirt to send him to his death in the washroom.”

Oscar gasped. “You did that on purpose?!”

“Why would I work with someone who was about to foreclose on my house?” Charlotte countered.

“I imagine he told you he’d let you keep your house if you helped him. I also assume he offered to help you cover up the murder of Jane Austen.”

“How can you possibly know about that?” Anne wondered.

Agatha smiled. “Who do you think you’re dealing with?”

“You must be making a mistake, Miss Christie,” said Annabel. “Eddie’s a great guy.”

“Then why would he fake his own death before people started dying? And why would he cheat on you with both Charlotte and Oscar?��

“I thought he was dating me!” Anne protested.

“Ha, in your dreams,” scoffed Oscar.

Annabel had let go of Eddie’s hand and began to shrink away from him, her eyes widening in horror. “Eddie? It’s not true, is it? It can’t be.”

But Eddie was ignoring her, his eyes fixed on Agatha Christie. To everyone’s astonishment and confusion, he suddenly began to clap slowly. The Brontës attempted to join in, but he silenced them and continued his solo slow clap. When this had gone on far longer than anyone else was comfortable with, he stopped clapping and said, “Congratulations, Miss Christie. You figured it out.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Of course I did. You knew I would, or you wouldn’t have tried to kill me before I arrived.”

“But, why would you do this, Eddie?” cried Annabel.

He opened his mouth, but before he could reply, Agatha said, “Because he’s Guy de Vere’s brother and a descendant of Edward de Vere, who claimed that Shakespeare stole his work, so he’s trying to get revenge on authors.”

Looking very disappointed at having his villain monologue stolen, Eddie asked, “How could you possibly know that?”

“It was perfectly evident that you and Krishanti recognized each other, and that you recognized the ghost of Guy de Vere. That combined with the fact that all the authors were killed in manners that reflected their work made this the only logical solution.”

“Enough chatter, let’s call the police!” Ernest shouted, a bit louder than necessary.

As Ernest lunged toward the phone, Charlotte pulled a gun out of nowhere and pointed it at him. He leapt back automatically as the others gasped. “No one goes near that phone,” Charlotte ordered.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Agatha. “The police should be here any minute anyway.”

“Why should the police come?” Anne sneered. “Nobody’s called them. We’ve been watching the phone all night. Krishanti’s call was interrupted by all of you, and no one else has used it.”

“Nobody needed to call them,” Agatha responded calmly. “A few days ago, I staged my own disappearance. After making sure it was being investigated, I led a very clear trail to this house. They’ll be here soon.”

“You said you didn’t expect everywhere you go to provide inspiration for your next novel,” Charlotte reminded her.

“Not everywhere I go, certainly, but a murder mystery dinner party at Edgar Allan Poe’s house? It would have been foolish not to take some precautions.”

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Charlotte jumped and dropped the gun; Agatha quickly retrieved it. “I suppose that must be the police. Or were you expecting anyone else, Edgar?”

“No, I don’t think so. Unless Emily Dickinson decided to finally show up.”

“She’s right there,” Agatha told him, nodding toward Emily, who beamed. Agatha pointed the gun at each of the murderers. “Right, you three, let’s go answer the door.”

Everyone followed Agatha and the murderers out of the kitchen except Annabel. When Edgar noticed she wasn’t with them in the hall, he turned back to join her. She was crying softly. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I courted Eddie because I thought my family would approve. He seemed like such a respectable, great guy. I never imagined he was capable of something like this.”

Edgar didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t understand, Edgar. I’m trying to say that I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Annabel. I know you wouldn’t have brought him if you knew he was going to kill people.”

“I mean, I’m sorry for wasting time we could have spent together.”

This was the last thing Edgar had expected. He was sure he had misheard. “What do you mean?”

Annabel took his hand and smiled through her tears. “I mean, I never loved Eddie. It was always you.”

***

Agatha Christie opened the front door triumphantly.

“Are you Mr. Allan Poe?” asked Constable Jim.

She stared at him in astonishment for a moment. “Um… no. I’m Agatha Christie.”

“Hey, we found her!” Constable Jimmy exclaimed.

“You’re going to want backup,” Agatha told them. “These three all need to be arrested for murder.” She handed the gun to Emily. “Miss Dickinson, hold them until backup arrives. I’m going to go home and divorce my unfaithful husband.”

#poe party #poeparty #edgar allan poe's murder mystery dinner party #fanfic #see if you can spot the clue references #this isn't nearly as good as what really happened #but at least significantly more people survive

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