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foreverdolly · 2 years

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cherry bomb (pt 1) | fan!eddie munson x famous!reader

summary: eddie is devastated when he hears the news that his favorite guitarist quit her band with no explanation. he doesn't find out the exact reason until he runs into her. runs into you. temporarily moving in with your mother was never part of the plan, and staying in hawkins for any extended period of time is a nightmare, but she needs help taking care of her bar and tying up loose ends after the sudden death of your stepfather. "the hideout" is a dive on the outskirts of the small midwestern town- and it was your stepfather's pride and joy , and you intend on helping your mom upkeep it. your band gives you six months to change your mind about quitting. any later than that and they're going to be forced to replace you. that seemed like plenty of time to take a break from the fast paced life of a rock star. . . that is until you meet your biggest fan. that complicates things.

pairing: fan!eddie munson x famous!fem reader

word count: 6,135

warnings/notes: eddie is severely touch starved in this fic, and it's fuckin' adorable. i've seen a lot of fics where eddie is the famous musician, and i'm all about role reversals. basically you're a bad ass and eddie worships the ground you walk on.

“Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Gareth narrowed his eyes as he roughly swiped his drumsticks off of his father’s workbench. Summer was in full swing with fall right around the corner, so the garage was still stiflingly hot. Despite the fact that he had opened up the doors before the boys even showed up for band practice, it didn’t help cool it down any. He would have plugged in the big fan they had, but his mother complained about their amps possibly blowing out her circuitbox. It had happened one time two years ago, and she still talked about it every week. Gareth didn’t think that it was the heat that had Eddie’s panties in a twist though. He rarely complained about things like heat, especially since his uncle Wayne hadn’t purchased an A.C unit for their trailer until the year before last, and it was only because Eddie had gotten a summer job working at the record store in the Star Court mall. What the long haired boy hadn’t spent on a new amp, concert tickets, and a new spark plug for the van, he saved and squirreled away for Wayne to use as he saw fit.

“You didn’t hear?” Jeff’s eyebrows pinched together as he slid the strap of his rhythm guitar over his shoulder. Gareth froze, his eyes widening as he realized that something big must have happened. The drummer was Eddie’s best friend. . . or, at least, Eddie was his best friend. He prided himself in the fact that he knew just about everything there was to know about the older male. “Did his dad break outta jail or something?” He lowered his voice, leaning in close to Jeff so that Andy wouldn’t overhear them. Jeff quickly shook his head. “No- Oh god, no. I’m pretty sure he would be halfway to Nebraska by now if that happened. You haven’t heard about the news? About Social Misconduct?” Now Gareth was beyond confused. Eddie was moving in what appeared to be slow motion, unlatching his guitar case, his eyes solemn. It looked like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep the night before. His hair was an absolute wreck, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he was wearing his old Social Misconduct shirt that Wayne had accidentally shrunk in the wash a few months back. “. . . No? Wait- don’t tell me one of them died, man. Social is one of my favorite bands and-” “Y/n left the band.” The second that Eddie heard his favorite guitarist's name, he let out a loud sniffle, his bottom lip quivering.

Damn him and his sensitive nature. He’d been crying all night, having gotten a call from the venue up in Indianapolis where he had tickets to see their upcoming show. He was told that he would be mailed a refund, but none of that mattered. “You’re kidding. We were supposed to see them in November!” It was Gareth’s turn to let out a wail, his drumsticks falling out of his hands as he began pacing the expanse of the garage. “She was the heart of the band! I mean. . .” Eddie quickly joined in, standing up from the ground so that he could throw his own hands up in frustration. “She’s the entire reason why most people listened to them in the first place! I-I mean. . . She was a female thrash metal guitarist. She shreds. Is she going to join another band? What if she drops off the face of the planet and we never see her again. . . she’s a musical genius. I feel like my heart has been carved out of my chest.” He was rambling, tapping his fingers against his temples as he spoke. He felt like he was going to lose his mind. Social Misconduct had gotten him through some of the hardest years of his life. To say that he admired the guitarist was an understatement. She was his absolute hero. Females, especially in the metal and hard rock genre, were a commodity. Not only that but they were seen as the underdogs solely based on the fact that they were women. Y/n had managed to take that unfair stigma and smash it to pieces. Most metalheads worshipped her like a god, Eddie included. The “SM” shirt was absolutely tiny on him all thanks to his uncle- god bless his soul- so it fit him more like a baby tee than a regular shirt. It brushed against the top of his black jeans, and as he raised his arms, the hem of the shirt moved up his stomach, showing off the small patch of hair that grew beneath his naval and disappeared beneath his belt.

Andy licked his lips, looking between the two fretting males, and decides that instead of comforting them, he’ll try to do the next best thing. Criticize them. “Don’t you think that the two of you are being a little bit. . . I don’t know. . . dramatic? The member’s probably got into a fight or something. We broke up for a month back when Gareth was a sophomore, remember?” Eddie’s jaw dropped, his brown eyes widening to the size of saucers. Gareth let out a deep groan, lowering his head into his hands. “Oh, you did not just say that.” The Munson boy mumbled quickly, shaking his head in disbelief. “They’re rock stars, Andrew. Professional rock stars. They just got done doing a world tour with Kiss. They wouldn’t just announce that Y/n’s leaving only for her to pop back up a week later.” Andy nodded his head, not noticing how stupid the point that he was trying to make was until the words had finally left his mouth. He bit his lip, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Yeah, you’ve got a point.” Jeff plugged his guitar into the amp, leaning down to fiddle with the volume. “Well let’s just get through today's practice, alright? It’s too late to cancel tonight’s show, and the last thing we want to do is make Miss Marie’s life even harder right now.” Eddie and Gareth sucked in a small breath, sharing a look before nodding in agreement. “No, no. . . you’re right.” Andy quickly held his hand out, gesturing towards the two boys. Both Eddie and Gareth were easy to motivate, so he was quick to raise an eyebrow at them. “What would Y\n do?” Gareth was quick to reach down, picking his drum sticks up off of the floor. “She’d probably get drunk and-” “No, no. . . what’s the other thing she’d do?” Eddie was quick to slide the guitar strap over his shoulder, clenching his jaw. “She’d play the show, no matter how upset she was.” Andy smiled, gesturing towards Jeff who gave him a thumbs up, letting him know that they were all set up. That had worked like a charm. “Well let’s do it then.”

The Hideout was more of a dive bar than a restaurant. Sure, they had great food, but people went there for the booze, pool tables, and pinball machines. Some of the high school kids would stop by on the weekends to grab a greasy burger and play the machines until their pockets were devoid of all quarters, but the people that really kept the place afloat were the local drunks. The building wasn’t run down by any means, but most of the preppier Hawkins inhabitants liked to label the place as “unsavory”. They saw the motorcycles and muscle cars parked outside and turned their cheeks. It was situated quite a ways outside of town, far enough down the main road that it was within spitting distance to the interstate. A lot of truckers liked to frequent the place, and Miss Marie and her husband Stuart were nice enough to let them sleep in their trucks in the empty lot behind the bar. Speaking of Mr Stuart. . .

“Are you guys going to the funeral?” Eddie asked, lifting up in his seat a little so that he could look at his friends in the rearview mirror. Jeff was quick to pop a cheese doodle into his mouth before handing the bag back off to Andy. “Of course I’m going. What about you?” Gareth let out a small sigh, stretching his legs from his spot in the passenger side seat until he heard his back pop. Eddie grimaced at the noise, giving the other male’s side a quick slap. “Gross, man. Keep your rickety joints to yourself.” Gareth was quick to flip him the bird as a response before turning to face Jeff. “I’m still trying to talk my mom into it. She never met Mr Stuart, so she thinks it’s weird that I want to go to his funeral.” Eddie knew that Gar’s mom could be a bit overbearing, and as aggravating as he thought that it was, a part of him was always a bit jealous. Sure, there were things that Wayne didn’t let him do before he finally turned twenty-one, but he never hovered. Eddie didn’t have a loving mother breathing down his back at all hours of the day, or a father that showed up to all of his baseball games as a kid. None of that is to say that he didn’t appreciate what he already had though. Wayne loved him when nobody else did, and that was enough for him. However, if he had hovered a bit more, last spring break might have never happened. At least. . . not with him so involved, at least. He gripped a little harder onto the steering wheel, fighting off the memories the best he could. He could feel the phantom pain from his many scars, rudely reminding him that they were still there and just as gnarly. “Mr Stuart is the only reason why we started playing live shows in the first place. Your mom should get that, man.” Andy folded the bag of chips up as he spoke, shoving them underneath the seat where Eddie was sure to find them weeks later, stale and full of ants. The chocolate eyed boy made a mental note to remember to throw it away once he got home, but he was positive that he would forget the second he got back into his car after the gig. “Let me talk to your mom. She loves me.” Jeff grinned at Gareth, who was quick to agree. “She loves you more than she loves me. Probably because you’re mister ‘full ride’.” Eddie smiled over his shoulder at Jeff, a silent ‘congratulations’ before facing the road again.

Jeff had been waiting anxiously for the acceptance letters for what seemed like months, and made it the entire Hellfire Club’s problem. His GPA was great, his SAT scores were off the charts, and he was a dedicated young man that came from a working middle class family. None of the boys were surprised when the letter finally came back, stating that he had been accepted on a scholarship to the local university. The recent trauma had pushed Jeff in a direction that no one saw coming. Even Henderson had been stunned into silence when Jeff finally got the boys together and told them that he wanted to be a lawyer. Watching one of his best friend’s name get slandered had made him take a big step back, really honing in on what he wanted to do with his life. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that the Munson boy was no murderer- it wasn’t in his nature. Jeff wanted to make sure that nothing happened like that again.

Knowing that Eddie would eventually have to find a replacement for one of the beloved members of his band was a tough pill to swallow, but after a few days of wallowing in self pity, he learned to embrace the change. He’d been hanging posters up all over town, but no fishies had bitten the bait yet. Jeff was shipping off in two months, which meant he could kiss his dreams goodbye if he couldn’t find anyone soon. He was already twenty-two, and he certainly wasn’t getting any younger. He had wasted precious years repeating his senior year three times, and the possibility of getting signed to a label is higher when you’re young. Hell, Kirk Hammett had started the band Exodus when he was only sixteen, and joined Metallica when he was twenty-one. The talented guitarist’s golden years were ticking by.

He might have been able to fight off demon bats, but time? There was no stopping that.

Eddie parked right in front of the bar, turning his body so that he could face the boys all at once. “This is our first time seeing her since he died, so let’s stay on our best behavior.” Which meant that Eddie would not be buying Gareth and Andy beers, no matter how much they begged. The last thing he needed was for the two eighteen year olds to get wasted, stumbling around the bar like idiots. With the sweet middle aged woman in mind, the boys all piled out of the car, dragging their equipment right along with them.

Forty-nine was too young. You didn’t understand how someone could be perfectly healthy one second, and then on their deathbed the next. It didn’t make sense to you. You hoped that being with your mother might bring you some closure, but all it did was make you feel worse somehow. Grief hits everyone in different ways. You found that it came in waves; the tide was either high or low. It struck you at random points of the day. You’d catch a whiff of a scent that reminded you of your step father, or stare too long at an old family photo that he had hanging up on the wall. Right now you were busy staring at the hole in a leather seat, your right knee propped up against the old booth so that you could wipe off the table tops. Your parents- the very same ones that had loved and raised you- had been busy trying to make ends meet, all while you were jetting off all over the world. You bought whatever you wanted, fucked whoever you wanted, and got paid to strut around onstage in leather outfits, doing what you loved. Your bottom lip quivered as you ran your finger over the tear in the upholstery, moving to shuffle back over towards the bar so that you could speak with your mother. “Why didn’t you tell me about how old the furniture was? I would have gotten you new seats made.” You rested your elbows against the varnished wooden bar, staring at her intently.

She was setting up glasses behind the bar to get everything ready for the night. In about thirty minutes, once rush hour hit and people were off of work, the place would be packed. She waved you off with a flick of her risk, scoffing to herself. “You don’t need to spend any money on this old place. I’m doing just fine with the old furniture. People don’t care about what they’re sitting on. As long as I have good quality beer on tap, they’ll never stop coming.” That wasn’t the point and she knew it. Your mother had always been so against you helping them out financially. It drove her crazy thinking about you supporting her in any way. You were supposed to be her baby, not the other way around. You wanted your mother to feel proud of what her and your step father had built together. You wanted her to own a nice place. The Hideout was Stuart’s legacy, so you refused to turn a blind eye to all of the things that were going wrong in the place. “Mom. . . I have more money than I know what to do with. Honestly, it would make me happy if you let me fix some things around here. Just to give the place a little facelift- nothing major.” You assured, flashing her your most convincing smile.

You never could understand why your parents had moved all the way to Indiana and bought an old building on the outskirts of a tiny town. You had already moved out by the time that they packed up themselves and left home. You had visited a couple of times over the last few years, but you never stayed long. Hawkins was small enough to where you felt claustrophobic after spending just a few days there. You regretted not staying longer while you still had that chance though. Now that your step father was gone, all you had left was a sinking feeling of regret. The least you could do was temporarily move in with your mother so that you could help her iron things out. You being there was the only thing keeping her together, and you could tell. She hadn’t fallen apart yet, but you’d be there for her when it finally did happen. At some point the levee has to break.

The news of you leaving the band had already hit mainstream media. You were too scared to call up any of your old bandmates to check in on them, not wanting to know whether or not they forgave you for making such a brash decision. You knew that there would be offers to join new bands the second you got back into the swing of things- hell, Ozzy had already reached out to you. Ever since the death of Randy Rhoads, he’d been floundering to get back on his feet and find a good guitarist. You had half the mind to take him up on it. The boys had taken the news pretty well when you initially told them that you were quitting. Your father had died, and that was a good enough reason for you to take a break from the band. They had made it clear that they would leave the door open for you. As long as you gave them a call within six months, they’d be more than happy to take you back. Any later than that, they’d be forced to find a replacement. You had exactly six months to make sure that your mom was healthy and happy.

“I just. . . I feel rotten about letting you spend your own money on me. I’m the parent. I’m supposed to be the one that helps you out, remember?” She gave your hand a soft pat, flashing you one of her famous smiles. It was painful, but you’d noticed that it didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. You hadn’t said anything about it. “That’s the joy of getting old. It’s my turn to pay you back for all those years you took care of me. Being a single mom is hard, but you managed. Let me do something nice for you, ma.” You didn’t give her any time to object, rather you just turned on the heel of your boot so that you could make your way back into the kitchen to check on the cook. You wanted to make sure that he was fully prepped for tonight, and if not, you’d be more than willing to help.

Your mother busied herself yet again with setting up the bar to perfection. She liked to have things neat and tidy. It made her feel less overwhelmed later on, and she was positive that her heart couldn’t take much more. “You boys need any help?” Marie looked up from her spot behind the bar, watching as the group of boys dragged their heavy amps through the front doors. “Nah, nah. We got it. We do this every Tuesday.” Eddie told her with a smile. He was a lot less animated than he usually was, and she was quick to pick up on the fact that it must be for her sake. He wasn’t sure how to treat her after the recent tragedy. “My daughter is here. You know. . . the one that I've told you that you’d like?” She always thought that you and Eddie would get along like a house on fire. She had been eager for you two to meet for years. She just wished that it wasn’t under these circumstances. Eddie hung back from the group as they began walking their way back out to the van, ready to grab another load of equipment. “Yeah? Must be good to have her home.” Eddie sauntered up to the bar, tapping his ringed fingers against the wood. He looked over his shoulder at the young couple that were seated in the opposite corner of the stage. They were deep in conversation, sharing a basket of curly fries. They were in for a rude awakening- Corroded Coffin played fast, hard and loud. “Where is she now?” There had never been any weird undertone in the way that Marie spoke to him about her daughter. You would have killed her if you caught wind of her trying to set you up with a blind date, and Eddie would have felt horribly embarrassed as well.

He wasn’t exactly. . . Mr Popular. Not by any means. Unless it was his friend Robin, he never talked to girls. He practically repelled them. “She’s in the back doing something. She’s been staying busy these last few days. She’s so used to constant chaos. . . I think she misses it already.” She joked, wrinkling her nose a bit. Marie had never gone into too much depth about you, so he had no clue who you were, where you lived, or what you did for a living. What he did know was that the two of you dressed similarly and had the same taste in music. He was intrigued to say the least. It wasn’t every day that someone get’s the opportunity to meet a girl that’s actually into thrash metal. You were also the only real reason that Marie and Stuart allowed Corroded Coffin to play once every week. They were desensitized to your fast paced, heavy music. If anything, they actually had come to really enjoy it. “Chaos? What kind of chaos are we talkin’ about here? Does she live in a city or something?” Your mother nodded, turning her attention to the lemon that she was currently slicing up for garnishes to be used later. “Los Angeles. She moved out there the second that she graduated from high school. The girl saw a chance and took it. She’s always been independent like that.” Eddie felt a pang of jealousy. Sure, it was nice to be able to finally financially help Wayne out after all those years of constant care, but he would have liked to be able to move out and be on his own. There was a large part of him that was too scared to leave Wayne though. The man worked the graveyard shift at the plant, so Eddie had been the one to do the grocery shopping, cooking, and tidying up (even though the trailer was often a wreck). How was he supposed to do all of that by himself while he worked as many hours as he did?

“In all the years that we’ve been coming here, I’ve never seen her. Is she that busy out in LA?” That came out a lot harsher than Eddie wanted it to, and he couldn’t help but flinch, snapping his mouth shut so hard that his teeth clattered together. He had never been good at socializing, and had a hard time picking up on social cues most of the time. His cheeks heated up with embarrassment, but Marie simply nodded her head. “She’s actually in a band. I mean. . . she was in a band. She’s going to be staying with me for a few months to help tie up loose ends now that Stuart is gone.” The long haired man could have punched himself. He had gone out of his way to lecture the boys earlier about not bringing up anything too heavy around Marie, and here he was, pointing out her only child’s absence and reminding her of her dead husband. All it took was a two minute conversation, and Eddie had already blown it. “A-A band? What kind of band?” He tried to change the subject, flashing her a smile in the hopes of lightening the mood. “It’s your kinda music. Maybe you two could get together some time and “jam” out,” He cracked another smile, a laugh shaking his broad shoulders. Marie smiled back, giving his arm a small smack. “Or whatever it is you kids say.” “Play. We can play together.” Marie mumbled a quick “yeah, yeah” at his correction. Eddie was a good kid, and reminded her a lot of you. Maybe that was why she loved him so damn much.

“Is she a good singer?” Marie gave him a look as if to say ‘are you crazy?’ “That girl can’t carry a tune to save her life. She plays-” “Electric guitar. Lead.” You called out to them as you walked through the double doors of the kitchen, tossing a dish rag over your shoulder. You hadn’t heard the entire conversation, just the tail end of it. Giving the boy a quick once over, you made a mental note that cute boys did live in Hawkins, before turning to face your mom. “You’ve gotta eighty-six the the onion rings. Jim ran out of panko, and the next shipment isn’t until tomorrow.” You turned to face your mom, slowly raising an eyebrow at her wide smile. It was practically splitting her cheeks at this point. “Y\n, this is the boy that I’ve been talking about the last couple of years.” Ah- right. She had told you about the town reject that she had taken under her wing. You were impressed to hear that he had started up his own metal band all the way back in middle school. From what you heard from her, he seemed to be a pretty talented guitarist himself. “Uh. . . Freddie, right?” Your rings caught the dim overhead lights, your sharp, black lined eyes locked on him.

He felt like he was going to piss himself. Or throw up- maybe both. Fainting was also on the table too. There was no way this was real. Eddie was probably still in his room, having a dream about you after crying himself to sleep due to the unfortunate news. He had conjured all of this up somehow. This was the most lucid dream that he’s ever had. “E-Eddie.” He squeaked out the correction, brown eyes wide as he stared at you. He wanted to have the opportunity to properly check you out. He’d stared at pictures of you for years- hell, he had a poster of you hanging up on his wall, right beside his bed for. . . well, obvious reasons. He couldn’t take his eyes off of your face though. Even in person, you were the most beautiful female he had ever seen. No questions asked. Girls like you didn’t exist. Couldn’t exist. He didn’t expect for you to be so tiny though, especially compared to him. He wasn’t the tallest guy around, but working with heavy equipment all day had caused him to build up a fair bit of body mass over the last year since graduation.

You didn’t seem intimidated by his form though. You were a female in a mainly male dominated genre. You were known for your snarky comebacks and quick witted humor. He would know. He’s seen every interview you’ve ever done. It was easy to spot a look of recognition in somebody's eyes. You expected him to at least know your band name, but the look on his face told you everything you needed to know. The kid was freaking out. That and the fact that he was wearing a shirt with your band's logo on it. You shot him a small smile, reaching out to give his chest a quick poke. “Like your shirt, man.” Your mother blinked, her eyes widening as if she was just now putting two and two together. “So you already know who she is then? Oh, wow. That’s great! Now that formalities are out of the way, you guys should be fast friends.” You weren’t the type of person to take advantage of your status. You knew a lot of guys in the music business that took advantage of fans. Sure, your band had plenty of groupies, and you’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t gone on at least one date with a fan. You weren’t about to tease Eddie for it though, especially not in front of your mother. So you merely nodded your head, offering him your hand to shake. “I’m here all night, so I’m excited to see you play.” He seemed to move in slow motion, reaching out for your hand. His plush lips parted, mahogany eyes blown out wide. He looked like he was having a heart attack. After what felt like minutes the boy finally clasped his hand with yours, giving it a firm shake. His hand felt nice in yours, and his calluses were no joke. The guy was a religious player, you could tell just by the feel of his hands and the shape of the calluses. “R-Right. We go on in just a few minutes.” He spoke dazedly, his eyes bouncing over your features. He was trying to commit them to memory. “Yeah. . . I know. . .” You shot him a playful smile before motioning back towards the kitchen. “I’ve gotta help our cook with a few more things, and then I’ll be back out.” And with that you took a few steps backward, giving him a small wave before disappearing in the back. Marie was about to turn and face Eddie again, but when she moved to face him, he was already gone, the front door swinging closed.

Gareth watched Eddie with wide eyes as the man collapsed to his knees on the side of the building, dry heaving loudly into the nearest bush. The drummer had only seen Eddie puke a handful of times, none of which had been because of stagefright. The long haired brunette could play the guitar in his sleep. Not to mention the fact that they weren’t planning on performing any of their newer material. Today's gig was routine. “Hey, are you alright, man?” Gareth approached slowly, not wanting his sneakers to get puked on. Eddie gave up after a few seconds, realizing that he was just nauseous due to shock and nerves, and that his lunch would remain in his stomach. “How do I look?” Eddie rushed to ask, stumbling to stand up so that he could brush his pants off. Gareth’s head reared back, his eyebrows drawn together in utter confusion. Eddie was acting weirder than usual, and that was really saying something. Maybe this was some sort of a test? Was Gareth supposed to go out of his way to compliment him or something? The mousy haired brunette had a girlfriend two years ago that would ask how she would look in the hopes of being fervently complimented. “You look great?” It sounded more like a question than a statement, and Eddie lurched forward, gripping the smaller boy by the shoulders so that he could give him a shake. “Seriously, dude. How do I look?” Gareth slowly looked down at Eddie’s black combat boots, trailing them up his ripped black jeans, to his favorite handcuff belt, and then to his shirt. Sure, the top had shrunk in the wash, but Eddie was in shape. He knew that some people might even see him wearing a tighter fitting shirt as androgynous and daring. He was wearing the same accessories that he always did. Same rings. Same chain bracelet, and the same guitar pick necklace was dangling from his neck.

“You look like you always do. Why? Did you get a haircut and I didn’t notice or something?” Eddie’s shoulders slumped, taking a step back from him so that he could take a few seconds to calm down. He was positive that he was dreaming up until the point that you shook his hand. You felt very warm and very real. He was a nerd that spent his free time playing the guitar, planning dungeon and dragons campaigns, and reading fantasy novels. The metalhead wasn’t afraid to admit that he was the type of person that daydreamed on a regular basis. This wasn’t how he had imagined this situation would go down. He met you while wearing your t-shirt. He looked like an absolute asshole. Eddie hadn’t deluded himself into thinking that he actually had any sort of shot with you, but he at least wanted you to think that he was cool. “This needs to be the best show we’ve ever played.” He quickly called out to the boys, grabbing the wires from the back of his van before slamming the door shut. “What the hell is going on, man? You’re acting weird.” Jeff told him, finally joining in on the conversation. The wavy haired man held his arm out so that he could motion towards the building, keeping his eyes locked on his friends. “Marie’s daughter? The one that we’ve never met before? It’s fucking Y/n.” Gareth let out a small laugh, kicking at a rough patch of gravel. A few rocks flung across the parking lot, clattering loudly. “Come on man, cut the bullshit.” Eddie blinked, moving his arm up and down more wildly. “I’m not fucking with you, man. That's the reason we’ve never met her. Think about it- she leaves the band suddenly with no explanation? Her dad just died.” Andy shook his head. “Maybe she just looks like her? Her and Marie don’t have the same last names.” Eddie’s arms fell to his sides. “Stuart wasn’t her real dad. He was her-” Jeff snapped, pointing at Eddie as he finally clued in. “Stepfather.” Eddie pointed right back at Jeff, nodding his head. “Exactly!” His excitement quickly waned though, the ugly truth tickling at the back of his brain.

He had made a horrible first impression.

He had just stood there, gaping at you like a mouth breather. He was sure that his palms were dripping with sweat too. Was it too late to turn back around and just go home? He loved performing, but playing his guitar in front of you? He wasn’t sure whether or not he could make it through a single song without messing up, let alone an entire setlist. Gareth was quick to march away from the boys, off in the direction of the front door. He wanted to see whether or not Eddie was just seeing things due to his grief. The taller male reached out to grab the small drummer by the back of the shirt, effortlessly yanking him back. “Hey! What are you doing?” He hissed out, his eyes wide. “Are you crazy?” His voice raised an octave in his panic. “I just want to see her? Besides. . . we all have to go back in at some point.” The long haired brunette slowly loosened his hold on Gareth’s black W.A.S.P shirt, mumbling out an apology. Eddie stalked past the group after sucking in a shaky breath, pushing his way through the front door. “Holy. Fucking. Shit.” Gareth’s voice is incredibly loud as he walks through the front doors, staring at you from across the bar. You had changed into a fresh shirt that didn’t smell like chili dogs and french fries, what with your mother living on the top floor above the bar. You had been busy talking to the middle aged cook, who had stepped outside of the kitchen to grab a drink. The second that you heard Gareth’s voice you looked up, your plush lips twitching up into a smile. You said something under your breath to the cook, giving his back a quick pat before walking over to them. “So this is your band?” You looked over to the stage, squinting your eyes so that you could read what had been painted onto the bass drum. “Corroded Coffin. Huh. . . Nice.” The youngest looking member of the group looked like he was going to explode, his cheeks a bright pink and his eyes wide. “Just pretend like I’m not here, guys.” Eddie ruffled the back of his hair, looking down at you nervously. “Yeah. Totally. We’re excited for you to hear us play.” More like they were dreading it. If you thought that they sucked, none of them would ever be able to live the embarrassment down. Suddenly Eddie felt like he was in the upside down all over again, performing like his life depended on it. . . because it really felt like it did.

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rabbitcruiser · 3 months

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National Squirrel Appreciation Day

With their bushy tails and quick movements, these little creatures are a joy to watch as they scamper through the trees and hunt for nuts.

Squirrels are one of the most common animals that people see on a regular basis. These little creatures with a fluffy tail are practically everywhere–in cities, parks, college campuses and forests. They might live in trees or dig a hole in the ground to serve as a home. Some people might even say that squirrels are nuts for nuts, and can last through the harshest of winters without much trouble at all.

Squirrels have the ability to adapt to their environments quickly, they have a decent memory for some of the best locations for food, and they are super soft and fluffy. National Squirrel Appreciation Day encourages people to learn whatever they can about these creatures and admire them for their resilience in the wild.

History of National Squirrel Appreciation Day

With more than 250 species of squirrels that exist across five continents (excluding Australia and Antarctica), these little creatures are fairly prolific in most of the world. And that’s a great reason to appreciate them!

Squirrels are part of the Sciuridae family, which makes them cousins to a variety of rodents such as chipmunks, groundhogs, prairie dogs and other rodents. The earliest fossils of squirrels date back to the Eocene epoch which was perhaps more than 30 million years ago.

National Squirrel Appreciation Day was founded by wildlife rehabilitator Christy Hargrove, who is affiliated with the North Carolina Nature Center. According to Hargrove, people should consider helping to celebrate these creatures by putting out extra food and learning about the species.

Many rock funky hairstyles, survive rattlesnake bites and are extremely adorable, so appreciate the squirrels today by giving them some nuts to eat!

How to Celebrate National Squirrel Appreciation Day

National Squirrel Appreciation Day is a fun excuse to have a celebration on a random day in January. Share this holiday with friends and express that love for squirrels and try out some of these other ideas with the intention of enjoying the day and honoring squirrels:

Discover Fun Facts About Squirrels

Squirrels are considered by some to be beautiful creatures and, depending on the type of squirrel in question, it’s certainly possible to find out amazing facts about them. Try out some of these interesting facts and tidbits about squirrels to impress friends, family members and coworkers in honor of National Squirrel Appreciation Day:

An arctic squirrel can lower its temperature to below freezing to help survive the longest hibernation, which is over 8 months.

To survive in winter months, squirrels bury nuts and other treasures as a food source to come back to later. If they live in snowy climates, they may have to use their sense of smell to locate their stores, then dig through up to a foot of snow to retrieve the object.

The zig-zag patterns squirrels often run in usually means they are concerned about being chased by a predator. This clever little trick helps them to stay alive and avoid being caught by birds, foxes, cats, badgers and other predators.

Squirrels’ bodies are amazingly agile, which helps them run, climb, jump and more. They can turn their ankles 180 degrees while climbing, and can leap up to ten times the length of their own bodies.

Become More Knowledgeable About Squirrels

One great way to celebrate and appreciate squirrels is by learning more about the kinds of squirrels in each local area. Common squirrels in the United States, such as the American red squirrel, Eastern grey squirrel, and black squirrels all have their own habits and tricks that they do to survive. This is also a great day to take some time to learn about all kinds of other squirrels, even ones that are further away, especially the flying Japanese squirrels which are absolutely adorable.

Learn About Squirrel Eating Habits

It is obvious that squirrels, whether they’re ground, tree, or flying squirrels, all have their unique purpose in the global ecosystem. One way they do this is when squirrels work to bury nuts into the ground, which is a behavior called caching. This work they do not only allows them to save food for the winter months, but it also allows them to assist with fruit and tree renewal, because while some will be able to remember where they buried the nuts, others will not make it back to them.

Squirrels don’t just eat nuts and seeds, though, as their diet is much more diverse than many people think. They also eat many fruits, plants, insects, berries and vegetables. One interesting way squirrels contribute to the ecosystem is through eating mushroom spores. By eating the spores and then excreting them after they’re digested, the fungi help matter to decompose and give plants the nutrition they need to grow. Thus, squirrels help maintain the symbiotic relationship between plants and mushrooms and help spread the growth of plants all over the world.

Have a Squirrely Get-Together

For those who just love any reason to throw a party, this is a unique one! Host a squirrel-themed party in honor of the day. Have guests dress up as squirrels or other rodents, and give friends squirrel-themed gifts. Snacks and treats for the party could include squirrel shaped cookies decorated with icing, or really just about any type of food that is made out of nuts! Decorate with acorns, leaves and squirrels as well as other woodland creatures. It’s likely the guests will have never been to a party quite like this before!

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stillflight · 4 months

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Cento

908 words, an essay on instincts, dreams, and polytherianthropy.

I dreamt of absolution one night. A deep sleep’s vindicating fantasy of breaking the shackles that humanity locks. A human cannot do what a hawk can -- not physically, not spiritually. Of course a human cannot fly. But a human also cannot hunt. It cannot kill. It cannot yield to the animal urge within. It cannot truly be free. It must confine its deepest urges -- those urges everyone has. That’s what I always thought, at least. I thought that because I thought I was human.

I soared above the dusky orange desert landscape. I had a purpose in this dream, I knew, and somewhere to be, but I couldn’t see any necessity with the sun in my eyes. In some ways I knew this was a dream, and that my being a bird was not my waking state. It was an opportunity. I had longed to hunt my whole life. Was I really going to ignore this chance?

I saw a large grey rodent below. Upon waking up I researched and found out it was probably a California ground squirrel, the southernmost extent of which just barely overlaps with the range of Harris's hawks. But in my dream I was just an animal, and my prey was just an animal too. I can never replicate the feeling of catching it, this I know. But it was like liberation. Even in my dream animal brain, I knew this was something I had longed for my whole life -- a fantasy that only aches the way one does when you know it can never come to pass. The images were detailed. My beak was a part of my body. Clumps of fur thrown to the side. Grey and scarlet. My senses are often vivid in my dreams. The sense of taste is no exception.

I woke up feeling like my human form, my vestibular sense, and my mundane life were mirrored 180 degrees in Photoshop.

I dreamt of absolution one night. A sleepless night’s vindicating fantasy of breaking the shackles that humanity locks. A human cannot do what a wolverine can.

We had been moving furniture from a storage unit to the new house all night and I was exhausted. Then the shift. Suddenly I was alert and so intense. Deer were out and about in the fading light. Images flashed in my head of chasing after them and bringing them down in the woods -- tearing into them. I was almost feverish. I could feel their hot flesh, bones of the neck snapping in my teeth, so brilliantly, redly vivid in my head like it was a waking dream. My temples were pounding. I stopped being able to follow the conversation. I had stopped understanding spoken human language. I stood in the grass and stared into the dark treeline. I had sharp teeth and tearing claws and I wanted to use them. To submit to the animal drive. To disappear into the green and black and song of the night, that rising swirl of music and color and scent that whirls and shapes together in the mind into one sublime chromasonic painting.

I awoke by falling asleep, letting the wolverine disappear into the whispering light of the sturgeon supermoon. I had no dreams that night. Only silent dark.

A human cannot yield to the animal within. It does not need to. It has none. But I am not human. I do need to. I do not have an animal deep inside that wants: I am the animal, I am the one who wants, I am the beast who must confine itself. When I was younger I felt grotesque. I was too many species, none of them Homo sapiens. I didn’t know how it was possible, only that it had to be. I felt like Mary Shelley’s classic monster. I read books about mice, and rabbits, and bats, and they all told me I was a hideous thing for the urges I had -- that predators like me were evil. Not simply bowing to the blueprint that evolution wrote in their DNA. And I knew that’s what I was. Before I knew anything else, before I knew the word therian, before I knew that sometimes something that appears human on the outside can be something else internally, I knew I was a carnivore.

We realize what we are when we’re young, don’t we? We can tell we’re not human. We see the way we’re talked about in the children’s books we read. We know we’re not human because we internalize it. We feel hurt by it. And we cannot explain why. We don’t have the language. I didn’t know there were others -- I thought it was just me. I said I was “part animal.” I tried to explain how many animals I was. When I got too old to play pretend, I got quiet. I knew I wasn’t supposed to talk about it, but it couldn’t stop me from feeling it.

When I was younger I felt alone and I felt broken. Broken into too many pieces. Now things are different.

I soar above the dusky orange desert. I stalk through snow-laden pines. I dive into turbulent water. I swoop through ocean currents. I am the inconstant of form. I am the sharp of tooth. I am the keen of eye. I am the hunters. I am the monster named Cento. I am the creature known as Many.

#creative #alterhuman #therian #polytherian #hawkkin #wolverinekin

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acollectionofficsandshit · 2 years

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Sneak Peek! Three of Us: Chapter 13

Max Verstappen x Reader (Single Dad AU)

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12

Masterlist

Sunday, November 23rd, 2018- Milton Keynes, England, United Kingdom

You’d only just managed to doze off when, from somewhere on the bedside table your phone goes off at full volume, bringing an immediate, unceremonious end to the peace you’d finally found in sleep by wrenching you rather savagely back into the world of the living, the shrill jingle of the ringtone popping the happy little fantasy that had taken shape inside your head like someone had taken a pin to a balloon.

Grumbling, you push yourself into an upright position, desperately trying to cling to the dream you’d been having before you’d been jolted back into consciousness even as you reach out, searching blindly for your phone in the dark, but it has already started to fade, the details deteriorating further and further with every second that slips by until what is left of it is beyond repair, the remains nothing more than a faint, moth eaten memory of momentary bliss.

As your fingers finally find the familiar outline of your phone and close around it, you force yourself to abandon the last vestiges of the dream, knowing if you’re not careful about it, you’re liable to drown yourself in the fragmented remnants of the recollection and there’s hardly time for that right now, if at all.

One glance at the screen proves to be more than sufficient to knock you clean out of your head, to wash away the warmth and contentment that still lingered in your chest, replacing it with a different kind of heat, this fire built not of longing and fantasies but kindled from anger and agitation, the flames of which didn’t need much to catch, just a spark, courtesy of a single name.

“Can I fucking help you, Max? What is it? What is it that you could possibly need at-“ you pause with a huff, craning your neck around to check the alarm clock on the bedside table, “at 2:30 in the morning? Hm?”

“I- It’s- Sorry-'' the three words are stilted, almost jarring, as they stumble over one another, each more cumbersome and unwieldy than the last, all conspicuously lack something, some quality you can’t quite put your finger on but whose absence is impossible to ignore.

Because Max Verstappen does not apologize.

It takes a moment, only the one, before it comes to you, the name of what’s missing, of what you’ve become so accustomed to hearing in every sentence and every letter, down to the last syllable, that it’s sudden, unforeseen absence can actually be physically felt, the pang of the loss slowly building until it’s almost nauseating.

The familiarity and flippancy you’d thought you’d hate, that you could have sworn you hated, that you detested with every fiber of your being, but, as you'd only just discovered, you’d evidently learned to love at some point along the way, though when exactly that had been was entirely beyond you.

The effect is immediate, instantaneous, when, from the other end of the phone, something which you know with absolute certainty you were never supposed to have heard, that you know in your very bones the fates had never meant for a soul to hear, reaches you over the crackling connection, sounding dangerously close to a stifled, chest wracking dry sob.

You know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Max hated himself for this perceived weakness, and that he’d fought like hell to keep exactly where it was, where it had been, to smother in its infancy before it could gain prescience, neatly bottled up and squirreled away where no one would ever find it, buried in the dead of night, hidden somewhere deep in the hollow of his chest or the pit of his stomach, anywhere it would never see the light of day.

Like his father had taught him, exactly like his Pa had drilled into his head, and when that failed, beaten it into him.

Like Max had always done, like the dutiful son he’d once been, like he would never be again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just slow down, slow down,” you say softly, soothingly, with deliberate gentleness, speaking to him like you would a wounded animal that needs to be coaxed into accepting help, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that when I answered, I’m sorry. I’d just fallen asleep and well, I’m still not particularly over everything that happened yesterday.”

“It’s- it’s not that,” he’s quick off the line with this response, his sudden change in demeanor catching you entirely by surprise, as the warmth and ease returns to his voice without much to proceed the change, almost as if the shift in conversation had been all he’d needed for the informality that hover perilously close to being outright intimacy to come flooding back in.

But that being said, you’re not foolish enough to let yourself be blinded to reality by the turnaround, it had been too easy, it had been too simply won, which you’d come to learn meant that, in Max’s case at least, he was merely momentarily distracted, and more than like retreat back to the frame of mind he’d been in previously.

“Okay? So, if it's not that, then what is it? I just figure, I guess it was more of an assumption really, that you’d only called to talk about the whole boyfriend, girlfriend thing, especially considering the hour and all-”

“Uh, Kaia and I- Kaia’s hurt… She’s- She’s hurt and it’s because of me.”

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

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radiant-obs · 8 months

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Cento

I saw a large grey rodent below. Upon waking up I researched and found out it was probably a California ground squirrel, the southernmost extent of which just barely overlaps with the range of Harris's hawks. But in my dream I was just an animal, and my prey was just an animal too. I can never replicate the feeling of catching it, this I know. But it was like liberation. Even in my dream animal brain, I knew this was something I had wanted through my whole life -- a fantasy that aches the way one only can when you know it can never come to pass. The images were detailed. My beak was a part of my body. Clumps of fur thrown to the side. Grey and scarlet. My senses are often vivid in my dreams. The sense of taste is no exception.

I woke up feeling like my human form, my vestibular sense, and my mundane life were mirrored 180 degrees in Photoshop.

I dreamt of absolution one night. A sleepless night’s vindicating fantasy of breaking the shackles that humanity locks. A human cannot do what a wolverine can.

I awoke by falling asleep, letting the wolverine disappear into the whispering light of the sturgeon supermoon. I had no dreams that night. Only silent dark.

A human cannot yield to the animal within. It does not need to. It has none. But I am not human. I do need to. I do not have an animal deep inside that wants: I am the animal, I am the thing who wants, I am the beast who must confine itself. When I was younger I felt grotesque. I was too many species, none of them Homo sapiens. I didn’t know how it was possible, only that it had to be. I felt like Mary Shelley’s classic monster. I read books about mice, and rabbits, and bats, and they all told me I was a hideous thing for the urges I had -- that predators like me were evil. Not simply bowing to the blueprint that evolution wrote in their DNA. And I knew that’s what I was. Before I knew anything else, before I knew the word therian, before I knew that sometimes something that appears human on the outside can be something else internally, I knew I was a carnivore.

We realize what we are when we're young, don't we? We can tell we’re not human. We see the way we’re talked about in the children’s books we read. We know we’re not human because we internalize it. We feel hurt by it. And we cannot explain why. We don’t have the language. I didn’t know there were others -- I thought it was just me. I said I was “part animal.” I tried to explain how many animals I was. When I got too old to play pretend, I got quiet. I knew I wasn’t supposed to talk about it, but it couldn’t stop me from feeling it.

When I was younger I felt alone and I felt broken. Broken into too many pieces. Now things are different.

Sonne's Edit:

What animal(s) do you want me to say you are on the website @stillflight? Also, thanks for the submission ^_^

#mammal #other #submission #avian #radiant obscurities

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tricornonthecob · 7 months

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Not Gonna Let Down The Title Line

LK 103: United we Crammed

(pt1)(pt2)(pt3)(pt4)

you know I think the dumbass CAN be taught.

xXdaggerQuillXx is not only on-point for an edgelord 15/16 year old given access to mass media, but its also on-point for early 2000s-era forum usernames. I have a theory that someone in the writer's room was either daggerQuill or had a similar name, and this line was meant to dunk on them.

ROAST HIS ASS, MOSES.

oh, ADHD-ass eager beaver.

Moses is also not paid enough to put up with this.

I paused on just the right frame to get a face full of squirrel twerking. I need to sit down a moment.

ok but their relationship is kind of cute, too.

Sam I'm gonna need you to calm tf down, you're causing tonal whiplash with the soundtrack.

in other words, John is gonna crush them.

I don't see how having Henri be sheepdog is going to make the wagon move any faster but then again he's probably an absolute demon if given direction and encouragement.

The ewe just magically transformed into a ram. These guys are Pure Gender energy no wonder Henri has such sway over them.

Duane this is not a good look.

This guy is really not thrilled he has a babysit a teenager with poor impulse control.

oh my god I love his energy. I love this man. Spirit animal fr.

Henri and the sheepdog are the two braincells keeping this train together.

Sarah has such a girlcrush on Abigail Adams I bet she was giggling and twirling her hair.

Sarah honey, the Frillips polycule is near critical mass, you don't need to introduce more empowered and intelligent women into it.

her footman/driver lookin' kinna cute, do you think they had a thing for blondes at DIC.

Gage: Hey so uh, how should I be treating Boston when I get there? Like do we have an idea of what we want or...

Lord North's Parliament: fuckin I dunno do what you want?

...were they told to give that sheep a butthole, or was this a fed up artist sneaking things into frame.

Henri's the real brains of this outfit istg

*background art anyeurism*

Whaaaat the delegation from the Quaker colony in the Quaker city would vote for moderation? But the Society of Friends has such a reputation for spiciness!

James wants to see a fistfight on the floor and so do we

#liberty's kids #tricorn on the cob watches LK and makes inane commentary #james hiller #sarah phillips #amrev #18th century #henri lefebvre #moses #Continental congress #Abigail Adams #tricorn watches

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lestatslestits · 2 years

Note

Um you like Animaniacs.... What is/are some of your favorite moment(s)?

Oh boy! Great question. Potentially absurdly long answer.

As far as the Warners go, I LOVE when they get really good sibling interactions, and also basically any time they get to have nice or just really funny interactions with the humans in their lives.

This bit in “Hercules Unwound” when Dot is having an off day and Yakko offers to skip the cartoon because she’s not feeling it. They’ve already skipped a cartoon earlier in the episode as well. It’s cute to see Yakko and Wakko caring more about their sister than teaching a lesson to their “special friend.”

This very important sequence from Wakko’s Wish, AKA the cutest Yakko and Dot scene. Literally one of my favorite moments in anything ever. This movie is the thesis statement for like…..85% of angsty Yakko content, at least until the reboot.

Dot messing up her name in Cutie and the Beast, and Yakko and Wakko being little shits about it (bonus: Dot swearing like a sailor). It makes me laugh every time. Also hearing Yakko referred to as “Mr. United States Canada Mexico Panama” never gets old.

The “I’m Mad” theatrical short has it all. Peak Warner sib moments and the best Dad!Scratchansniff content. The Warners are from the late 20s/early 30s. They are OLDER than the Looney Tunes, if you look at their canonical creation dates. Seeing them getting to actually act like kids makes me feel emotions. Also Rob Paulsen is voicing HALF of the characters in this very chaotic song.

The entirety of Meatballs or Consequences, but especially this section. It’s so cute watching Yakko and Dot ask to stay with Wakko, and “are we dead, or is this Ohio” makes me laugh every time. And Jess Harnell is both Wakko and Death! I love hearing his different accents.

This scene from “Fear and Laughter in Burbank,” the OTHER angsty Yakko thesis statement. Do you wanna see an animated character have an on-screen panic attack and then almost have his soul eaten? This is the bit for you. I would LOVE to hear Rob Paulsen’s perspective of this moment, because it’s…a lot, given some of his real life circumstances at the time. Also here there be scary clowns, so if you don’t like clowns, skip this one.

“Yakko’s Big Idea” from the segment of the same name. I’m SO normal about this scene where Yakko is inventing the perfect world for him and his sibs to play in.

Drive Insane, especially the bit from around 0:30 to 1:15 seconds in this video. The Warners tormenting Scratchy by making people think he’s their dad is never NOT funny to me.

“It’s New Year’s Eve” from Hooray for North Hollywood Part 2. It’s so cute seeing them have a good time and be accepted by everyone, and it’s cute to see them celebrating Mr. Plotz. Just don’t think about how this fits into the last few episodes. Don’t. Look at Yakko giving Dot a lil kiss on the cheek instead.

Non Warner Segments:

Les Miseranimals is THE iconic Rita and Runt segment. It’s so good. This isn’t the whole thing, but I definitely recommend going and watching it all.

You could blindfold yourself and stick a pin in a list of Pinky and the Brain episodes and be almost guaranteed to get a great one, but Bubba Bo Bob Brain is one of the absolute best.

The first 30 seconds of this video includes probably my favorite Pinky and the Brain exchange of all time, from Wakko’s Wish

Honorable Mentions:

West Side Pigeons (Goodfeathers)

De-Zanitized (The Warners, and I’m only not including it because I could talk about it for about an hour)

Smitten With Kittens (Rita and Runt)

One Flew Over the Cuckoo Clock (Slappy Squirrel, and I’m not sure it’s one of my favorites so much as it makes me want to study Tom Ruegger like a bug because what the hell)

Literally every Chicken Boo segment, I’m not singling any of them out because every Chicken Boo segment is funny to me.

Lookit the Fuzzy Heads (The Warners and Buttons and Mindy, as well as a Tiny Toons Adventures crossover, shhhhh no one tell anyone that I enjoyed an Elmyra segment)

This is embarrassingly long, and I probably still forgot some. Everyone please watch this cartoon.

#animaniacs #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner #pinky and the brain #patb #rita and runt #animaniacs 2020

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rthstewart · 2 years

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Hi there! Just wanted to say I am re-reading the Stone Gryphon for I think the third or fourth time? And absolutely adoring every bit of it as much as I did the first. If you don't mind, I have a question about the link between Narnia and Duns Scotus - is it a connection you made yourself, or one you came across in other literature? If the latter, I'd be very interested in any further reading you would reccomend! I also enjoyed 'The Irregulars' immensely.

AHHH GREAT QUESTION. First thank you @livinglaughinglove I'm up to my eyeballs in writing that pays the mortgage and the long days and longer nights are lonely and hard and I'm just exhausted. So getting something like this is SUCH a delight. In any event, it was, like so many things, a combination of things at the right time. When I invented those connections, my spousal unit was deeply involved in the lay Franciscan movement and so we had Scotus for Dummies around the house and a lot of Gerard Manley Hopkins.

I was struck by the Franciscan commitment to environmental stewardship and it was also around the 150th anniversary of Origin of Species and 200th anniversary of Darwin's birth and I really wanted to do tribute to that era. That led me to the Huxley v Wilberforce Debate and the Oxford Museum and in that mishmash I placed Digory, Richard and Mary, all characters I wanted to use as a form of homage. A key thematic element I wanted to play with was that there was good and beauty here, too, and that Peter was making a mistake in constantly trying to make Spare Oom into Narnia. He later will admit as much in the early chapter of TQSiT with Edmund:

** He walked with his brother through a stand of oak trees ringing the meadow and Fen. "It's strange," Peter found himself musing aloud. "Maybe I've been away too long; perhaps I've truly accepted it, but I don't really expect the trees to bow to us anymore, or that I'll be called upon to settle that swallow's dispute with her mate."

"You don't see Narnia here?" Edmund asked.

"Quite the opposite. I see Narnia more than ever, actually. But, I shouldn't blame these fine oaks or those squirrels for not having the gift of speech and the intelligence of Narnians. They are what they are, and are marvelous in their own right."

"You know you just espoused a version of the Professor's theorem?" Edmund asked.

"Did I?" The failure to see it momentarily resurrected Peter's own frustration at his seeming inability to grasp what the Professor had asked of him.

"You did." Edmund kicked a stone and it skittered away into a patch of ferns. There was a protesting flutter from a turtledove who launched from the ground to a tree. "So, if the Good Beasts and Trees of the English countryside are not your people, High King, who are?" **

For Peter to be able to see that, and admit it, that he lived the philosophy even if he couldn't intellectually grasp it, was the character journey I put him on. And full disclosure, I am far more like Peter and Mary in this than Digory -- my spousal unit would get so frustrated with me that I couldn't grasp what he thought was the important philosophical principle in his life, and I never quite got it. Ever. Still don't.

Thank you again. you've distracted me from starting the Next Big Thing on my Work To Do at 8 PM on a Saturday night

#reply #narnia #narnia fanfiction #tsg #@livinglaughinglove

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sketchfanda · 25 days

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A Little Moxxie Love:2 Squirrels and an Imp!!

Skullfuck Productions was an enigma to some, a production and publishing company for material of the adult entertainment variety, or to be more blunt and direct, they did porn. Porn of a very high quality at that, enough to have fans equally among the heterosexual and lgbt community alike in terms of its demographics and have established working partnerships with notable studios such as Double Z, owned and operated by the one and only Zigzag herself. It was said that SF Productions own CEO was an enigma, any to nobody but a select knew who he was or what he looked like but his fans and critics could agree on one thing. The man knew how to make some smut!!

Mr.Sketch as he was known of course, had more that his share of secrets and chief among them was that he wasn’t event human and his studio was based in Hell itself!! And every once so often he was always on the lookout for new talent or for his current roster crop to prove they had what it took to be sexy bitches and absolute unit studs. Especially at the monthly parties he’d host in his personal penthouse in the living world, which could be considered the lewd equivalent to Queen Bee-elzebub’s regular get togethers, a veritable sea of bodies human, demon and furry alike enjoying some good food and drink and a little casual consensual fun. It was also a good chance for regulars to more or less show off their talents and prove to the flaming skull headed head honcho they had what it took to be the next big thing for future projects.

Which of course brings us to the latest ongoing party and a dispute that was drawing quite a few eyes and ears for attention as a pair of squirrel babes were busy glaring at each other with such intensity thst if they were lasers? They’d have no doubt burned each other’s heads off, but what did you expect when it came to Marika and Sarita? The bimbo and the shortstack squirrel were both nympho sluts and proud of it, far as they were concerned God had blessed them with their bombshell bodies and the libidos to match but as Hughlander once said, there could be only one!! Yes indeed Marika and Sarita’s arguments were a regular occurrence at gatherings like this and naturally these disputes could only be settled by what could be called slut-offs!!

Among the guests eavesdropping and rubbernecking on this ongoing war of words between the nympho squirrels was Verosika Mayday herself, as ever in tow with her entourage of succu-bitches. Reclining like the boss slut she was on a couch with a drink in hand, (nothing liquor loaded of course, she promises, just some Shirley temples and Roy rogers) as she observed with a devious eye. Before turning to sneak a glance at one of the bodyguards she’d hired for extra security currently standing on either side of Tex in the form of Moxxie and Millie (Blitzo was willing to be reasonable for the high price his pop star ex was offering for this gig), the former to be exact who was looking as stylish and adorable as ever. Shooting a little wink and blowing a kiss his way at how shy he seemed at the current environment he was in, no doubt the casual sexual nature of the part and the near to full nude dress code was a it overwatch for him.

Millie of course had been beyond ecstatic and excited when she found out their job was being a security escort for the succubus pop idol at a party hosted by her favourite Smut provider. She was a fan of the works of Mr.Sketch’s body of work so the fact they were at a soirée like this with a chance to even see and meet him in person was a dream come true. Hence how and why Moxxie came along, he couldn’t disappoint his wife and cost her a chance to meet her personal fave writer and director so he was willing to endure being around so many bombshells. He figured the worst they’d have to deal with was a possible cat fight brawl set to breakout between the two squirrel babes, it was looking to be as unpretty as it sounded before Verosika suddenly spoke up, catching everyone’s attention as she tapped a fork against her glass.

Verosika:*Soon as she saw all eyes in her, Sarita and Marika included, she smiled as she spoke up.*”You know, if you really want to have a slut off, I know just the guy for the job…”*The succubus pop star gestured to Moxxie, much to the sweet possum’s equal parts shock and confusion.*”This little stud would be perfect for a game of endurance, first of you two fuzzy tailed hoes to outlast the other and milk him dry is the winner, and the boss man can decide the prize…” *Moxxie could only drop is jaw and not be able to muster a word at the fact Verosika was setting him up like this, feeling like he on a platform for a hangman’s noose when the two squirrel hotties turned their eyes on him. No doubt they were thinking of calling bullshit on him but nope, it was clear they were at their point of their argument where they’d take any kinky idea on board.*

Before he knew it, Marika and Sarita bother grabbed him by his cute little bow tie, Millie cheering her man on while Verosika shot him a wink and a smile as the party goers hooted and hollered knowing they’d be in for a show if they managed to find a monitor to view. Mr.Sketch had private rooms set up with hidden cameras for the voyeurs among his guests, after all you can’t host a party with porn stars and those of the sexually liberated persuasion and not expect a free show to happen. Moxxie soon finding himself in one such room as the squirrel hotties threw him onto the bed as Marika and Sarita battled to be the first to get him naked, starting with his pants. Not able to much but pray for his survival if these two’s combined libido would kill him.

Marika:*Face to face with Sarita as they were stripping The imp, throwing his coat, bow tie and shirt aside. Their efforts for his pants being offset by one another’s hands smacking and slapping each other away.*Back off bitch!! I get first dibs on this shrimp!! He’s gonna know heaven from me over a shorty like you!!”*The back and forth wasn’t helping Moxxie’s growing fear induced boner as the pair of stunner’s movements was making their big furry fits bounce and jiggle, risking inevitable nip slips from their bikini tops. Not to mention the overwhelming scents of their perfume was as intoxicating as the pheromones Verosika and her girls gave off, which was really wesring down his resistance.*

Sarita:”As if you wanna be!! A runt like this needs a real classy lady like me to get him off!! One round with my hand and tongue and he’ll be-!!”*Whatever Sarita was about to say next and any retort from Marika came to a halt as got Moxxie’s pants off, boxers and all as they beheld his fully nude body. Eyes wide as they felt their pussies gush and soak their things and thighs, looking in with erotic shock and awe at his imp cock in all its erect glory as inches of crimson red, veiny womb hammering pussy pounding fuckmeat pulsed and twitches as If sensing the presence of two very horny ladies. Suddenly it became clear to them why Verosika nominated this little dude as their personal judge for this slut-off as their hands grasped and began to stroke it. Making him groan and and shudder as their bimbo brains flipped switches off into full on horny mode, telling them to get right to having this slab of sexmeat rock their world.*

Which they certainly did as they got right to conducting fellatio upon Moxxie’s cock as they assaulted his length and girth with sloppy licks and kisses. Shifting between battling for control and dominance or just going with the flow and tolerating one another’s presence as they sucked and blew on his cock and balls, drowning them in their saliva. Lipstick marks designating their battle to claim this imp as territory as the imp could only groan against being caught between their competitive onslaught but he coild only handle snd endure so much. He wasn’t some sex toy they were going over using, he was a man damn it!!

Before Marika and Sarita knew it, they found him sitting up and grasping them firmly by the fur or hair in their sweet sexy little heads and proceed to unleash his pent up lusty frustration. Masacara tears flowing down their pretty faces as they found themselves on the receiving end of deep, powerful facefucking. Those heavy crimson balls slapping their chin as inches of his length and girth shoved and jackhammered into their mouths as he forced them to deepthroat it. Choking and gagging on it as flowing hearts began to form in their eyes at such assertion of dominance.

Marika has had her share of big cocks, certainly a fact and not an understatement especially ranging from partners with bodily sizes going big to small. From rhinos and dogs, particularly hellhounds to bulls and stallions and Moxxie was putting the latter two to shame and then some. Sarita much as she was loathed to admit was quite the size queen herself with a taste and presence for well endowed parters that could use her like a fleshlight and split her in half and yet the imp was definitely a whole new level for her. Their juices soaking their thongs and thighs with sticky warmth as their mouths and throats became an oral preview for what awaited their pussies.

But oh to say nothing of the flavour of his pre as it dazzled their tastebuds, making their nerves tingle with erotic delight. More so as their dominant little possum came and blew his load, showing their faces and ties and spraying into their mouths with his jizz. Gasping and moaning as they made out and snowballed, swapping the cream between them with a metal, shared sloppy desire. Gazing in awe at that saliva soaked alpha male imp dick as it twitched and pulsed, still hard and ready to go.

As the squirrel duo cleaned off one another, forgetting their mutual contempt for one another, they proceeded to remove their bikinis and things, exposing their tires and snatches before moxxie in all their furry naked glory. Brains having gone fully into bitch in heat mode as they began making out with the imp, caressing snd groping as they sandwiched his compact red frame between their warm furry figures. All the while hidden cameras within their private little love-nest broadcast and streamed this little threesome to a few select monitors scattered throughout the penthouse. First come first serve for those who wanted the best view of the action.

Marika”Aaahn, damn daddy….I can barely sandwich your whole slab here..You liking these big furry titties daddy? Aaahn You bitch..” *That last remark was directed to Sarita who was eating out her pussy while she gave Moxxie a titfuck. Hands clasped together with his as he thrust his shaft between her furry mounds, making her kiss and lick it whenever it reached her dicksucking lips. Sarita shooting a cheeky wink and a smile her way as she teased Marika for having such a tasty and pretty pussy gushing so much. Mutual as their lust was, they were still rivals.*

Sarita:”Oooh fuuuckfuckfuckfuck!, I’ve never felt this good before don’t stop fuck me me daddy! Fuck me hard, harder!!” *The high class squirrel slut cried out with little to no shame or sense of inhibition as she bounced on Moxxie’s jackhammering dick. Arms and legs draped around the imo as he performed a standing fuck, feet firmly planted on the mattress as his hands squeezed her juicy furry bubble butt. Marika kneeling and hugging their little stud judge from behind as her tits massaged and pressed against his back as she kissed and licked along his neck. Taking delight in seeing Sarits reduced to a total whore state.*

Marika:”Ooooh good dsddy I think I’m seeing heaven!!”*Not that she was any different or better herself of course as she was flat on her back, taking it from Moxxie in a mating press. Her ass feeling the force of those heavy balls smack against them as his cock jackhammered into her greedy snatch. Sarita laying behind them, lounging on her front as she licked and kissed where their loins met and connected. Her tail wagging sensually and seductively as she awaited her next turn while shaving her self some schaudenfraude at Marika’s expense.*

Sarita”aaahn you’ve cum so much and you’re still so hard…wreck me daddy…”*The shortstack squirrel pleaded as she laid on her back, head hanging off the edge of the bed as she found Moxxie shoving that addictive dick of his right into her mouth. Her mascara tear streaked face burning with her lust as her eyes twinkled with lust at those balls smacking her forehead. Her throat swelling from now deep and filling his cock was all the while Marika ate out her pussy as her bimbo arch rival returned the favour from before. An eye for an eye as they say,*

minutes passed into hours as Moxxie fucked the two squirrel sluts either one on one or two on one depending who had the need or not to catch their breath and recover their energy. Seated lotus to sideways spooning, to having one sit on his face as the other rode him cowgirl style to fucking one in missionary or doggy style as she ate the other girl out. Their fur becoming sleek and sticky with his cum, that is when it wasn’t being pumped down their throats, up their booties or filling up with wombs. Millie, Verosika and her crew among those who got a good monitor viewing spot as they enjoyed their man prove himself an absolute sexual unit, and they weren’t the only notable figures watching, for in the private room of the host himself at this moment….

Sketch:”I want a name to go with that face and find out where he lives. A guy like that is too good to pass up, GET!! ME!! THAT IMP!!”*The skullheaded smut magnate declared on his phone and to an assembled crew of employees, non chalant to the fact he was doing so naked in bed while having his succubus personal assistant deepthroat him. Never let it be said that their boss didn’t enjoy the luxury and perks of his work, you didn’t put out the kind of work he did without around the clock hands-on experience. The creative enigma liked what he saw and right now, he knew he wanted Moxxie as his next big star. You didn’t get an imp like thst every century or so!”

#sketchfan #sketchfanda #sketchfan85 #helluva boss #teer #eltonpot #Elton portilho #Marika #sarita #sexyfur #moxxie #helluva moxxie #moxxie helluva boss

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boydkorsholm0 · 2 years

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Lv New Handbags, Hermes Birkin Kelly

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courtsampan94 · 2 years

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The Method To Afford A Travel Life-style

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running-with-kn1ves · 3 years

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Can i get a fanfic where your oc Elias, finds his s/o after they run away when he was sleeping? I love your work btw!^^

A/N: Whoo! Trying out a different format for this bc I see a lot of other writers use it (and it seems easier LOL) Also thank you so much!!! Wow I'm legit jumping w/ joy knowing you like him-- when I first wrote him, he was just my comfort oc LMAO, I just wanted an absolute unit to manhandle me with love.

(Original here, and more background on Elias here)

TW: violence, abusive/yandere behaviors, heightened emotions, manhandling, sad big baby werewolf man

This man sleeps in hella late, I’m talking 3 in the afternoon late. He is most certainly NOT a morning person, and that’s a thing you’ll have to get used to. He doesn’t care if you “have things to do,” or “are being crushed by his weight on top of you.” He just wants you to be in his strong arms, covered in the sheets as a stream of sunlight shines through the window.

So when he realizes your warm body isn’t next to his.. He’ll throw a bit of a fit. It’s usually very difficult for you to shift away from him-- even when he’s asleep he’s got an iron grip on you, his arm wrapped around your chest. So the fact that you managed to get out of his hold will both perplex him and leave him astonished.

But after calling out to you, only to receive no response, he’ll grow a bit frustrated. Things have been great so far. You’ve been compliant and understanding, doing as he asks and putting up with his needs every now and then. So the idea of you not being found anywhere in the house, is a shock at first. He’ll lie in bed for a few more minutes, before the anxiety begins to gnaw at him. He’ll call out to you without emotion, trying not to sound worried or as if he thinks you’d escape. But once he’s met with only the sound of cicadas from outside, he’d begin to stomp around the house.

He’ll look in places that wouldn’t even make sense, or are just unable to hold an actual human: the garbage can, in shelves, the bathtub, under the bed, even in the stove. He’ll check everywhere at first, being quick yet thorough, trying to find you as quickly as possible.

Realizing that you aren’t in the house.. He’ll begin to fear for the worst. What if you went outside and got lost? Or got stolen? Maybe even taken by his own kind, someone more powerful than him, claiming you as theirs? His worst fears would materialize, making him scratch his skin constantly out of worry.

Bolting out of the door, he’d scream out your name in the middle of the woods, scaring off any nearby wildlife. The different pitter-patters of so many feet ranging from tiny squirrels to nearby foxes would throw him off; that mixed with his worsening anxiety, it just makes him go crazy.

He’d be frustrated and terrified, especially because he knows how useful changing into his werewolf form would be right now. And yet, he still isn’t able to do so, which leaves you even more vulnerable, and him less capable of protecting you.

For hours, he’d run in circles, tracing back his steps to see if maybe you finally came home, after getting lost or maybe you went out and he just didn’t see a note you might have left for him. But nothing. Even after checking under the sheets and inspecting every piece of dust, he never saw a message or letter. It hurts his soul as he starts to think about the possibility of you leaving intentionally; but he pushes that idea to the back of his mind. Why would you ever do such a thing? He thought you were happy with him, especially seeing how subservient you had been.

After hours of running around the woods, even visiting two nearby towns only to come up with nothing, he finally found you. You were crouching there, completely unaware as he was breathless and sweating from a few meters away. Sick with worry and fear he had finally found you. Immediately a giant weight would be lifted off his chest, knowing that you weren’t dead or taken away. He’d call after you, not bothering to hide the desperation clear in his voice.

You were petting something small and fragile, the tiniest smile stuck on your face which helped ease the strain that was also evident. Elias would feel so happy, knowing you were just the same, even if this had just been a small slip up, you were still the same. Running toward you, he’d waste no time opening his arms, ready for a hug. It wasn’t until you turned around, fear evident on your face, did he realize.

Your startled jump and the slow backwards walk you did before bolting the opposite direction, was almost a surprise. Almost. Elias stopped, his hands faltering. His feelings of relief and worry... were washed over with grief and anger.

He finally got it. Yes he assumed that maybe you left on purpose, but that was so far from his mind he never thought it to be possible! Why would you leave if you were happy? It didn’t make any sense.

It took him a minute but finally connecting the dots, he saw why so many things recently felt strange. The kind smiles, the gentle touches, the lack of flinching you did when he touched you. It all made sense now. It was all a lie; honestly, he felt more hurt that you spent days feigning affection, rather than the fact that you left. He expected you to leave; eventually, maybe after a bad fight or if he stopped paying enough attention to you, but things had been good. He’ll clutch at his heart, not being used to the sudden twisting and gentle pain that tugged at him.

You won’t be far ahead; you had already gotten lost three times today, and didn’t expect to find a way out, just a way to outrun him. You didn’t realize Elias’ full potential-- he’d been rough before, but this was an entirely different situation.

After a small moment of being stunned, Elias will recover, and begin to chase after you. He knows it won’t be much of a fight, even if you try your hardest. He doesn’t like to fight, but finally as you’d given him a reason to do so, he feels he can almost enjoy this. A small part of him is glad he can make you pay for causing him so much worry.

He’d tackle you to the ground, being more forceful than necessary. You’ll scream and shout, feeling this one perfect opportunity being ripped away from you. It was so well planned out, so perfectly and methodically planned to where you had even almost felt bad.

But you didn’t feel bad anymore, knowing that Elias had the ability to take you down. He grabbed you hard, forcing you off the ground, giving you whiplash. He didn’t care that you had left a small knapsack on the forest floor, it didn’t matter now compared to what was waiting at home. Throwing you over his shoulder, he’d stay quiet as you beat against his back, your fists burrowing into his skin. Your legs would hang limp as he twisted your ankles threateningly.

Realizing your chance of escaping was ripped clean, you’d go back to your initial plan: playing nice. Many “I’m sorrys” and “Please don’t hurt me, I just didn’t know what to do’s” would escape your mouth, and for a second Elias would fall for it, hearing the fear and shame in your throat. But knowing you had played this card before, he wouldn’t dare fall for it again, even if you were genuine.

Elias wouldn’t do much damage until you were finally in the house, preferring his punishments to be private. It wasn’t really seen as a punishment to him, rather a form of retribution. You had done wrong, and he thought it was only right to make you feel the same pain he felt.

Storming into the house, he’d take you immediately into the back bedroom, closing the door hard enough to make the wood split. You’d be thrown onto the bed, cloak yanked off. Pushing yourself against the headboard in a balled position wouldn’t do much, except hurt Elias’ heart more. He didn’t know why you acted so afraid, after hurting him so badly. He didn’t understand how you could run and hate him, only to turn back into a scared little villager; just like everyone else he met.

Hiking up your shirt, and lowering your undergarments, he’d pick the perfect place to gash. You’d shake and shiver beneath him, asking, pleading him not to do it. He’d only repeat to you, how it was necessary. If only you hadn’t run away, this wouldn’t have happened in his mind.

The same bed within he woke up with you lovingly near every morning, was the same one to be turned into a sinking pit of hell. Taking his finger, Elias would use his long claw-like nails to rake against your hip. He’d do it over, against your lower stomach and upper thighs. You can beat against him and throw profanities, but all the while he’ll be too invested in thinking about how you tricked him. By the end of his revenge, you’ll be dripping small droplets of blood, trickling out of each slice and cut.

Elias will break down, digging his arms underneath you, shoving his head into your stomach, asking, begging you to tell him why. Why you left him, alone, after he had done so much to take care of you. He’d never cry in front of others, but a moment of both yours and his vulnerability was enough to make him sob against you, your blood smearing against his wet tears.

You’d be forced to run your fingers through his thick hair, reassuring him that it’s all okay, and is over with, despite you being the one with worse damage.

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lexosaurus · 3 years

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Invisobang: Morge pt 1

It was a beautiful day outside. The birds were singing, the flowers were blooming...a corpse was found in the woods.

Or, Amity Park's local cadaver dog trainer was walking her dog in the woods when they discovered a little surprise waiting for them six feet under.

Pairings: none WC: 9616 read on: [ao3] part 1 of 2, read: [part 2]

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Some amazing accompanying art by @phantombreadproject

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The dog bounded up ahead, his tongue flopping out of his mouth and his back paws kicking up dirt behind him.

If Sarah Abrams didn’t own him, it would have been too easy to assume he was just another derpy German Shepherd. But after years of training him, she knew how good at his job he was. As soon as the vest hit his fur, his playful demeanor changed to a serious, dependable, working dog.

He raced over to a tree, sniffing around the trunk.

“What you got there, bud?” Sarah called out from behind.

He looked at her momentarily before bending down, picking up a large stick in his mouth, and running up ahead.

“Figures.”

It was a beautiful morning, one that a midwesterner such as Sarah had spent too long dreaming about through the dreaded winter months. But finally the ground had thawed, and all remains of winter had evaporated into the air. The birds fluttered around building their nests, the squirrels climbed up and down trees in search of food, and the plants along the forest floor were budding, preparing to release a colorful sea of flowers.

By all accounts, it was the perfect morning for a hike in the woods. Amity Park, though a bustling city, did have its peaceful trails along the outskirts. Most people didn’t bother exploring them, seeing them as too out of the way, but not Sarah.

And her dog, Atlas, with his tail wagging and his head tilting from the weight of the large stick he proudly hauled with him seemed to agree.

A dewdrop hit her forehead, and she looked up, shading her eyes from the sun. The air was just warm enough that she could forgo her jacket, but not quite warm enough to also leave her sweatshirt in her car. Though, the world was just beginning to wake up for the day. She had left with her dog just before stores opened, and by the time she would arrive back in her neighborhood, the streets would be bustling with activity.

It was the perfect Saturday morning.

“What do you say, Atlas. You think I should get a bagel on the way back?”

But the dog didn’t turn to respond, having dropped the heavy stick in favor of darting off the trail to chase a squirrel.

Sarah had always wanted to work in Amity Park’s K-9 unit, and was all too excited when her application for an open position was accepted. From there she underwent training before she was placed with a new puppy, Atlas. The two of them worked together for months every day before he was finally able to start on the field as a cadaver dog.

It was a bit of a morbid job, if Sarah were being honest. Her parents had been rather concerned when Sarah admitted what field of the K-9 unit she was going into, but they tried their best to show their support. Even if her mom couldn’t help but make a face when Sarah tried to explain the various training exercises she did with Atlas.

But Sarah loved her work. She felt like she was truly making a difference in this city, and Atlas was an absolute joy to work with. In the four years they’d been together, they’d developed a keen sense of trust between each other that could only come out of the hours and hours spent training each week.

And despite his serious, professional demeanor when he was on the job, off the job he could be a bit of a goofball.

She stepped over a log and continued down the dirt path. She’d lost sight of Atlas, but she wasn’t concerned. He was never too far away from her.

And as if right on cue, a bark sounded from behind some brush.

Sarah recognized that bark, it was the same clipped, alerted tone he used in training and out on the field.

“What’s up?” Sarah called out.

Atlas barked again.

She frowned, moving the brush aside and stepping out from the trail’s path. She stepped behind a few trees and bushes before she saw her dog lying down on top of a patch of dirt, his body language wary, looking at her just like he did when he found human remains in training.

Sarah froze, looking at him. He barked again, and sniffed the ground.

Well trained cadaver dogs had ninety-five percent accuracy, and could easily ignore dead animal remains and food in favor of decomposing or even skeletal bodies. They could find human remains up to fifteen feet below the ground, and could even sniff out bodies underwater.

Sarah pulled out her phone.

It seemed like her morning hike was officially over.

---

“You have a very lucky dog,” Mark said, handing her a coffee.

Sarah hummed, graciously accepting the beverage. The scene had been roped off and was flooded with officers, detectives, and medical personnel. The morning had since passed, and now the sun beamed down on the tired workers.

It had been pure luck that Atlas had decided to wander off of the dirt path that day, that he had bounded from side to side, too full of energy to keep in a straight line. If they had walked by, would that person ever have been discovered?

“It’s deep in the ground,” Mark continued. “Whoever buried this John Doe didn’t want him to be found.”

“Kind of sick if you think about it,” Sarah said.

They had just uncovered the body, but it was unidentifiable on sight alone. It would need to be transported to a morgue before they could get any answers.

Mark took a long sip of his coffee. He was one of the younger detectives on the force, and for that reason, he and Sarah bonded instantly when he was hired in Amity. He was bright, exceptionally so, and showed a compassion for victims that was rare to see in law enforcement.

Sarah threaded her fingers through her blonde ponytail. “Well, hopefully you can solve one of your missing children’s cases.”

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

A man with salt and pepper hair came up to the duo. “Abrams?”

Sarah straightened immediately. “Sir?”

“You have a good dog. We’ll need you to come down to the station of course to give an official statement.”

“Of course, sir.”

She hadn’t had much conversation with the police chief, who was often a bit too old fashioned for Sarah’s taste. The man had only just switched to his first smartphone after his trusted flip phone finally refused to turn on after its years of service.

Of course, Chief Davis had spent about a week bemoaning the fact that people were insisting he get a smartphone, no he didn’t need one, his phone was fine, people these days were too reliant on technology and back in my day…

Rumor had it that his wife had been the one to finally crack him. And the man got his new sleek iphone, spent about a week asking every young recruit at work how to do basic tasks on the device, before he discovered that he could use Facebook on his phone. The following week had been filled with nothing but praise for modern software engineers.

Sarah flickered her eyes back over to the scene. The evidence bags and cotton swabs were being taken out of their cases as detectives gently prodded around the body.

Suddenly, there was a chill in the air. Sarah shivered and pulled her APD sweatshirt sleeves down her arms.

It felt...odd. The chill, it didn’t feel the same as when a spring breeze cut through a harsh, sunny day.

Atlas let out a warning bark.

Sarah’s brows furrowed. Something wasn’t right. No, this chill wasn’t on her skin. It felt deeper than that.

But before she could think about it, the body started glowing a familiar green.

Mark jumped back. “Holy shit!”

The detectives around the body scrambled back and whipped their ecto-guns out of their holsters. Everyone stood, watching with bated breath as the temperature plummeted and the green glow brightened before a familiar spirit shimmered into view.

“What the fuck,” Sarah whispered.

The figure hovered over the body disoriented, rubbing at his forehead as if he had a headache. A black jumpsuit covered his body, fading out at the end where a ghostly tail had replaced his legs.

Mark shot Sarah a horrified glance. “Is that—”

“Danny Phantom!” Chief Davis said, stepping forward.

Phantom’s hand fell, revealing acid green eyes. He surveyed the scene before finally turning his attention to the decomposing corpse below him.

He stiffened. Sarah saw the exact moment when reality hit his features.

“No…” he whispered, his eyes growing wide.

The air grew even colder.

The Chief raised his ecto-gun. “Step away from the body, Phantom.”

Phantom flew down, ignoring the chief, and hovered just above the cadaver. He reached down as if to touch the body, before he shot back, hitting a tree.

He gripped his chest, his eyes filled with panic.

“Phantom!” Chief Davis tried again.

Phantom’s eyes swung over to their group, and Sarah felt the breath leave her lungs. She had never seen the boy up close before, and he never exactly stuck around after fights to allow for conversation or questioning.

There had been close-ups of him on the news, as well as the occasional Tiktok or Youtube video from a random teen. And in those, Phantom always seemed so human, so real. And while publicly, as a member of the APD, Sarah was unable to voice her support for the vigilante ghost, privately she had never minded him. After all, he mostly stuck to ghost affairs, and whenever he got involved in human crime, it was always from a rescue position. Like saving an elderly man from a burning building, or saving the bus full of kids that almost drove off the road that one time. He’d never really interfered with police, not really.

And that’s why, as a teenaged human-like ghost, he was so beloved by the people. Glowing aura and white hair aside, he just seemed like a regular teen. His personality, demeanor, sense of humor, seemed so... normal.

But now, something was off. He seemed more ghost-like than Sarah ever remembered.

For the first time, Danny Phantom looked dangerous.

“Why are you here?” Chief Davis asked.

Phantom looked between the police chief, the body on the ground, and then back to the chief. Something snapped inside him and his face set, his look of panic transforming to deathly calm.

“You need to leave.” Phantom’s voice was cold.

“This is a crime scene. You can’t be here, ghost.”

The aura around Phantom brightened. “No. You need to leave.”

The chief didn’t flinch. “You either step away from the body, or I’ll shoot.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Why? Did you know him?”

Phantom’s eyes widened, and he slowly raised his hand out in front of him.

Chief Davis stepped forward. “Were you the one that killed him?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Phantom said, allowing the acid green to overtake his entire eyes. His hands began to glow. “You need to leave.”

“Phantom, don’t do this. You’re completely surrounded by armed cops who have a much better shot than the ghost hunters you’re used to dealing with. Come quietly, son.”

The ghost let out a hysterical laugh. “Come quietly? Or what, you’ll show up to my house and arrest me? I’m dead! You can’t do anything!”

Chief Davis’ eyes narrowed. “That’s not true and you know it. We’ve turned a blind eye to your vigilantism for over a year. You shoot, and you’ll be an enemy of the city. You won’t be able to haunt Amity Park peacefully any longer.”

The air in front of Phantom crackled with ectoplasm. His hair floated, as if underwater, and he brought up his other arm to share some of the acidic burden.

Sarah shivered, and she felt Atlas press up against her legs.

“I’ll repeat myself one more time: stand down, or we’ll be forced to shoot.”

Phantom gritted his teeth. Conflict played across his features, and it seemed like ages had passed before he finally opened his mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I...I can’t let you take the... that.” He jerked his head to the corpse.

“And why is that?”

“Because…it’s—I…”

Realization hit Sarah like a ton of bricks. She froze, her eyes flickering between the rotting body and the distressed ghost above it.

Of course. It was too obvious.

Before she could stop herself, Sarah’s mouth flew open. “Phantom, is that you?”

It was as if the air were sucked out of the woods completely. Every head snapped towards her. The ghost faltered, the ectoplasmic blast he’d been preparing disappearing into thin air.

Then finally, his shock morphed into fear.

She was right.

“That boy.” Sarah pointed to the body. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

A trembling hand shot up to the ghost’s chest. “You—you can’t...you can’t—”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

The air was getting colder still. Phantom drifted closer to the body, as if to protect it.

Chief Davis lowered his ecto-gun and slowly stepped forward, as if coaxing a feral dog out from a corner. “Look, son, we can find whoever did this to you. We can bring them to justice.”

“You—you don’t understand.”

“No, I think I do. You were a kid, you were scared, and someone did something terrible to you and tried to cover it up in the woods. You’re trying to protect them because you’re still scared, but if there’s someone out there who hurt you, we can help.”

“It’s not like that. You need to leave.”

“You know we can’t do that. This is a crime scene now. We need to bring this—your human body in for investigation.”

Phantom turned down to face the rotting corpse, his face twisting in pain. “Then I have no choice.” He shot down, and had barely touched the body when Mark fired, his ectoblast burying itself in Phantom’s side.

The ghost was thrown back against the tree. “No!” he roared, but it was too late. Cops were on the body, shielding it from the ghost’s view.

Phantom glowed, his eyes turning blue.

“Don’t let him get that corpse!’ Chief Davis shouted, scrambling forward.

Phantom whipped his hand out front, but before he could release his glowing ecto-ice ball, Mark fired again, his blast hitting Phantom square in the eyes.

Blinded, the ghost screamed, unleashing spurts of energy from his mouth.

Sarah hit the ground immediately, covering Atlas’ ears. “It’s the wail!” she yelled.

But before Phantom’s miniature wail could manifest into something deafening, Mark’s partner, Jacob Crowley, fired his taser. It locked onto Phantom’s arm, releasing volts of electricity into the screaming ghost.

Phantom fell to the forest floor, twitching and jerking as his yells projected into the sky above him. And just as soon as it started, it all stopped. The ghost let out one final cry of pain before his head lulled into unconsciousness, and the forest was quiet once again.

Cops were on the ghost at once, locking ecto-inhibitors onto his neck and hands and hoisting him up to be carried out to a vehicle. There was no telling how long the ghost would stay unconscious for. If they were lucky, they could dump him into the back of a police car before he woke up.

Sarah stood, brushing dirt and pebbles from her pants. “Holy shit,” she breathed.

“Everyone alright?” Chief Davis called out. “Any injuries?”

There was a chorus of ‘all clears!’ from around the scene.

“Nice shot, Mark,” Jacob said, putting his taser back in its holster.

“I had no idea tasers worked on ghosts,” Mark said.

“Me too. Lucky guess.”

“Damn right.”

Jacob was a seasoned detective, having worked for APD for fifteen years. Despite the age gap between the duo, he’d taken Mark right under his wing and the two got along swimmingly. What Jacob lacked in physical prowess, Mark made up for. And what Mark—although intelligent—lacked in experience, Jacob made up for tenfold.

“Alright!” Chief Davis announced to the crowd. A hush fell over the scene. “Let’s pick up where we left off. Finish collecting samples, and let’s get the body over to the coroner. Crowley, Abrams, and Johnson, head to the station with Phantom. I want him questioned. The rest of you, back to work!”

Sarah tugged on Atlas’ leash, following Mark and Jacob out of the woods.

“That’s incredible,” Mark said, stepping around the brush and onto the dirt trail. “Who would have thought it’d be Phantom’s body?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty insane to think about,” Sarah agreed. “It was just luck that Atlas stumbled across it too.”

Jacob nodded, his expression hidden behind his sunglasses. The sun peeked through the trees, highlighting his tan face and accenting the small lines that adorned his skin. “Whatever it was, there was clearly a cover up. Now the question remains on whether Phantom remembers what happened or not.”

“I think I remember reading a paper by the Fentons that said ghosts don’t remember the details of their deaths, just the general gist of what happened and the emotions they felt during it. And knowing that Phantom hasn’t exactly spent his time enacting revenge on any one person in particular, it’s unlikely that he remembers who killed him,” Mark said.

“Unless it was an accident.” Jacob ran his hand through his black and grey hair. “Phantom could be protecting them.”

“That could be true,” Sarah said. “It could explain why Phantom was so insistent that we stop investigating.”

“Kids these days…” Jacob muttered.

“Regardless, we’re going to solve this one. No matter what,” Mark said. “Phantom’s been tied to this town for a year, and we’re going to figure out why.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Sarah said, giving a mock salute.

The trio lapsed into silence, and the sounds of their shoes trudging against the dirt and rocks was all that filled the air.

It seemed almost insane that the body was Phantom’s. Though relatively new to Amity, his popularity had grown so quickly that it almost felt as if he'd been a cornerstone of Amity Park for years.

He was the hero, but also a bit of an enigma. He appeared when ghosts attacked, he fought them, said a few bad puns, inevitably won, said a few words to the public, and then would disappear. No one knew where he came from or where he went when he was finished with a fight, just that somehow he’d magically materialize the next time Amity was threatened.

Lately, the public had seen more of him outside of his fights, however. It wasn’t much, but there were the occasional sighting of him lounging around at the park or lazily flying under the moonlight. But even then, the question of “ Who was Phantom really?” remained a mystery.

Not for much longer.

Off in the distance, she spotted the police car in a clearing. “Meet you guys at the station?”

“Where’s your car?” Mark asked. “You need a ride?”

“Nah, mine’s just down the path a bit further. It’s fine, we can walk. Besides, I want to talk to Erin first before I leave.”

Mark glanced at Jacob, and then nodded. “Okay, see you there.”

---

Mark Johnson was a gifted kid. He grew up in the honors classes, graduated top of his class at the police academy, and was promoted to a detective after just five years on the force, the minimum requirement to be considered for detective positions in his department.

He was a quick thinker with a keen eye for detail, and he knew it.

Which is why when he hopped in the passenger’s seat of his vehicle to see an absolutely irate overpowered teenage ghost already awake in the back seat, he realized that he had absolutely no idea what the protocol was.

He’d been warned that the ghost was awake. “The fucker bites,” grumbled one of the city cops as Mark had walked by. Yes, he knew what he was walking into. But for some reason, it never occurred to him that dealing with a ghost may be different than a human. And why would it be different? Phantom may have been a dead teen, but he was still a teen. Teens were dumb, they were moody, they said and did impulsive things.

And yet, when he looked into Phantom’s glowering eyes, he instantly saw just out of depth he was.

Because although their training had covered ghosts—after all, this was Amity Park—the training always had to do with how destructive ghosts were, the best places to shoot them, how to maintain their ecto-guns, etc.

But talking to ghosts? Interacting with them?

Cuffing them and sticking them in the back of a vehicle to transport for questioning?

Yeah, the books didn’t have much to say about that.

Crowley’s gruff voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Alright, let’s go.” His partner slid into his seat and jammed his keys into the ignition.

“Right,” Mark said awkwardly, glancing back at the teen ghost.

Up close, Mark could see just how powerful this ghost was. He was small, even for a teen, but even without his powers he still emitted an aura that screamed danger.

Crowley pulled out of the parking lot, merging onto the road. Despite the obvious tension the ghost was building behind him, the veteran cop didn’t seem phased. He reached over and fiddled with his car stereo.

“You got any station you like?” Crowley asked, raising his voice.

The ghost didn’t respond, instead opting to continue simmering in his seat.

“I hope you don’t mind rock.” Crowley raised the volume, and the sounds of 80’s guitar filled the empty space in the car. “I got a kid about your age you know. Well, maybe a little younger. What are you, fourteen?”

The ghost’s eyes narrowed. “Fifteen.”

Mark blinked, surprised at how normal the ghost’s tone seemed to sound compared to the frantic echoing in the forest.

“Ah, well, close enough,” Crowley continued. “Anyways, she’s obsessed with this new stuff. What’s it called, Kpop? Tpop? Something like that. Plays it around the house all the time. I can’t stand it. I’ll never tell her that, but the modern pop shit just gives me a headache.”

Phantom’s eyes shifted over to the window.

“Johnson over here doesn’t agree.” Crowley nodded over to Mark. “He listens to that garbage all the time.”

Mark felt his face heat up. “I listen to electronic music. It’s a completely different genre.”

“Still sounds like crap, though.”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

Crowley scoffed, but otherwise kept silent. He was a good natured man with an unquestionable wit and preference for the “good old days.” But fortunately, he could take it just as well as he could dish it.

“I know it seems bad now, but eventually you’ll be thankful that dog found your body. We’ll be able to bring you justice,” Mark said.

“I don’t want justice. I want to be left alone.”

The car lapsed into silence, but it wasn’t a comfortable one. No matter how hard Mark tried, it was impossible to ignore the glowing, angry teen in the seat behind him. He wondered how much of that was because Phantom was the town’s ghost celebrity and how much was due to the fact that Phantom’s aura seemed to swallow the air around it.

Was the ghost somehow...projecting his irritation out to Mark and his partner? Could he even do that? Mark knew he was a powerful being, but was emotion manipulation one of his powers?

Phantom was the one to break the silence. “Where are you taking me?”

“To the station, of course,” Crowley answered easily.

“And the GIW?” the ghost asked, his voice tense.

Mark and Crowley exchanged a glance.

“Well…” Crowley started. “That depends on what happens when we get there.”

“What?”

Crowley hummed, stroking his brown and silver mustache. “Technically we have to turn you over to the Ghost Investigation Ward, but considering you’re a key witness on this case, I can’t say I’m so keen on turning you over. At least, not quite yet.”

“Great.” Phantom leaned back in his seat. “So let me see if I’m getting this right. You’re going to use me to figure out who this big bad mystery killer is, and then you’re going to dump me over to the government?”

“Not exactly. Think of it more like, your fate depends on your cooperation in this case.”

Phantom groaned. “I’m so fucked.”

“Why do you say that?” Mark asked.

“Because I’m boring. You guys think there’s some terrible person at large, when spoiler alert! It was just me.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “A suicide?”

“Sure, whatever you call it.” Phantom’s shoulders rose to his ears, and his face flushed green. “I...offed myself, okay? It’s boring.”

“That still doesn’t explain how your body ended up buried in the woods,” Mark commented.

“Does it matter?

“Well, it would make you a liar. So yes, I’d say it matters,” Crowley said.

Phantom lurched forward in his seat. “I’m not lying.”

“Then explain to me how your body ended up in the woods. You can’t have done it to yourself. There was an accomplice there. And if that’s the case, I’d be hard pressed to find out from the coroner if it was actually a suicide or, say, something else that you’re not telling us.”

“I’ve told you everything I know,” grumbled Phantom. “I’m not lying.”

Mark exchanged a look with Crowley before he twisted around, looking at the ghost directly. “Listen, I know how difficult this is. What happened to you was traumatic, I’m sure. We’re on your side here. We want to help you.”

Phantom averted his gaze.

“You had your whole life ahead of you. It’s not fair to you that it was cut so short. You never got the chance to grow up, right?”

“I don’t care about that,” Phantom hissed. He jerked his head up, and despite the ecto-inhibitors, the ghost’s eyes growed a ferocious green. “Shut up, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mark saw Crowley stiffen next to him.

“Phantom, listen to me. If you help us, we can help resolve this situation. Bring peace to your death.”

“Just so you can ship me off to the GIW, right? As per law?” Phantom straightened in his seat, his aura around him shining impossibly bright. “Forget it. I’ve decided I’m done with you assholes.”

“Wait! What are you—”

The ghost yelled and yanked his arms out, breaking the chain between his ecto-infused cuffs.

Mark scrambled in his seat for his ecto-gun, but Phantom was too fast. Before Mark could blink, the ghost disappeared.

Crowley slammed on the breaks, and the vehicle swerved, rolling onto a grassy field next to the highway. A few cars honked as they passed on by.

Mark panted in his seat, his head spinning wildly as he searched for the ghost, but it was no use. Phantom was gone. There was no trace of him in the sky.

“Holy shit,” the normally calm senior detective breathed. “Holy shit.”

“He just broke out of the ecto-inhibitors. How did he do that?”

Crowley unbuckled his seatbelt and stumbled out of the car. He yanked open the back door and stared at the empty seat.

“Holy shit.”

---

As soon as Sarah stepped through her front door, she knew something was wrong. Even without Atlas’ growled warning, the air felt off. It was cold, reminiscent of the chilling temperature from a ghost attack.

“Who’s there?” Sarah said, her hand reaching for her ecto-gun. “Show yourself.”

“You were the one that found my body, right?” Phantom popped into visibility. He floated an inch above the couch, his legs crossed and chin propped on his fist. “You and your dog found it.”

That wasn’t a question. He knew.

And he looked pissed.

Sarah stood by the door, debating her chances if she ran. Phantom could fly faster than she could run, and if she tried to escape, who knew how he’d react. She wouldn’t make it far.

“Well?” He pressed at her silence. “I’m right. Just admit it.”

“Yes.” Her lips barely moved.

Atlas gave another low growl.

“How.”

That wasn’t a question either.

“By chance,” she said.

He crossed his arms. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

Her fingers twitched. If she could only reach her phone without him noticing, she might be able to call the emergency line. She could get their conversation recorded, and she could also get help.

She just needed to distract him. “I was taking my dog for a walk. He went off the trail, and found your body.”

“Just like that? You just happened to stumble across it?”

“Well, Atlas here is a trained cadaver dog. This is his specialty.”

The ghost furrowed his brows. He slumped, running his fingers through his stark white hair. “But I thought I—” he huffed. “I thought I put it deep enough.”

Sarah was taken aback. “What do you mean, Phantom? You buried your own body?”

“Of course!” He shot forward. “I had to.”

“Why?”

“I—I just…” He seemed to realize that he’d said too much, and he sulked back to the couch. “I just had to. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Okay,” Sarah said slowly, her brain struggling to work through the implications of that. “So does that mean nobody knows you’re dead?”

That puzzled look draped Phantom’s face once again, and he looked down at the carpet. Silence stretched between the duo, before Phantom muttered, “I don’t know.”

Even though her instincts were telling her to run, to pick up the phone and call for backup, something pulled her forward. She apprehensively made her way to the couch that Phantom was hovering just inches above, and sat down beside him. To her surprise, Phantom followed her lead, lowering himself onto the cushioned surface.

It was truly amazing how without his flared aura and powerful persona, Phantom really looked no different than any other teen. He was lost, confused, hurt.

Scared.

“Why don’t you want the police investigating this case?” Sarah asked.

“I just…” Phantom face screwed up as if he were sucking on a lemon. “It’s complicated.”

“What makes it complicated?”

“I don’t know. It just is.”

“Okay.” Trying to get Phantom to talk was like pulling teeth. “But you know that the police have to investigate, right? Legally?”

That got a reaction out of Phantom. His eyes brightened, and his mouth set into a snarl. “But that’s stupid! It’s my body, what gives them the right to mess with it? I thought people got to choose whether or not they wanted to press charges. I’m here and I’m telling you guys that I don’t want to press charges, that it was my fault I was ki—I died in the first place, and I buried my own fucking corpse in the woods!”

Sarah felt her jaw tighten. For once, she didn’t know how to respond.

“Aren’t there like laws that give people rights to their body post-mortem or something? I’m here and I don’t consent to my body being messed with, so shouldn’t that count enough?”

Studies on ecto-psychology were lacking, and conflicted more than not, if Sarah were honest. She knew that ghosts functioned differently than humans, and she knew that some ghosts were more intelligent than others, but she also knew that ghosts, due to their Obsessions, were easily swept into delusion.

Phantom was a ghost. He wasn’t a person, he didn’t have rights like humans did.

But he clearly thought he did. Or at least, he thought he deserved them.

And Sarah wasn’t knowledgeable enough to understand where the line between true cognitive function and delusion lied.

Instead, she settled for the next best thing. “True, but those laws don’t hold if a crime took place.”

Phantom groaned. “Oh for the last time, there was no crime! It was just me!”

“But the police don’t know that.”

“I just told them!” He threw his hands up. “Literally right before I got here!”

“Yes but—” You’re a ghost. “—were you even reported deceased? Does your family know what happened to you? Your parents?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does.”

“No,” he fumed. “No, it doesn’t. It really, really doesn’t.”

Sarah peered at the teen. His brows were pinched tightly together, and he was glaring at the ground. His mouth twitched, as if to elaborate, but then his jaw clamped back up and whatever thought nearly passed through his lips were locked again.

Death was a sensitive subject for ghosts, and Sarah knew that just as well as anyone else. But there was something else there, something Phantom didn’t want to admit. Something that he was hiding.

But why? Was he trying to forget his living family? His old friends? What would drive a person to do that?

Was it abuse?

“Phantom,” Sarah said gently. “I understand if you don’t want to talk to me about what happened to you, and I understand that the memories from your past can be painful. It’s okay that you have a lot of complicated feelings—”

“I don’t,” he cut in. “I don’t have complicated feelings. I’m—I’m just a ghost. We don’t…” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, this was a mistake.”

“Wait, Phantom—”

He darted up and out of the chair. “No. I don’t remember my past and it doesn’t matter to me now. Please, tell your friends to stop investigating. It’s over, I don’t care. I just want my body back.”

Sarah stood. “Hang on, Phantom. Why don’t we go down to the station and talk about this together?”

Without so much as a glance behind him, Phantom disappeared, taking the cool chill that had permeated her living room with him.

“He’s hiding something,” Sarah told Atlas, who hovered protectively near her legs. “He’s definitely hiding something. The question is, what?”

---

“You guys really gave me an interesting one this time,” Williams, the coroner, said, adjusting his glasses. “Assuming this is Phantom’s body, the boy did not have a peaceful end.”

“What happened to him?” Mark said, peering down at the sallow remains of the corpse.

“Well, looking at some of the protruding bones, I noticed something rather interesting. It’s hard to make out, but on what’s left of his skin you can see some interesting lines.”

Mark squinted down, trying to pick out whatever the corner was looking at.

“Yeah, the body’s not in great shape, and so the cause of death can’t be determined for certain. But if you look closely, you can see what appears to be some sort of lightning scarring on his body, along with burn marks and tearing along the rest of his body.”

Mark looked up, puzzled. “You mean...he was electrocuted?”

“Most likely. That, or the electrocution took place just before his death,” the doctor said.

Mark stood for a moment, stumped. He’d expected the boy to have died of something more common in teens, like stab wounds or gunshot wounds. But electrocution?

Crowley leaned in, inspecting the body. “He could have been in an accident. That could explain why he was so angry about us investigating. Whoever covered up his death was likely a close friend or family member.”

“Damn,” Mark rested his back against the wall. “And that means he’s probably gone off to tell whoever was with him about this investigation, which will give them all time to prepare their stories.”

“Assuming there even was a someone else,” Crowley pointed out. “For all we know, Phantom could have been by himself.”

“What, so he buried his own dead body in the woods?”

Crowley shrugged. “He can interact with human objects, can he not?”

Mark grimaced, trying to chase away the mental images of a dead fifteen year old ghost digging his own grave.

“That’s pretty dark.”

“Oh!” The old man jumped up, moving to the corpse once again. “But you haven’t even gotten to the best part! This corpse is simply incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it, truly. I thought my scales were all broken, had to go measure other objects just to be sure. But the science doesn’t lie on this one! Simply fascinating.”

“What is it?” Crowley’s gruff voice slashed through the bubbly coroner’s rambling.

“Well,” Williams picked up a clipboard on the table. “Take a look for yourselves. Phantom’s human body just...doesn’t add up. That’s the only way I can describe it. His bones are significantly lighter than they should be.”

“How is that possible?”

“I have no idea. Even if our victim had osteoporosis, I’ve never seen bones this light before. And here’s another catch, is that even though they’re light and porous, they seem almost stronger than a regular bone.”

“This doesn’t make sense.” Mark peered down at the kid once again. He looked entirely unrecognizable from the hero in the skies. His skin was decayed, and—

“Hang on, is that black hair?” Mark pointed to the cadaver’s skull. “Phantom has white hair.”

Williams clasped his hands. “Yes! I nearly forgot about that one. Again, assuming this is Phantom’s body, it seems he had black hair when he was alive. I believe the hair samples, fingerprints, and other samples are already in the labs being tested. Hopefully they can pull a match—”

“Yup, they’re being tested as we speak. In a few hours, we can ID Phantom’s human body and put this whole case to rest,” Crowley said.

“I just wonder why his hair turned white. It must be some ghostly attribute. It makes me wonder what else about Phantom’s body changed, although he looks about the same height as his human counterpart. I wonder how much alteration is chosen by him and how much is ghost biology.”

“You’ll have to ask the Fentons about that,” Mark said.

Crowley scoffed. “Those lunatics? Please.”

“They may be lunatics, but they know their stuff.”

“I’d rather ask the GIW for help than the Fentons,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “Which speaking of, since we don’t yet have concrete evidence that this is Phantom’s body, the Ghost Investigation Ward hasn’t been summoned. But if the labs come back with some solid evidence, then this case may be taken out of our hands.”

Mark refrained from cursing. Internally, he knew that would be a likely outcome. But this was such a big case, and although he never voiced his opinion at work, he had always been a bit of a Phantom fan.

Well, aside from some of the vigilantism that the ghost participated in. Although well intentioned, at the end of the day Phantom was a teenager. They weren’t exactly known for thinking through the consequences before jumping headfirst into situations.

“Have they been alerted at all?” Mark asked.

“Not yet. But we’ll see when the labs come back.”

Mark nodded, studying the misshapen body. It wouldn’t be that easy though, would it? This was Phantom they were talking about. Surely the ghost wouldn’t have just let the police keep his corpse for so long unless he was confident that nothing would come out of this.

Surely he had a plan.

---

“What do you mean he showed up at your house?” Mark’s alarmed voice sounded from the other line.

Sarah pinched her cell between her ear and her shoulder. Hands free, she picked up a rag and began drying off her damp dinner plate. “Just what I said. He showed up at my house after he escaped from the police van and he told me that he buried his own body.”

“Why would he admit that to you? He didn’t even fess that much up to us. He must know that you’d talk to us.”

“Perhaps.” Sarah slotted the plate back in her cabinet. “I wonder if a part of him was almost relieved to tell me.”

“Did he mention anything about who he was with? He’s definitely protecting someone.”

“No, and honestly I’m not sure if anyone else knows about him. Mark, this seems like an accidental death. Did you get the coroner’s report yet?”

“Yup, death via electrocution, or at least that’s their best guess. A pretty gruesome way to go if you ask me.”

She paused, her hand frozen reaching for the dripping pot on her counter. Electrocution? That was certainly a rare case.

“It’s probably how he became a ghost,” Sarah said. “Ghosts form from tragic deaths, right? Electrocution is intense enough to form a ghost from.”

“You could be onto something. Depending on the lab results, we may have to call in the experts on this one.”

“The GIW?”

Mark hesitated. “We might...try to keep them out of this one. We’re trying to get Phantom to cooperate with us on this case. If they get involved, that’s sure to scare him off.”

“That’s smart.” Sarah wiped the now damp cloth along the base of the pot. “Did he say anything in the car with you before he ran off?”

“A bit, not too much though. Crowley tried to warm him up, but the ghost was too suspicious of us. Though, he did get defensive when we implied he was lying about his death.”

She internally groaned. That would explain why he seemed so pissed when he got to her house.

Well, that among other reasons.

“You’re an idiot. Did no one ever tell you that ghosts are sensitive about their deaths?”

“Hey, it’s not like ghost psychology is a part of our training!” Mark defended. “Hence why we’ll likely need to call in an expert.”

“Well maybe it should be,” Sarah mused. On her own, she’d admit that she’d read more than a few papers on ghosts on her own time. In such a short amount of time, ghosts had cemented themselves as an integral part of Amity Park. In her mind, the police would be remiss not to do their homework on ghosts too.

Although, the state didn’t care much about how much training police received on anything, much less human and ghost psychology. It had only been due to her sister taking the career path as a social worker that Sarah had any expert knowledge on how to handle cases of behavioral outbursts in severe cases of mental health.

But she was just one person in a sea of other cops, detectives, and other professionals in law enforcement. And unfortunately for them, ignorance was a plague in law enforcement.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, he got pretty defensive with me too.”

“What happened?”

“Like with you, he left before I could really get anything out of him. But when I asked who knew about his death, he just told me that he didn’t remember anyone from his past life.”

Mark was silent on the other line.

“Yeah, I don’t believe him either.” Sarah put away the last dish and hung her kitchen towel back along the side of her oven. She pulled her phone out from her shoulder and continued, saying, “I’ve been doing some research since then and I read Maddie Fenton’s recent paper on ghost cognition. Now I know her specialty is biology, but she’s actually really onto something here.”

“Give me the rundown, Adams.”

“The paper’s basically an analysis of over a dozen recordings she’s taken while out on the field interacting with and following cognitive ghosts, as in ghosts who can at least hold a basic conversation. Her findings are essentially that there is a correlation between higher power ghosts and their memories, although she said age of the ghost could affect this as well. She said a level six ectoplasmic ghost Ember showed vivid signs of remembering certain details of her high school memories including a teenage boy and her desires of fame, as well as a pair of level five biker ghosts she encountered, who wanted to relive their days road tripping together.”

“And what’s Phantom’s level?” Mark asked.

“According to the Ghost Investigation Ward, Phantom was classified as a level seven specter.”

“And yet he said he didn’t remember anything? Well, that’s not exactly surprising. We’re investigating his death, which he doesn’t seem too happy about. It’s no wonder he’s willing to lie about that. Especially if my theory is right in that he’s protecting someone.”

Sarah sat down at her kitchen table and drummed her fingers against the wooden surface. Off in the distance, she could hear Atlas chewing on a bone.

“But that can’t be the only reason you brought this up, is it?” Mark’s tentative voice sounded from the other line.

“Yeah I just.” Sarah sighed. “I just can’t shake the feeling that he’s not just hiding this because he wants to protect anyone from the police. I don’t know...I just think there’s something deeper at play here.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll find out tomorrow. Lab reports should be in by then.”

“Tomorrow? That’s a bit delayed, isn’t it?”

“Yeah well apparently they got corrupted.” Mark sighed in audible annoyance. “Forensic ran all the samples and all of them showed errors. Nothing was usable.”

“You think someone sabotaged it on purpose?” Sarah asked.

“Most likely. But we have plenty of samples, so whoever’s trying to delay this won’t get far. If it happens again, the head of the department will get involved. Either way, we’ll know who Phantom is sooner than he’d like.”

“Well, I’ll keep my finger’s crossed.”

“Talk to you later, Abrams.”

---

Nothing felt right.

His body was hot and cold. It tingled, ached, was numb. Anxiety surrounded him like a blanket, wrapping his body in its arms.

He was trapped.This was wrong.

Nothing felt real.

Danny didn’t understand at first. He just knew he had to leave his room and he had to go somewhere. It was instinct, pure instinct. He couldn’t explain how he knew to teleport or where he was going, but he knew.

And then it was worse than what he could have imagined.

It had been two days since the police found his...his…

Body. It was his body.

Danny twisted his t-shirt in his hands. He wanted to stand up and walk out of the room, but if he did that then Lancer would ask questions and Danny didn’t know how to deal with that. As it stood, he was barely holding onto his human form. His core was aching to transform, to let his ghost half take over. He knew that if a single thing went wrong, his core would simply override his stubborn willpower and transform anyway, class be damned.

Because his core didn’t care about Shakespear or whatever playwright of the week Lancer had decided upon. His core only knew one thing: that his body was in the hands of the police.

And that the police were...ugh. Danny didn’t even want to think about it.

He wasn’t a science experiment to be tested upon, he was a person. A person who deserved to be treated with respect. A person who deserved to be left alone.

And yet those detectives don’t care. They’re mocking you. They’re poking and prodding at you. Are you going to take this? It's YOUR body. You need it back. Just take it. They can’t stop you, it’s YOURS.

But they could stop him. And Danny knew this because he’d already tried last night, and he couldn’t even get close to his body.

Stupid ghost shields, stupid GiW, stupid anti-ghost tech around the morgue.

It had only been a few days, and yet to Danny it felt like it had been a year. The fact that he had managed to go to school at all today he considered a huge accomplishment. Even if he hadn’t even managed to open his notebook in any of his classes, much less remember if he’d been assigned detention or not for missing homework. Knowing him, he probably had.

But that didn’t matter to him. Not now, and possibly not ever again.

His future was one bad day away from being over. By the end of the week, he could be property of the US government. What would Shakespear or the quadratic formula matter to him then? If he was strapped to a lab table for the rest of his half-life?

Mr. Lancer called out to him, but Danny didn’t respond. He felt a hand dully poke his shoulder, and he felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t look up from his desk, he couldn’t open his book, he couldn’t do this.

His body moved on its own. Standing up, walking out of the classroom, ignoring the protests of his teacher or the laughter of his classmates.

He couldn’t do this.

School didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was ensuring his safety, and to do that he needed to get his body back.

He pushed a side door open, transforming nearly as soon as he stepped out the door. He felt the tug at his core, and he followed his instincts to a brick building not too far from the police station.

There. That must have been the morgue.

That was where his body was.

He landed, and stared at the entrance of the brick building. He wanted to step forward, to reach out and rip open the doors. He wanted so badly to fly through, take his body, and go home.

But he could see it. It was invisible to him in his human form, but there was a faint ripple around the building.

And there was his problem. The building was locked to those who didn’t have a keycard access, so Danny couldn’t just walk in as a human, but he couldn’t phase in due to the ghost shield around the building.

Which meant that he had to stand outside and wait for someone to let him in. Which was never going to happen.

He crossed his arms, glaring at the brick building. He could try to destroy the outside of the building, thus hopefully destroying the shield, but that could potentially endanger the people inside.

Not to mention his body. If the building fell, he could harm his body. Which he would rather die again than let that happen.

His core tugged impatiently, desperate for Danny to reunite with his other half. But he couldn’t.

It was impossible.

A car pulled up behind him, but Phantom didn’t pay it any mind. He stood, staring at the building. He needed to figure out a way inside. If he could only get inside then he could solve everything.

“Phantom?” a familiar voice called out from behind him.

Danny ignored the voice. No one else mattered, he just needed to get inside.

“Phantom, I need you to step away from the building,” the voice said.

Danny shushed the voice, glaring at the door.

He was so close and now someone was going to ruin it for him. He was just one stupid shield away. If he turned human and phased through the door, the shield would clock him the moment he activated his powers.

No, this was no good.

“Come on, Phantom. Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” a second familiar voice piped up.

“I need to get inside,” Danny finally said.

“No you don’t. Trust me, you need to step away from the building.”

Danny ignored the voice. It was so annoying. It didn’t understand what he needed. “I have something inside. I need it back.”

“I know, bud,” the original voice said. “But I can’t let you get inside. You know this.”

“Why not?” Phantom finally turned around to be faced with the two cops from the other day. To his surprise, neither of them had their weapons raised. “Why not let me inside? It’s my body. Mine. Not yours.”

“This is an investigation,” the older cop, Crowley, said.

Danny narrowed his eyes, allowing the glow to flair. “I didn’t ask to be investigated.”

The younger cop, Johnson, nodded. “I know, but we have to. I know you don’t understand, but it’s our duty to investigate all missing kids, including you.”

Danny glanced back to the building. If he could only find a way inside, he could just forget these past few days had ever happened. He could forget about the cops, he could forget about the stupid investigation, the fact that the GIW would likely find out he’s a halfa, the increasing possibility of him becoming a lab experiment, all of it.

If he could just get inside.

“Why don’t you come back to the station with us. We can talk more there and you can tell us why you don’t want to be found. Look, no guns and no cuffs this time. It’s up to you. If you want to talk, it’s on your terms,” Johnson said.

“It’s not,” Danny whispered. “It’s not my terms. None of this is my terms.” He glared back at the officers, his voice getting louder. “Why won’t you take the hint? Just stop all of this. Stop investigating, stop sticking your nose in other people’s business. Let me have my body back, please, just let me see it just for a moment. I just—I...I need to see it. I need it.”

Crowley shook his head. “No can do. Sorry, Phantom.”

“This is stupid. This is so fucking—ugh!” Danny threaded his fingers through his hair. “I can’t do this.”

“Wait—”

Danny didn’t wait for Johnson to finish his statement. He shot to the sky, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes. It was just the crisp air against his face, wasn’t it? He wasn’t getting emotional over this.

That would be ridiculous. He wasn’t helpless, he was going to figure this out. He’d gotten himself in this predicament, he could get himself out of it.

He just needed to figure out a way into the building. Then he could get his body back, he could hide it somewhere far away, somewhere nobody would ever find it, and then everything could go back to the way it was.

That was it. He could do this.

Right?

---

Mark studied the files slack-jawed.

There was just no way this was possible. Even with Amity Park’s high concentration of ghosts, he’d never seen anything like this before.

“They ran them again?” Mark said, looking up at Crowley. “They ran them again and they still got this?”

“Yup.” Crowley’s typical lackadaisical expression was replaced with something more hard-set. “Labs re-ran all tests and still got nothing but errors.”

“But I don’t understand. How is this possible?” Mark held up the lab results in his hands. “How is it that every single molecule of Phantom’s human body was covered in ectoplasm? Right down to the DNA?”

Crowley leaned against the wall. “In all my years as a detective, this is a first for me.”

“It must be someone working for him, right?” Mark said. “The science doesn’t lie.”

“No, indeed the science doesn’t lie,” Williams said, rounding the corner of the station. He placed a manila folder and a coffee mug down on the empty conference table and offered them a cheerful grin. “Interesting reports, eh?”

“Please tell me you’re here to explain these,” Mark said, raising the files in his hand.

“Yeah.” Crowley stroked his silver mustache. “I’d certainly like to know what exactly is so interesting about corrupted DNA reports.”

“We can’t even ID the victim with these.”

Williams’ smile grew, and his face crinkled in delight. “See, that’s where you’re wrong! Now, we might not be able to ID the human body that this boy once inhabited, but at the very least we can officially confirm that it’s Phantom’s body.”

“Explain,” Crowley said.

Williams opened the manila folder and began shuffling through the papers inside. “There was a substance in particular that was messing up all the lab results, so forensics investigated further and found that it was ectoplasm. And when they tried to remove it to isolate only the organic material they found that they couldn’t.”

“How?” Mark asked.

“Because the ectoplasm had fused with the body’s DNA.” Williams lifted a piece of paper like a proud parent showing off their child’s report card. “I got some more samples and had forensics run tests on all different body parts, and found that every single cell had its own DNA corrupted with ectoplasm. And when we ran the ectosignature through the database, we found an exact match to Phantom’s own ectosignature.”

“So this was really Phantom.” Crowley didn’t sound surprised by the revelation.

“Bingo,” Williams said.

“But this doesn’t really make sense,” Mark insisted. “If this level of DNA corruption happened during ghost formation, surely we would have records of other bodies like this as well.”

Williams tapped his head with his finger. “Maybe we do, and we just don’t know. Phantom is a powerful ghost, is he not? Perhaps this DNA corruption can only occur in powerful ghost formations, and perhaps Phantom is the first powerful ghost with a body we’ve found and have been able to run our equipment on in modern times.”

“Maybe…” Mark’s voice drifted. He wasn’t sure if it was something Sarah Abrams had said to him on the phone, but he felt like there was a large piece of the puzzle he was missing.

He sighed, placing his manila folder down on the table. “I think it’s time to call in the experts.”

Crowley stared at him, his typically crinkled eyes widening to that of a bug. “You don’t mean…”

“Yup,” Mark said. “It’s time to bring in the Fentons.”

---

[part 2]

#danny phantom #morge #my writing #corpse au #invisobang #invisobang 2021

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