#cadaver’s flower field

[cadaverinaflowerfield]

[kaija-rayne-author]

Something I hardly ever see in video games is people in the game complaining about how much all those corpses used as set dressing would stink. (There was one comment, IIRC, in DAI, in the bog level.)

CW mildly graphic discussion of scent relating to death. Mention of emesis and bowels.

Putrescense, the 'smell of death/decomposition' is something you can sorta get used to? (Not really, but you can learn to breathe differently and become more inured to it. You can learn tricks of the trade, vaporub really does work to some extent.) I mean, I was a stereotype of people who can eat and work on cadavers, but it’s an incredibly strong smell. And it's not like I have a dull sense of smell. I'm a supertaster/smeller genetype. (I was a Forensic anthropologist/crime scene tech for a while after uni, that's how I know.)

People who haven't been around it enough to get used to it are likely to vomit. The rookie upchucking on scene isn't a stereotype for no reason. Even though I'd built up some tolerance, at this point I haven't worked in that field for decades so even I would likely get sick from it. And it's an odor you never forget.

Putrescine and Cadaverine are two organic chemical forms that a cadaver often produces, and they're both often on the list of 'worst smells known to humanity'.

The Indonesian Corpse flower smells exactly as advertised and is often as high as number 2 on those lists.

Add in the char on some of those set dressings, (burning human is not a great combination of smells, I guarantee it) or the saponification likely in water burials, or the blight itself and dear gods these people would be gagging all over the place. And what about the scents of released sphincters that often occur around death? People don't usually enjoy the outhouse smells that often come with a dead body.

It's also something people can smell a long way off. Roughly a quarter to half a mile away, depending on climate and wind direction. It's also a smell that clings. You get around a dead body, all your gear, your hair and skin, it's all going to stink of it.

But it's really rare to even get a mention of it. I know, I know, bad smells aren't fun or sexy, but it's actually enough for me to get thrown from immersion because of it.

Even if you posit that they'd possibly be used to it because of the world being so brutal, I'd find that incredibly arguable.

People really don't like the smell of death, and we do a lot to get rid of it. We're hard wired, brain wise, to avoid it or get rid of it. It makes us uncomfortable. And the blight hadn't been seen for, what? 400 years? So very little way to get used to that. This isn't even getting into all the 'lack of insects and other scavengers' issue. In Thedas especially, there's damned good reasons to, I dunno, not leave corpses around so they don't get demon possessed and come home for dinner, too. (Yes, I think I'm hilarious 😆.)

Death stinks. Set dressers, writers, and game devs could probably consider that.

[visceravalentines]

I have so many questions about your job, it seems very interesting. Can you talk about what it entails? See, my grandma had a flower shop I would work at and we specialized in floral arrangements for funerals. While I was allowed to watch the ceremonies, I knew not to ask questions or talk even though I was intrigued about the rest of the people working there to make things go smoothly. Also, if you have any books on becoming a mortician or anything related to your field that you'd like to recommend, I'm always expanding my reading list!

great question, and mad respect for you and your grandma!! doing flowers for a funeral can be high stress with the fast turnaround. i talked a little bit about my day-to-day here, but here's a few things we do that people don't realize!

we file the death certificate. we often officiate funerals or dedicate graves if the family is shy. we pallbear for those who don't have any or enough able-bodied family members or friends to do so. we get flags for veterans (from the post office!). we book flights for decedents whose final resting place is elsewhere! we shave your face, male or female (gotta get rid of that peach fuzz for the cosmetics). we submit obituaries to the newspaper. we go through the drive-thru with a body in the back sometimes, but only when you absolutely have to bc you're not gonna get another chance to eat that day. we clean up all the used tissues you leave under the pew. we wash all the hearses and limos and vans. we make the bed after we pick up your grandma. we read the obituary and try to remember everyone's names and hope and pray we didn't forget anything because we really, really want everything to go well for you. we talk to your loved one and tell them we're sorry and tell them we're trying and tell them how much you miss them. we really care a lot, most of us.

i really enjoyed From Here to Eternity by Caitlin Doughty for how broad its scope of funeral practice is! i also really love Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach, which is exactly what it sounds like. both of those are pretty entry-level for people interested in death or death work. two less exciting but very good books about death and grief are A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis, his musings on the death of his wife, and Lazarus Rises (Amongst Other Things) by Berklie Novak-Stolz, a poetry collection written after her brother's suicide. grief is something people by and large do not recognize or experience until it hits them like a meteor, and it is a part of my job that is very near and dear to my heart and often very difficult and taxing. i highly recommend learning even a little bit about it before it becomes necessary to experience firsthand.

[riewritten]

CHAPTER 1. WHAT HAVE YOU SEEN THAT DAY?

EDGE OF THE PRECIPICE — DIRECTORY

ERWIN X FEM!READER, ERWIN X YOU, NO Y/N | hurt/comfort, angst, mystery, childhood friends, fake marriage, modern au, parallel universe, reincarnation, mentions of canon, pining commander erwin smith, trauma, manipulation, referenced child abuse, violence, psychological torture

SUMMARY: Aggressive land grabbing from the royal government ensue from one countryside to the other, all allegedly for the prophecy: a tree, vast source of power that'd bring great abundance and prosperity to mankind, is standing among their lands. As the said prophecy holds the answer to the tragic childhood you have no memories of, the guerilla's commander pulls out something he prepared for years to help. AO3 | FANFICTION

WORDS: 6.5k | Want to get tagged for the succeeding chapters? Sign up here.

“VIRI TUI MAGNUM OFFICIUM FECERUNT!

PRIMUS EQUES APOCALYPSIS ADEST IN FORMA DIABOLI EX ARBORE. QUI EUM EVIGILANTES PERIBUNT!

HOC CORPUS MORTUUM SIGNIFICAT INITIUM BELLI.”

is what the carving on Furlan's dead body said. It's written in a foreign language, one barely understood by anyone.

But comprehensible to you.

“ALAS, YOUR MEN HAD DONE A FRUITFUL JOB!

THE CONQUEST, FIRST HORSEMAN OF THE APOCALYPSE, HAS COME IN THE FORM OF A DEVIL FROM THE TREE.

THIS CADAVER SIGNIFIES THE START OF WAR.”

Even if you don't have the tiniest clue about what that language was called, you understand it very clearly whenever it speaks inside your head. It speaks when you dream of your life back then. It speaks before it sprinkles events that didn't happen, as if casting a spell to warp your memory.

Erwin cut the rummaging thoughts inside your ringing head, "Come on, you can do it. My flower never wavers, she's always been such a strong girl for me."

He's having you stand in a stress position—one akin to torturing prisoners. It's on a squat, thighs parallel to the floor and your back leaning on the wall. You let out a sharp hiss when he placed a hand on your thighs, just to add pressure and intensify the pain.

"D-do I," you stuttered with a sob as it became too much to handle again, "really need t-to—"

"You need to, darling." he glided his finger on your cheek to wipe a tear away, sympathy laced his features. It almost looks sardonic, really, even if you know he'd never give you that attitude. "You need to diminish your knack of getting disoriented during crisis. How are you going to avenge the lives they took from you? From our comrades?"

You understand that much, you really do. But then again, "It's been—I don't know—half a day? Fuck, please—"

"'s okay, it's okay,' he murmured as if to soothe you, "you can still hear and answer me, see? You're doing just fine." then looked at his clock, "just one more minute left, come on."

He counted slowly and you're unsure if that meant to give you relief or rattle your muscles further. As Erwin muttered the last second, your legs crumbled with a groan.

He caught you swiftly in his arms; your head buried in his neck and loud sobs muffled on his shirt.

"There, there," he whispered praises then, as if he's not the one who just subjected you to more than half a day of utter pain, "I told you that you could do it. I'm never in the wrong, don't you think?' then chuckled, "You're doing great in marksmanship as well. Let's proceed with combat tomorrow."

"R-rest," you're too exhausted to mutter a coherent reply, "I beg…" and your consciousness is fluttering away.

He sighed, "The world should've known better, really.” next was a gentle hum as he wiped up the sweat on your forehead, “should’ve known better and just gave you beautiful things in this life instead." he fixed the creases on your face then, just as if he wasn’t being merciless a minute ago.

"I—" you husked, "want to—"

"I know, lovely thing." the last thing you felt was a chaste peck on your head, "Now then, dream of the field of flowers back in Mitras—the one you liked despite it not being as beautiful as you. Just as you deserve so."

Your consciousness relaxed. Such tranquility as if he didn't just hurt you, as if you’re just back on his bed in Mitras, as if he's just a young boy again—one who did anything in his power to keep a smile on your face.

You really did dream of the field of flowers years ago, but with the voices conquering the memories.

The sun was striking hot that afternoon and so when evening came, you ran towards Erwin's bedroom. Despite Mitras' constant dry weather, Erwin's room seems out of the word. The temperature’s always just right as if it's specifically made to fit your desires. Was it because his bed is right beside the large window? Was it because of the calming blue hues accentuating his walls? Or was it simply because it belongs to Erwin and everything about him calms you down?

You clicked a smile upon realizing he left the door unlocked yet again. The poor boy almost jumped out of his chair when you banged the door and threw yourself on his bed, "Erwin! I'll sleep here tonight!"

"I remember telling you that you’re not supposed to sleep in a room without the owner agreeing." he rolled his office chair to face you. You noticed how full his study table is.

Strange. Why does he need to go to a different place to get those books and avail of those lessons? And why am I not doing that?

"I bet Auntie is shouting your name all over the neighborhood as we speak. I told you to not stress her out a lot."

You disappeared outside the door to grab something then. It's needless to say that he was almost too horrified when you started dragging your whole futon inside his room.

"You brought all of that here?" 

"She let me," then flashed your little thumbs up, "because I helped her clean the house." He looked stunned for a while. Of course, you thought. You only do that during holidays, which is roughly a few days per year.

"Suit yourself on the futon, then. I'll just wash up." That was a mistake because as soon as he came back to his room, you were already seated on his bed. 

He tapped on your shoulders to usher you away. You responded with a shrug and said, "That's why I brought the futon, Erwin."

"Then why don't you settle on it already?"

You closed your eyes and savored the breeze without giving a reply. When he noticed that, he bargained, "You always sleep here when I'm in school. Savor the breeze during that time."

"It's hot during the daytime! Also," you finally turn to him and your face isn't sneering anymore, "it's scorching hot in my dreams. Flames are all over."

Erwin wasn't able to answer then. The bargain on who'll have his bed was concluded. He silently laid down on your futon; your eyes followed suit as he turned his back on you.

"Can I like," you let a hand down and rested it on top of his head, ruffling his hair along the way. You added in a whisper, "hold onto this while I sleep?"

"You're repaying my generosity by pulling my hair?"

"You're too young to be bald. I'm not planning that on you just yet."

"Yet."

You frowned, "I just want to be awake easily by the time fire comes."

He turned to face you after that. Tranquil laced his voice as he called your name, "There will be no fire." 

"You can't know."

"Are you scared?"

"No," you chuckled, "just safety measures."

Erwin then reached for your cold hand, held onto it, and clasped it on his own. "You're trembling, you fool."

“Because it's breezy?"

He let out a sneer. Luckily, he didn't dare argue with that anymore. He closed his eyes again but didn't release your hand. "Go here whenever you dream of fire," he said.

"You seemed really annoyed earlier, though." you teased and clutched his hand tighter.

"Because you didn't say it sooner. If you entered here and spoke of fires then the talk is over." his voice tipped lower this time and you can feel the heave of his chest from your hand.

That voice—along with the sound of night crickets covering the room—eased the tension and worry in your muscles. When you felt your eyes fluttering as well, you asked, "Why do I deem fires unpleasant?"

"What do you think? What makes you scared of them?"

"You look so good in yellow and you're fitted under the sun. I really wonder what makes me scared."

He opened his eyes again, and now the look he gave you was solemn, "Me looking good under it doesn't mean it's not supposed to be scary."

"It is. I'm not scared whenever I'm with you. Not because you could protect me, just with your presence alone."

"And it'll stay that way."

You were silent for a while. He noticed how your eyebrows curled in worry as you finally laid all your anxiousness. His stare softened more, encouraged you to let it out to him—just as you always should. 

"Then why do I feel like everything is fragile right now? Like the life we have is on the precipice that'd crumble with just a tiny pressure of my feet?"

"Then don't put your feet in there," he chuckled.

You sighed and defeatedly withdrew your hand from him, "You're not taking me seriously."

Even before you could cover yourself with his blanket and bid him a good night, however, he grasped your hand again. It's much tighter this time, "It'll stay this way. The precipice will not crumble." The worry didn't subside, though, so he added, "Do you trust me?"

"Even if I put my feet in there?"

"Well," he pondered, "I'll make a way."

You chuckled, "Yeah, I'm doomed." then closed your eyes again. This time, the tranquility stayed for good.

"Don't you worry," it stayed for him, too; for this night at least, "you're quite a pesky little flower but I got you."

You wondered if he meant that. You genuinely believed he did until the day you made a big mistake, or so you felt.

A few days later, a tall tree with a crevasse at its base randomly appeared on a nearby farm that was previously commercialized until Erwin's aunt—one who took you in—bought it and gave it away to the small-scale farmers in the town. You ran back to his house gleefully, thrilled to show the phenomenon to your seemingly stoic boy, and you just know he wasn't able to resist you with the grin plastered on your face.

You thought he'd be happy, too. Erwin has a knack to gleam whenever he discovers something new. So why? Why was his face laced with horror upon seeing that tree?

"Where…" his mouth gaped open, "did this come from?"

The beam on your face dissipated. The thrill on your nerves was replaced with sheer cold. The most composed being you've had your entire life is completely scared.

"I-I don't know, I'm sorry. I thought it was cool and you'd like it—" you stopped as his face changed. He looks angry this time, unsure if at you or at the situation in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Erwin." you muttered in guilt, perhaps more of fear.

And he sensed that, surely. Your tone made him snap out of it and look at you. You're about to cry. He heaved a tired sigh, turned his back, held onto your hand tight, and started walking. You attempted to apologize again but he's unmoved already—no apparent emotions anymore, just as if nothing had happened.

You turned your head at the tree again and on a second look, you wondered why you got thrilled upon seeing it. Why, when some curse clearly lurks around its air? It stood so tall and huge, and you just know its very presence entails drastic and violent beginnings—a giant entailing nothing but chaos, catastrophe, doomsday.

"You didn't see anything," Erwin said after a while, "understood?"

"No, why?

"You didn't see anything." he repeated and this time the tone was grim.

You purse your lips tight and nod. Satisfied with your response, Erwin brought you home without a word.

He has avoided you since then.

You had known yourself as someone utterly stubborn and petty since you knew Erwin would always end up being the bigger person to your childishness. However, it's the first time this has happened. Your other friends from the farm—mostly coming from the Smiths as well since almost everyone here is related—won't affect you if they're the ones to give you cold treatment.

Erwin transcends their existence, though. Despite not remembering everything about you until a few years ago, let alone why you even ended up under the care of Erwin's aunt, his presence gave you a sense of security—that even if you don't know where the hell you came from, even if you sometimes doubt if you're actually human because no traces of your childhood is accessible to you, even if you feel the fragility of this tranquil life—Erwin's presence makes it feel like you could somehow get by it. It's as if he's the only familiar person standing here. He knew you'd lack the sense of security and belongingness, thus he never fails to remind you that he belongs to you.

That's why you eventually stormed inside their house one evening, banged the door open as they ate, and with tears in your eyes, you muttered, "I'm sorry, okay! If I knew you wouldn't like that, I wouldn't even bother you! I'm sorry if I keep entering a room without permission, for making you sleep on my futon while I conquer your bed, for breaking your vase and never admitting to it, for not listening to you, for—"

"What's the matter?" Erwin's father stood up at the dining table and walked towards you, knelt down, and wiped your tears as you sobbed loudly.

"Erwin's angry at me," you stuttered in between sobs, "You know, I'm sorry if I'm too hard-headed and I keep on being a burden to everyone when y'all don't even know where I came from—"

"I'll talk to her," the young man cut you off, swiftly cleaned his plate, and gestured for his father to move so he'd have his way.

Before doing so, his father whispered something to him, face slightly stern. You quickly clarified then, "N-no. He didn't do anything wrong."

The old man turned to you and smiled, "Of course, Erwin would never." it's a gentle one again, one he really meant. He left the dining room and entered his office.

"I'm not angry," he said gently after both of you were left alone.

"You can’t even look me in the eye and you started locking your bedroom door before leaving for school, just so I wouldn’t be able to enter!"

"I have stuff to take care of at the moment."

"You're lying. It's because of that tree!"

"You didn't see anything that day,” Erwin's muttered sternly, “wasn't that clear to you?" you immediately flinched and shut up then. The pressure of having him flutter away from you teetered the emotions to snap. When he sensed that, his tone went gentle again, "You said you trust me when I say things will stay this way. Is that not the case anymore?"

"Because things are going differently right now. You're ignoring me, Erwin!"

"I'm sorry," he smiled. Despite it being strange and questionable, it eased you just that easily. "You see, the things I'm working on right now are something that needs to be done so the precipice wouldn't crumble."

"Why? How?"

"I can't say more than that."

Silence enveloped the room then. If Erwin says he can't, that really wouldn't change anytime soon.

"Okay, then just—" you reached for his hand—perhaps for comfort—only to cut yourself off because he flinched and avoided it. Your breath hitched and your body froze, "What was that?"

The door banging open again cut Erwin's impending explanation. It's Carly, his aunt. The woman sighed in relief, looks like she roamed the whole neighborhood searching for you again.

"Oh god, you—" just like always, she's on the edge of crying, "I told you to not stray during the night. If someone were to grab you into the woods, no one would notice!"

"But Erwin's—" you shot the man a look again but then he's already on his back, walking towards his room without a word, "…angry." you weakly muttered.

If he indeed was doing it so the precipice wouldn't crumble, then why is that every attempt you make to have things stay this way always precedes more unfortunate events? You never saw that tree again nor bothered anyone about it. And with your resolution to have the young boy look at you again, you roamed all over the place to find something that'd be considered an apology gift, one of which included his father's bedroom. 

However, the agenda changed as soon as you came across a cut-out newspaper dated years ago.

"A mysterious fire struck a family of three in Trost City, lone survivor was a child aged ten: Investigators deduce it was arson.

Spotted at the scene was the son of the neighbor, Mr. Smith, carrying the unconscious child out of the house…"

Flames all over. Scorching hot. Aching throat. Airways blocked. Burnt body of a bulky man. Your house. Your family. Where you came from. Where you belonged.

You can’t breathe.

All of it taken away from you for…

For that…

Your scream reverberated all over the place.

Why?

Why was Erwin there?

“BENEATH THE TRANQUILITY OF YOUR LIFE WAS THE EDGE OF A PRECIPICE,

AND BENEATH THE PRECIPICE WAS HIM.

YOU SOUGHT FOR HIM OR SO YOU THOUGHT,

AS HE SEEMS TO BE THE ONE TO BRING YOU REFUGE.”

When you gasped and shot your eyes open from what felt like air suffocation, you realized you were already lying down on your own bed. Strangely enough, Erwin's there, waiting patiently with worry. However, what you were supposed to celebrate turned out the opposite.

"Are you fine? What happened?" it seems like he knew what just happened, though. After all, his surprise faded as he saw your glare.

Your head rang painfully again, and somehow Erwin's presence is bringing you back to the fires. The room's getting hot and your airway's getting blocked for the second time around. 

I'll die.

If this persists, I'll surely die.

I'll die. I'll die. I'll die. 

"Get out," you muttered dully.

"I won't."

"Get out! The place is burning! I'm gonna die!" you gripped your hair hard and with bloodshot eyes you screamed again, "This place is burning! I'll die, I'll die, I'll die!"

Erwin called your name as he held onto your shoulders, "You're not. I told you, you're safe here," but you cut him off by screaming and swatting him away as if you just got burnt with his contact. With your noise reverberating the room, Aunt Carly entered and gestured for Erwin to get out.

Erwin didn't follow until someone—perhaps a voice begging to be heard inside you—spoke on your behalf, "Monster. Devil. Cold-blooded murderer. Go away from me. You repulse me."

The voice was cold and resentful, and even the most intelligent boy in the town knew better than to anger it more.

Not long after, Carly ended up leaving the city with you so your episodes from seeing him would subside.

“YOU SOUGHT FOR HIM OR SO YOU THOUGHT

 BUT PERHAPS THAT WASN'T THE CASE AT ALL.

PERHAPS YOU NEVER GOT THE AGENCY TO CHOOSE,

FOR IGNORANTS DON'T GET TO TALK.”

"We've been here in Stohess for years and it won't change. You never became a burden to me. Not even now." Carly remarked coldly as she put the utensil down, "Even if that didn't happen, I'm still bound to leave Mitras. Back then, I just wanted you to be ready for it. Or perhaps have you decide if you'll come with me or stay with Erwin—" she cut herself off upon seeing you flinch, "okay, that's it. Let's eat now. You have a busy day ahead. Let's not start our morning this way." then defeatedly turned the stove off. 

When you were done getting the plates and settling them on the dining table, you muttered, "I'm sorry. I'm just—I guess I'm just nervous. This is the first time I'll study like this after years of being homeschooled."

Finally, the curl in Carly's eyebrows was replaced with relief. She held your cold hand firmly, "You've met the guidance counselor last week, didn't you?" you nodded blankly so she added, "What do you think about him?"

"Mr. Eisner is a good man, I think." you mumbled and held the spoon, "He asked me nicely about stuff… all without pressure."

"He is. And he's going to assist so you could get used to it." she withdrew her hand and started eating as well, "You have people to help so don't you shoulder it on your own, okay?"

"But see, I still don't get the rationale behind this." you could see her eyes go stern again but still encouraged you to let it out, "Why did you take me in? You have a good life ahead of you without the burden of a broken chi—" she huffed a tsk to correct you, "—a child." you clarified with a sigh.

"I was actually married, even before you appeared in my life." her smile turned rueful, "Until he got assassinated by bad guys. I told you, hadn't I? The Strattman family is full of bad guys." 

"Oh no, I'm so sorry. We don't need to talk about it—"

"You need to know about this so you'd stop thinking as if you're a pesky sack of dirt I brought in with me." she firmly hushed. When you nodded, she continued, "When my husband died, I went to the family he had left behind to pay for what the bad guys did. The Smiths welcomed me with open arms nonetheless and told me that I could stay there if I didn't have a place to call home. You know, I was set on leaving into thin air not long after. That's what happens when you're deprived of your purpose. That is until they brought you to me. Do you remember the first time we met?"

"No, I'm sorry. Even now, I don't remember everything else. It's just that…"

"That you can't see that boy, hm?" you nodded, quite thankful she didn't drop the name again. "You were meant to enter an orphanage after recovery and I just happened to be available for fostering. But just when I was about to bring you there myself, I got… afraid. I realized I love you and can't fathom losing someone like that again. Of course, I asked you if you feel the same because you really weren't that talkative at the start of it but when you nodded—even just that meek nod—I just know I won't be able to leave you alone. I just know we don't have to be alone again."

You finally lightened up then. It took you a while to ease the emotions down. "So if I hadn't nodded…"

"Then I'll coax you to do so. Who do you think I am?"

With a sad smile, you said, "Someone who'd certainly get what she wants if she set her eye on it," she beamed with your answer and encouraged you to say more, "just like this table you won at the market lottery when we're still new in this town."

"That's my girl," she ruffled your hair and you scoffed in defeat.

Little did you know, that attempt at peace would crumble just right after through a knock on a door. You were even thrilled to see who that was—perhaps one of Carly's suitors as she has tons of it—but the visitor churned your guts instead.

"Erwin!" Carly gasped as she rushed to the door to scoot you behind her back, "I told you to settle for my updates regarding her welfare. You have to wait 'til she's ready again. You agreed with me before, didn't you?"

Your hands started to shake despite the frozen demeanor. You couldn't even feel anything else, let alone your mouth to close it, and Erwin reciprocated the stare very well. He's unyielding and thus you realized that whatever he came here for, he wouldn't go back without it.

What more does he need from me?

"I'm living here from now on," Erwin announced flatly.

"Did you even tell your dad about this? No, wait. Don't go near her yet, she might—" Well, it's too late. He's already in front of you, and what Carly deemed as good news is that you stayed still. No flinches at all.

"Why are you here?" you lowly asked.

If Erwin was hurt by the behavior, he didn't show any sign of it. He rather nonchalantly answered, "I’m here, indeed, as the neighbor who got you out of the fire years ago and the one you go to whenever you dream of it."

"Hey!" the aunt exclaimed and intervened the distance before you could explode by its pressure.

However, he continued, "And I'll stay with you so there'll be no fires. No fires would hurt you if I'm here."

Your aunt pulled Erwin away and examined the benign reactions you're showing for the first time in a while.

"But you're the one who had set it." you weakly remarked, "You're the one who set it." followed by a mixture of fear and spite, "You're the one who set that fire back there!" and ended with a scream.

“Go home now, Erwin.” Carly lowly said. Erwin didn’t answer. She sighed, “That’s it. I’ll call your father.”

Erwin's still unmoved and for some reason, his demeanor is utterly tranquil despite the reprimanding. As if this occurrence is predestined and in accordance with his plans.

He gave Carly a look, “I suppose we must have a small talk first before I go,” a gentle tone, coaxing despite the woman's stern glare, “privately.” 

“Oh… ‘kay. I suppose we can have that.” Carly nodded slowly and you stomped back to your bedroom, banged the door angrily, and cried on your pillows.

“PERHAPS YOU NEVER GOT THE AGENCY TO CHOOSE, FOR IGNORANTS DON'T GET TO TALK.

BUT THEN AGAIN, HOW DOES AN IGNORANT RECOGNIZE WHAT'S REAL WITH WHAT'S NOT?

DO TELL, LITTLE FLOWER, WHAT EXACTLY HAVE YOU SEEN THAT DAY?”

Never in your life had you thought you’d get this horrified seeing such a smile on your beautiful guardian.

“It’d be fun, don’t you think!”

Carly, who was completely stern a few moments ago before she talked to Erwin, now all smiles with a hearty laugh. You stayed still with wide eyes.

Strange it is, indeed, as Carly is never someone to be coaxed so easily with things she deems wrong.

You shot Erwin a glare; he stayed unperturbed. He’s rather looking at you, perhaps establishing with his benign look that everything will be going his way one way or another, and not even your daggers could waver that.

“AFTER ALL, THIS OCCURRENCE IS PREDESTINED AND IN ACCORDANCE WITH HIS PLANS.

ALL FOR YOU, INDEED, A FLOWER HANGING AT THE EDGE OF THE PRECIPICE

WITH WHICH HE HOLDS UNDERNEATH.”

You don’t eat whenever he does. You don’t get out of the room until he’s out. Not too long after, your aunt decided to butt in. She said she vehemently dislikes people fighting in her household so both of you have to come up to terms with each other or one has to go away. You lashed out and said it'd rather be you to go away if that's the case.

He stepped up the game then.

You don’t know if he got some sort of agreement with your aunt, but she rarely goes home now. She claims it’s due to business trips that she never expounds. Erwin ends up cleaning the house and doing the laundry. He doesn’t even let you lift a finger, he does it even before you could. Perhaps he’s waiting for you to transpire a feud with him regarding that matter just so you’d talk to him again.

“What are you going to do with this, then?” he asked as you stared at the food he just put on the table. He leaned on his elbow with a palm on his chin, “Are you gonna throw it in the bin?”

“I didn’t ask you to cook for me.”

“Then, are you gonna throw it away in the bin?” 

After all, he secretly snatched your allowance away. You ended up not buying anything throughout the school hours. Now you’re dead hungry and you vehemently dislike throwing food away, perhaps due to your upbringing beside the farmers of Mitras.

Defeated, you finally sat down and silently munched on the food. Too exhausted and hungry to even mind that Erwin is still sitting as you eat. But then you noticed something crafted on the table—handwriting that’s akin to a child.

A horse, and above the horse is a crown, above the crown stands a tree.

You squint your eyes then. You never noticed such a thing before. Carly would go berserk at this.

“What is this…?”

“Is there something wrong with the food?”

“No, the stuff here. Did you draw this?” Erwin scooted towards you without hesitation and as ironic as it is, you got flustered at the sudden proximity. You turned your head the opposite way as he examined it. “Did you draw that? Carly would kill you, you know?” you mused. When he didn’t answer nor move, you turned to him only to be taken aback again because he’s been staring at you all along, not on the drawing, not at all.

“Since when did you start getting embarrassed with distance?” he asked.

“I'm not!"

“Well, I can sense the heat in your face from here.” That’s when you moved your chair backward. Despite Erwin’s composed features, you could see a slight curl in his lips.

“Are you making fun of me?” it wasn’t anger for you, though, but rather the embarrassment.

He finally smiled then, the first time in a while. “No. I’m glad you didn’t waste the food though.” then finally stood up to clean the table.

“WHAT,

WHAT EXACTLY HAVE YOU SEEN THAT DAY?

WHAT?”

Rather than musing about what the voice just whispered, a seemingly unrelated question popped out of you.

"That day, years ago... When I brought you to that huge tree, what made you look like that?" you trailed, a lump forming in your throat upon having the memory again, “…why did I see a tear from you that day?”

"I saw something."

"And that is?”

"How beautiful you look even in worlds beyond this one."

"Stop being strange to me right now."

"Don't you think that was more strange? The tree's nowhere to be found right after. Only the two of us saw that."

"But you told me I didn't see anything that day. If anything, that might really be the case."

Erwin had a little smile plastered on his face as he examined your features. Three years ago, you'd tease him about it, but then it's different now.

It's unnerving. You had to fight the urge to beg him to stop looking at you like that.

"What do you think a tree does in its nature?" he asked gently, "Come on, little flower, show me what you've got for your first day in school."

"I don't need a public school to know that much." you glared, "Of course, it's to sprout and flourish. Bring fruit to life."

"Through what?"

"A seed?" you curled your eyebrows. What's the point of this?

"Indeed. Metaphorically, a seed is deemed as the source of all beings. With a tree that huge, it's needless to say that all sorts of possibilities could be born from it." you squint your eyes at him for more so he added, "Perhaps a world ruled by giants, perhaps a privilege for a human being to witness the existence of multiple worlds," he paused for a while, this time his tone changed, "perhaps a divine being to bring prosperity to our land, or a devil to wage a strife to end it."

You gulped then. Despite the concept not being too terrifying to think of, you got scared. "Y-yeah, captain smart. What's your point, then?"

"That I was able to take a glimpse of what it could bring. And there, I saw you being the beautiful lady that you are in worlds beyond." he concluded with a smile, "See, that's possibly the truest thing I've said in a while."

The wall you had built for Erwin disintegrated a little bit.

“COME ON, COME ON.

THE CRUST IS WEAKENING, LITTLE FLOWER.

JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK WOULD HAPPEN IF IT CRUMBLES?

DO TELL, DO TELL, WHAT EXACTLY HAVE YOU SEEN THAT DAY?”

You're not even sure anymore.

But the concept of school thrilled you. All sorts of things you've seen in just weeks exuded all sorts of possibilities you imagined to experience.

That's why when a faculty interrupted a class to summon you because someone from the household called, it wasn't the curiosity of what Carly or Erwin would possibly say. It's the thrill of seeing the faculty room upfront.

"Carly was brought to the hospital," it's Erwin and his voice was grim. You dropped the telephone to the floor, your class adviser gaped his mouth open.

He asked you to wait at the convenience store after class because he still had stuff to do and he really can't leave that yet. You demanded him to just tell you where the hospital was. It seems like he didn't hear it, though, as he hung up the phone and you couldn't reach his number afterward.

Besides the convenience store is an abandoned lot. It's seven in the evening. Whether it’s intentional or not, perhaps he remembers that you got a knack for liking such places—playing or lurking around places of the abandoned, pretending as if you’re a part of some paranormal group hunting down ghosts, and more. Perhaps it’s him trying to console you and so you grabbed it. He might take quite a while after all. Your mind needs a little bit of distraction as well.

You tiptoed in the middle of the lot with your cell phone flashlight, immersed in awe at the disintegrating cement and moss forming up. However, the slight elation was short-lived with tink as you heard it. 

Tink of a lighter. A damned lighter.

Your insides roared in sync with the lot being conquered by flames. 

How dumb could I be for not smelling the gasoline before the place lit? How did this happen? How would I get out?

Suddenly, the scene disintegrated in your eyes; you're back in that day, in that house. And just like that day, you see someone walking towards you—hues of fire accentuate his features.

"Erwin…" you muttered in horror, throat in a struggle. Despite the tears blurring your vision, you can still see what his face says—indifference, not even a curl in his eyebrows, "You said we're on the way to Carly!"

Erwin’s demeanor is rather gentle as he walked, hands on his back, way too relaxed for such an emergency. The tap of his shoes could be heard along with the crisps of the fire. And when he’s finally standing right in front of you, he calls your name, "Remember that day, when I went inside and saved you from these fires?" 

"You're the one who set it up," your knees are about to give up on you. Still, you try to take a step back and have the anger transcend the fear, "Are you the one who set this one too?" It might just be the impending suffocation but Erwin's figure in your vision disintegrates into one akin to a monster, "You're a devil. Monster. Cold-blooded murderer. And now you've come to kill me." but rather than spite, it was rather a horrifying announcement on your end. If it was Erwin to kill you, you'd really end up dead.

“No, you're a little angel I could never kill," Erwin still has his tranquility despite the accusations, "even now in these fires, I'll be the one to get you out of it."

"So you really are the one to—" you almost gasped when Erwin languidly rested his hands on your shoulders.

"I saved you, just as I always should."

"You didn’t!" you shakily retorted.

"I did. Don't you remember? That man was hurting you." it was then you froze, "See? Does my little flower remember now?"

"He wrecked your happy little home with your mother," your face says how successful Erwin is—unrelenting, merciless, bringing up the most horrifying stuff that even your mind can't take just so he could make a point, "and yet he got the guts to act as if he's the one being deprived of things."

"Please stop," you begged.

The tall young man scooted his head onto your level, his eyes brightened with the ambiance of fire.

Indeed, this might be where he belongs all this time. See, whenever Aunty Carly opens the stove which you despise, you used to demand her to put it on the lowest heat because you don't want to see the orange hues. Blue fires calm you down. You thought that might be because it's similar to Erwin's eyes.

But wrong. Little did you know back then, blue fires are way deadlier than the others, hotter than you could ever imagine. It'd conquer your body into a tiny speck of dust. 

And that's what daunts you as you look at the menacing glint in his eyes, "You asked me to kill them. I saved you, didn't I?" he whispered. You tried to get away from his grasp but he didn't let you. 

"I didn't…” Did I? “—ask you to do that." Why am I not sure?

"You did," he rested a palm on your cheek. For some reason, his voice tipped way gentler as if his earlier tone wasn’t gentle enough. The most unnerving part is that this is too familiar. Whatever this evil being is, he's going to distort your mind in the world's favor.

He’s such a young man, not even too old for you. How is he capable of doing this?

“No, no, no.” you attempted to get out of his confines again, “Please don’t do this."

“BUT YOU NEED TO STAY PURE,

UNTAINTED BY THE HARSH RULES

MERCILESSLY SUBJECTED UPON YOU.”

You couldn't comprehend the moments that ensued afterward. His voice was replaced with the foreign one you're hearing inside your mind. 

It teeters your brain to the edge of despair.

“LITTLE FLOWER ON A CLIFF,

AFRAID TO CEASE EXISTENCE BY THE CRUMBLING PRECIPICE,

PRAY TELL, PRAY TELL, WHAT HAVE YOU SEEN THAT DAY?”

He uttered more reminders of what your life used to be, detailed events that caused your scars.

Their faces were distorted, though. Perhaps it's intended to save you from completely breaking for good.

“YOU SOUGHT FOR HIM AS HE'S THE ONE TO BRING YOU REFUGE.

PERHAPS THAT REALLY WAS THE CASE.”

The fires suffocated your mind further. Heaps of Erwin's overwhelming phrases had your rationality disintegrating.

“AFTER ALL, HOW DOES AN IGNORANT RECOGNIZE WHAT'S REAL WITH WHAT'S NOT?”

"Do you understand it now?" was his final question.

You nodded mindlessly, "You saved me."

Erwin gave you an endearing smile, perhaps a proud one. "There you go, my little flower. Always the best for me."

next

for my dusk in d brightest readers—yeah, i know, i know.

but see, i joined a writing contest in my uni (came for the $) last month and i won! so i want to write and write and write!

im working on my orig writing projects as well so i could pitch it in another contests, hence this’ll be another sort of exercise for me.

unlike dusk in the brightest, i WILL have a healthy relationship w this fanfic (god please)

[tatomikat]

Midnight Meetings

Game Placement: after “The Sorceress of the Valley”

Warnings: No warnings apply to this chapter

“Wind!” Flora cried as soon as her and Wild's blurred and warped faces appeared on his pendant. “It's so good to see you again.”

Wind smiled back at the two blondes. “It's also good to see you again. Both of you. But what was that all about earlier? Why did you act as if we don't know each other?”

She gave him an apologetic smile, that he could barely see through his pendant. “Sorry. But I'm worried that us messing with the timeline could destabilize it again. So we need to make sure to keep information about the future a secret to Arty and War. Particularly their own future.”

“So in other words, we have to act as if <i>that</i> adventure never happened? Got it.” He gave them a thumps up.

Then his easy smile turned into a more teasing one. “On another note. Wont you two get in trouble? I mean, a princess being alone with some 'random man' this late at night?”

“Random man?” He heard Wild laugh. “Well that random man happens to be her husband.”

Within seconds Wind's mirth turned into shock and back into mirth once again. “You're married?” Then he threw the back of his hand onto his forehead in a very over dramatic fashion. “Let me guess. It was a beautiful full moon night. You fell to your knees in a gorgeous field of flowers and presented her with a ring made with a diamond you found yourself?”

Flora snorted. “Well it sure was night. However, I'm not quite sure what phase the moon was in, since it was absolutely bucketing down at the moment. Also, we were actually in a swamp. Standing knee deep in stinking mucus, with the rotting cadaver of an... elk?” She turned to direct the last question at the man next to her.

“A moose”

“A moose. Right.”She happily clapped in her hands before turning back to address Wind again.“The rotting cadaver of a moose right next to us. Also, I'm the one who asked him, after I got tired of waiting for him to take a hint.” She added almost as an afterthought. “It was so romantic.”

While Wind was busy laughing at the mental image – seriously, could those two ever do anything the normal way? - she turned once again to Wild. “Seriously, you were way too oblivious.”

Chuckling Wild gave her a kiss on the cheek in response. “Girl, you're talking about the guy who checked you for a fever every time someone called you hot. What did you expect?”

“Good point.” She relented and turned back to Wind once he had calmed down again. “But enough of that now. Tell me. How's Tetra doing?”

<->-<->-<-><->-<->-<-><->-<->-<-><->-<->-<->

“Why?” Link asked as he approached the older woman. “We had a plan. Why did you leave your post?”

It was the evening after that disastrous fight in the Valley of Seers. The evening before they were to split up. To go after the gates of souls and close them.

If he wanted to get answers as to why everything went as wrong as it did, this was the only chance he got.

With a sigh, Impa sat on one of the tree logs placed around the campfire, serving as benches. With a bandaged hand she motioned for him to sit down next to her.

“I... I thought I saw the princess.” She admitted once he had sat down.

Now what was he supposed to say to that? That she shouldn't have run after the very person they were looking for?

At times like this, he really wished that Proxi had chosen to stay with him. That she hadn't chosen to stay at the fairy fountain.

Things had been so much easier during those short days, when he was able to leave the talking to her. When he could only be a regular soldier.

But fact was, a battle field was no place for a fairy.

Even if you ignored how small and vulnerable they were. All those negative emotions and auras were bound to be deeply uncomfortable for them. To put it mildly.

There was no way he could have expected of her to put up with something like that.

“Of course, if I had known that Volga was nearby, I wouldn't have left Sheik alone like that.” Impa continued, unaware of his momentary distraction. “At least, I would have taken her with me.”

“It's okay. I'm sure everyone would have reacted like that.” He patted her on the shoulder, in what was hopefully a reassuring way. “And I'm sure she's alright. Wherever she is right now.”

<->-<->-<-><->-<->-<-><->-<->-<-><->-<->-<->

A failure.

A complete and utter failure of a mission.

It should have been simple. In and out. Just go in, remove that witch's head from her shoulders, and be done with it.

But what else did he expect? Leaving the important tasks in the hands of children, strangers and Sheikah scum!

“That never would have happened if >i>you</i> had been in charge, would it?” A voice said from behind him.

But when Ingram whirled around with his sword drawn, no one was there. The camp was deserted at this late hour. Everyone having retired after the disastrous day.

“And that useless princess, of course.” The disembodied voice continued. “The castle would have never fallen, this battle would have never happened, if the army had been in the hands of someone with experience. Someone like you.”

“You think I don't know that?” Ingram growled into the darkness.

Even that insolent brat's parents had completely failed.

They were too soft. Too weak.

Always trying to keep the peace. Always letting everyone dance around on their noses. The kingdom's aristocracy's power was at an all time low because of them.

He had to work his way through the ranks like a peasant because of them. Instead of becoming a knight right after his training, like his forefathers. Because, thanks to them, knighthood was practically worthless nowadays.

And the princess was going to be just like them, if she was ever to ascend the throne.

Finally a figure stepped out of the shadows. And it was the splitting image of that very same cursed princess. Giving him a warped and sinister smile.

“It's unfair, isn't it?” The princess' distorted voice came from the being in front of him. “But I can assure you, my mistress is able to help you right that wrong. You just have to cooperate.”

[fearthecoldblood]

a yharnam dawn / @pistoiet

Gunpowder left its sulphurous odour Yharnam on this bloody morning. Viscera and carcasses were strewn across cobblestone, blood flowing freely down gutters. No one so much as hatred an eyelid at this frightful sight, nonetheless the man who exposed beast innards with a sickening crunch. It was a successful hunt, if one could even refer to it as such. The numbers of human and beast cadavers had increased drastically, the morgues struggling to process them. The hunter need not concern himself with such matters, he reminded him. His job was to add to the problem.

The all so familiar journey to the workshop was one of solitude and contemplation. Each hunter typically went their separate ways, falling upon linen beds in their assigned tenements. Acrid smoke was replaced with the powerful scent of moonflowers, overpowering the awful stench that plagued him so. A weary glance observed his prized field of flowers. A tender hand reached down to examine the petals, the hunter creating a mental note to water them after the sun had gone down tonight. Gentle white soothed his mind, his conscience. After a hunt, all he saw was red. Its crimson hues bored into his mental state, filled with adrenaline and sheer rage. Now was a time for relaxation.

Unfortunately, an unfamiliar presence had made itself known in his workshop.

“ I can’t get any peace and quiet in this place, can I? “ He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. A red headed figure was sat cross-legged in a chair, observing his movements. “ If you’re one of Laurence’s here to lecture me about last night, tell him I’m not in the mood. “ Nonetheless, he carried on as usual, shedding his long overcoat, waistcoat and tossing the top hat onto the table. “ If not, what business do you have here? You’re foreign, that much is clear. “

[lexosaurus]

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]

---

Some amazing accompanying art by @phantombreadproject

---

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]

[casxmorgan]

Books Books Books

100 Years of Solitude

11.22.63

120 Days of Sodom

1491

1984

A Brief History of Time

A Canticle for Leibowitz

A Child Called It

A Clockwork Orange

A Confederacy of Dunces

A History of the World in Ten and a Half Chapters

A Land Fit for Heroes Trilogy

A Little Life

A Naked Singularity

A People's History of the United States

A Scanner Darkly

A Series of Unfortunate Events

A Short History of Nearly Everything

A Song of Ice and Fire

A Storm of Swords

A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again: Essays and Arguments

A Thousand Splendid Suns

A Walk in the Woods

A World Lit Only by Fire

Accursed Kings

Alice in Wonderland

All Quiet on the Western Front

All the Light We Cannot See

All the Pretty Horses

America, the Book

American Gods

American Psycho

And then There Were None

Angela’s Ashes

Animal Farm

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Anna Karenina

Anything Terry Pratchett, But, Mort is My Favorite

Anything Written by Robin Hobb

Apt Pupil

Artemis Fowl

Asimov's Guide to the Bible

Asoiaf

Atlas Shrugged

Bartimeaus

Batman: the Long Halloween

Battle Royale

Beat the Turtle Drum

Behind the Beautiful Forevers

Belgariad Series

Beloved

Berserk

Bestiario

Black Company

Blankets/habibi

Blind Faith

Blindness

Blood Meridian

Blood and Guts: a History of Surgery

Bluest Eye

Brandon Sanderson

Brave New World

Breakfast of Champions

Bridge to Terabithia

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: an Indian History of the American West

Calvin and Hobbs

Candide

Carrie

Cat's Cradle

Catch 22

Cats Cradle

Chaos

Child of God

Choke

Chuck Palahniuk

City of Ember

City of Thieves

Cloud

Collapse

Come Closer

Complaint

Confessions of a Mask

Contact

Conversation in the Cathedral

Cosmos

Crime and Punishment

Dan Brown

David

Dead Birds Singing

Dead Mountain: the Untold True Story of the Dyatlov Pass Incident

Delta Venus

Die Räuber (the Robbers)

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep

Don Quixote

Dragonlance

Dune

Dying of the Light

East of Eden

Educated

Empire of Sin: a Story of Sex, Jazz, Murder, and the Battle for Modern New Orleans

Enders Game

Enders Shadow

Escape from Camp 14

Ever Since Darwin

Every Man Dies Alone

Everybody Poops

Everything is Illuminated

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Fahrenheit 451

Far from the Madding Crowd

Faust

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S Thompson

Feet of Clay

Fight Club

First Law

Flowers for Algernon

Flowers in the Attic

Foundation

Foundation Series

Foundation Trilogy

Frankenstein

Freakonomics

Fun Home

Galapagos

Geek Love

Gerald’s Game

Ghost Story

Go Ask Alice

Go Dog Go

Godel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid

Goldfinch

Gone Girl

Gone with the Wind

Good Omens

Grapes of Wrath

Great Expectations

Greg Egan

Guards! Guards!

Guns Germs and Steel

Guts (short Story)

Half a World

Ham on Rye

Hannibal Rising

Hard Boiled Wonderland

Hatchet

Haunted

Hawaii

Heart Shaped Box

Heart of Darkness

Hellbound Heart

Hellraiser

Hell’s Angels

Helter Skelter

His Dark Materials

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Hogg

Holocaust by Bullets

House of Leaves

How to Cook for Fourty Humans

How to Win Friends and Influence People

Huckleberry Finn

Hyperion

I Am America, and So Can You

I Am the Messenger

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream

I Was Dr. Mengele’s Assistant

In Cold Blood

In Search of Our Mother's Gardens

Independent People

Infinite Jest

Into Thin Air

Into the Wild

Introduction to Linear Algebra

Invisible Monsters

Ishmael

It

Jacques Le Fataliste

Jane Eyre

Jaunt

Job: a Comedy of Justice

John Dies at the End

John Grisham

Johnathan Livingston Seagull

Johnny Got His Gun

Jon Ronson

Journal of a Novel

Jurassic Park

Justine

L'histoire D'o

Lamb

Last Exit to Brooklyn

Les Miserables

Lies My Teacher Told Me

Life of Pi

Limits and Renewals

Little House in the Big Woods

Lockwood & Co.

Lolita

Looking for Trouble

Lord Foul’s Bane

Lord of the Flies

Lyddie

Malazan Book of the Fallen

Maldoror

Manufacturing Consent: the Political Economy of the Mass Media

Man’s Search for Meaning

Mark Twain’s Autobiography

Maus

Meditations

Megamorphs (series)

Mein Kampf

Memnooch the Devil

Metro 2033

Michael Crichton

Middlesex

Mindhunter

Misery

Mistborn

Moby Dick

Mrs. Dalloway

My Side of the Mountain

My Sweet Audrina

Nacht über Der Prärie (night over the Prairie)

Naked Lunch

Name of the Wind

Neuromancer

Never Let Me Go

Neverwhere

New York

Next

Night

Night Shift

Norwegian Wood

Notes from Underground

Nothing to Envy: Real Lives in North Korea

Of Mice and Men

Of Nightingales That Weep

Ohio

Old Mans War

Old Mother West Wind

On Heroes and Tombs

On Laughter and Forgetting

On the Road

One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest

One Hundred Years of Solitude

One of Us

Painted Bird

Patrick Rothfuss

Perfume: the Story of a Murderer

Persepolis

Pet Sematary

Peter Pan

Pillars of the Earth

Poisonwood Bible

Pride and Predjudice

Ready Player One

Rebecca

Red Mars

Red Night (series)

Red Shirts

Red Storm Rising

Redwall

Replay

Requiem for a Dream

Revenge

Riftwar Saga

Ringworld

Roald Dahl

Rolls of Thunder, Hear My Cry

Round Ireland with a Fridge

Running with Scissors

Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes

Sapiens, a Brief History of Humankind

Scary Stories to Read in the Dark

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

Schindler’s List

Sein Und Zeit

Shades of Grey

Sharp Objects

Shattered Dreams

Sherlock Holmes

Sho-gun

Siddhartha

Sisypho

Skin and Other Stories

Slaughterhouse Five

Smoke & Mirrors

Snow Crash

Soldier Son

Sometimes a Great Notion

Sphere

Starship Troopers

Stiff, the Curious Lives of Human Cadavers

Storied Life of A.j. Fikry

Stormlight Archives

Story of the Eye

Stranger in a Strange Land

Surely, You're Joking

Survivor Type (short Story)

Suttree

Swan Song

Tale of Two Cities

Tales of the South Pacific

The Alchemist

The Altered Carbon Trilogy

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

The Art of Deception

The Art of Fielding

The Art of War

The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation

The Autobiography of Henry Viii

The Autobiography of Malcolm X

The Beach

The Bell Jar

The Bible

The Bloody Chamber

The Book Thief

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

The Brothers Karamazov

The Call of Cthulu and Other Weird Stories

The Cask of Amontillado (short Story)

The Catcher in the Rye

The Chronicles of Narnia

The Clown

The Color out of Space

The Communist Manifesto

The Complete Fiction of H.p. Lovecraft

The Count of Monte Cristo

The Curious Case of the Dog in the Night Time

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime

The Dagger and the Coin

The Damage Done

The Dark Tower

The Declaration of Independence, the Us Constitution, and the Bill of Rights

The Devil in the White City

The Dharma Bums

The Diamond Age

The Dice Man

The Discworld Series

The Dresden Files

The Elegant Universe

The First Law Trilogy

The Forever War

The Foundation Trilogy

The Gentleman Bastard Sequence

The Geography of Nowhere

The Girl Next Door

The Girl on the Milk Carton

The Giver

The Giving Tree

The God of Small Things

The Grapes of Wrath

The Great Gatsby

The Great Gilly Hopkins

The Hagakure

The Half a World Trilogy

The Handmaid’s Tale

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

The Hiding Place

The History of Love

The Hobbit

The Hot Zone

The Hunchback of Notre Dame

The Hyperion Cantos

The Jaunt

The Jungle

The Key to Midnight

The Killing Star

The Kingkiller Chronicles

The Kite Runner

The Last Question (short Story)

The Lies of Lock Lamora

The Little Prince

The Long Walk

The Lord of the Rings

The Lottery (short Story)

The Lovely Bones

The Magicians

The Magus

The Martian

The Master and Margarita

The Metamorphosis of Prime Intellect

The Monster at the End of This Book

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress

The Music of Eric Zahn (short Story)

The Name of the Wind & the Wise Man's Fear

The Necronomicon

The New Age of Adventure: Ten Years of Great Writing

The Night Circus

The Nightmare Box

The Odyssey

The Omnivore's Dilemma

The Orphan Master’s Son

The Outsiders

The Painted Bird

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

The Phantom Tollbooth

The Picture of Dorian Gray

The Pit and the Pendulum

The Plague

The Prince

The Prince of Tides

The Princess Bride

The Prophet

The Queen’s Gambit

The Rape of Nanking

The Red Dwarf

The Republic

The Rifter Saga

The Road

The Satanic Verses

The Screwtape Letters

The Secret History

The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel

The Selfish Gene

The Shining

The Shrine of Jeffrey Dahmer

The Silmarillion

The Sirens of Titan

The Six Wives of Henry the 8th

The Solitude of Prime Numbers

The Speaker of the Dead

The Stars My Destination

The Stormlight Archive

The Story of My Tits

The Stranger

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck

The Suspicions of Mr. Witcher

The Tao of Pooh

The Things They Carried

The Time Machine

The Time Traveller’s Wife

The Tin Drum

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green

The Wasp Factory

The Wind Up Bird Chronicle

The Wind-up Bird Chronicle

The World According to Garp

The Yellow Wallpaper

Their Eyes Were Watching God

Things Fall Apart

Thirsty

This Blinding Absence of Light

Tiger!

Time Enough for Love

To Kill a Mockingbird

To Say Nothing of the Dog

Toni Morrison

Too Many Magicians

Traumnovelle

Tuesdays with Morrie

Tuf Voyaging

Undeniable

Under Plum Lake

Universe in a Nutshell

Unwind

Uzumaki

Various

Village Life in Late Tsarist Russia

Walden

War & Peace

War and Peace

Warriors: Bluestar’s Prophecy

Watchers

Water for Elephants

Watership Down

We Have Always Lived in the Castle

We Need to Talk About Kevin

Wheel of Time

When Rabbit Howls

Where the Red Fern Grows

Where the Sidewalk Ends

Why I Am Not a Christian

Why People Believe Weird Things

Wizards First Rule

Wool

World War Z

Worm

Wuthering Heights

You Can Choose to Be Happy

Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

[patheticlittleguy]

People-Watching

Masterlist. This is the third of a series.

Content warnings: hospital settings, not much else. (This chapter is pretty short and mostly recovery and setup.)

“Good morning, Leo,” Miss Sarah says. Her pale blue shirt and white pants blend right in with the hospital’s color palette. Her wings, which are shaped like a swan’s and thrice as big, look almost fake. If Leo hadn’t seen them in action before, he’d think they really are fake.

He waves awkwardly, and writes, “Good morning.” It’s only been a few hours since he was taken off of the breathing tube, and his throat is still sore.

“I’m sorry the mission went so… roughly,” Miss Sarah says with a tight-lipped smile.

“I knew what I was signing up for,” Leo writes.

Miss Sarah nods, and says, “Well, what intel did you get?”

Leo, feeling very clever, flips back a page on the legal pad he’s been writing on. He’d thought ahead, and wrote everything down an hour or so ago. Miss Sarah reads through it with an unreadable expression, and then tears out the page. Leo can’t tell if he’s done something wrong, but his stomach is all twitchy just in case.

Miss Sarah suddenly tears the page out, folding it neatly and tucking it away. “We will make good use of this.”

Leo nods. He gestures for the pad with what limited mobility he has, and when it and the pen are in his reach, he writes, “I don’t think I’m going to be of much use anymore.”

“Not in the field, no. But, if you’re willing, there are other options. Our top scientists have been working on a new power suppressant formula. They’re doing their,” she falters, “third or fourth human trial, I think, soon.”

Leo writes, “Being a lab rat doesn’t sound too bad.”

Miss Sarah nods, and says, “It’s valuable work. Once you’re well, I’ll have all the paperwork sorted out and you’ll be transferred to the appropriate room.”

Leo thanks her, and they make their concise goodbyes. Miss Sarah’s wings go unexpectedly intangible as she turns, and one clips through the door frame like a poorly rendered video game. The room is once again empty, and Leo doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

Outside, Leo can see a few buildings, and lots of cars on the road. He thinks of a poem he read once, in school, about how cars must look to aliens. In it, the aliens had thought the cars themselves were alive, and, watching the roads from afar, Leo totally gets it.

A nurse materializes at his bedside, and if he wasn’t, as his dad would’ve said, high as fuck, he would have been startled. (His dad was a very blunt man.)

“Hullo,” the nurse says, doing a routine check on one of his machines. She chatters away, partially narrating what she’s doing and partly just rambling. The ambient sound is relaxing, and Leo finds himself drifting.

He suddenly feels himself melting away. Everything is fuzzy and confusing. The hospital room disappears, like someone’s turned all the lights off.

There is another hospital room that looks much the same, or the same hospital room but very different. Leo is on the floor, his sweaty palms leaving prints on the cold tile. He’s shivering with heat, and his head pounds like something is trying to crawl out of his skull. His eyes won’t focus. Every joint creaks and aches.

Leo wakes to a world that is not his own. He can’t be sure of what day it is. Every time he looks out the window, he is struck by how light it is outside. The cars on the roads look like mice, the people barely bugs. A nurse comments offhandedly that it’s unseasonably warm out today, and Leo wonders what season it could be.

Dinner is a chalky milkshake and jello for dessert. Diego helps Leo sit up enough to drink without choking, and then he has to help steady Leo’s hands so he doesn’t drop it. It’s a relief when he can finally lay back down and try to sleep. He just wants to fast-forward to the part where he’s better. Thankfully, he swiftly falls asleep, aided by painkillers and the exhaustion of a healing body.

The next day, Miss Sarah is back. She brings with her a Manila folder and a strange man. His dirty blonde hair reaches his chin, and his glasses are rectangular but have the sort of wire frames you’d expect from a librarian. The nurses see him and stand a little straighter.

Miss Sarah says, “Leo, this is Doctor Aloysius Cadaver. He’s spearheading this hospital’s human trials of the new power suppressant formula. Cadaver, this is Leo.”

The doctor waves politely. “Hi. So, I hear that you’re going to volunteer for the next trial?” He pauses, and waits for Leo to nod. “That’s good to hear. How much of the study did the Angel explain to you?”

“Not much,” Leo writes honestly.

“Well, I’ll spare you the technical jargon. I doubt you’d understand it anyways. The gist of it is, the current formula used by law enforcement and hospitals is unrefined. It cannot be administered safely in a large enough dose to be effective. The new formula is more effective, and, as far as we’ve observed, utterly non-lethal. Knock on wood.”

Miss Sarah waited until he paused to take a breath to say, “And the details of the trial itself?”

“Now, what we’ll do is we’ll do a few initial screenings and things, then give you the appropriate dosage. It’s a simple injection, administered once every morning. We’ll keep that up for around three days, see how you react, and then if all goes well, we’ll stop and see if there are any lasting effects.”

Miss Sarah sets the Manila folder down at Leo’s bedside, where flowers and get-well-soon cards would normally sit. “All of that is written here. Because of your previous contracts with me, you won’t have to bother with any paperwork. I’ll handle all of that for you.”

Leo nods, and writes, “Thanks.” He’s glad they’re making this easy for him. He doesn’t think he could do paperwork in the state he’s in.

“You’re very welcome,” the doctor says. “I look forward to having you as my test subject.” His smile is polite, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

—-

taglist: @lave-whump @whumper-in-training

(Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

[genvy]

how are you studying mortuary science? when did you decide on it and what courses are you taking?

i have not actually begun officially studying it yet! i’m enrolled in a community college right now where, when i start taking classes next fall, i’m going to start taking prerequisite classes, and then, once i get enough credits, transfer to a university in my state that has a full mortuary sciences course. in terms of field, i can imagine myself going into essentially any field of the mortuary sciences but being a funeral director, but that’s actually more of a business major sort of career to begin with. ideally, i’d like to sort out which specific branch of the mortuary sciences i’d like to pursue once i have the opportunity to proverbially get my hands into it.

in the meantime, i’m aiming to get a job as a funeral assistant (which includes handling death certificates/paperwork, laying out flowers and personal mementos for funerals, dressing bodies, et cetera), both to really get acclimated to that sort of environment, and to hopefully get myself some relevant experience prior to actually doing the classwork.

as for how i decided on it, i’ve kind of always had a pathological fixation on mortality, both my own and others’, as well as an interest in the medical field and in anatomy and medical history. when i was very young, i actually considered becoming a doctor or a nurse, but i realized that the primary issue with that concept was the fact that the person i would be working on would be………alive. which sounds very bad when i put it that way, but i’m pretty autistic and i have a mild cluster a personality disorder, so while i certainly wouldn’t consider myself socially inept and i believe i could talk to people in a colleague-to-colleague context, i struggle to imagine myself working in a field in which i would have to converse with someone in that sort of context. and, with my own personal fascinations aside, grief and loss are inevitable parts of life, as my fixation on mortality makes me very aware at all times, and i feel fulfilled in the idea of being able to sort of invisibly help people through those periods, if that makes any sense.

in place of telling you courses, since i’m not taking any yet, i’m going to give some book recommendations! of course, they are mostly just ones that i find personally interesting, and they are more personal memoirs or historical recountings than textbooks, and a lot of them are more about medical/surgical history at large than specifically the mortuary field, but i personally get some use out of them. the ones that come to mind are:

the butchering art: joseph lister’s quest to transform the grisly world of victorian medicine, by lindsey fitzharris (my personal favorite)

do no harm: stories of life, death, and brain surgery, by henry marsh

corpses, coffins, and crypts: a history of burial, by penny colman

smoke gets in your eyes & more lessons from the crematory, by caitlin doughty

mr. humble and dr. butcher: a monkey’s head, the pope’s neuroscientist, and the quest to transplant the soul, by brandy schillace

stiff: the curious lives of human cadavers, by mary roach

the icepick surgeon: murder, fraud, sabotage, piracy, and other dastardly deeds perpetrated in the name of science, by sam jean

[cardest]

Tennessee playlist

I’m going to Memphis! This is the mighty Tennessee - Memphis & Nashville playlist. You can’t tell the story of rock n roll without mentioning Memphis. Mississippi and Nashville, such a great history of music in this region. Chuck D hits things off with the ultimate introduction. Hit play here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC1_X9nesbW37-9FNLiJWOQ1f

This playlist has it all. Soul, blues and rock n roll. We take a journey back to the beginning of country as well, with Nashville and finish up at Dollywood. Hope you dig it.

Tennessee - Mississippi - Arkansas

001 Henry Rollins & Chuck D - Rise Above 002 Clutch -  Devil & Me 003 Paul Simon - Graceland 004 Isaac Hayes - Memphis Trax 005 Scott Walker - Thats How I Got to Memphis 006 AC/DC - let there be rock 007 Johnny Cash -  Country Boy 008 Chuck Berry -  Back To Memphis 009 Jay Reatard - Gree, Money, Useless Children 010 Lukah - Black Dragon 011 King Curtis - Memphis Soul Stew 012 Rosetta Howard & the Harlem Hamfats - Delta Bound 013 Nots - In Glass 014 Pere Ubu - Memphis 015 Loretta Lynn - The Pill 016 Howlin Wolf - Smokestack Lightnin 017 Rory Gallagher - The Mississippi Sheiks 018 Crime and the City Solution - Streets Of West Memphis 019 River City Tanlines - Met You Before 020 Johnny Cash - Going To Memphis 021 Al Green - Get Back Baby 022 Kim Salmon & The Surrealists - The Zipper 023 Booker T & the MG - Melting Pot 024 Pussycat - Mississippi 025 Boswell Sisters - Roll On, Mississippi, Roll On 026 Aretha Franklin   - Muddy Water 027 The Cramps - Garbageman 028 HASH REDACTOR - Good Sense 029 Optic Sink - Personified 030 Angry Angles - Blockhead 031 Big Star - Thirteen 032 Memphis Jug Band -  Going Back to Memphis 033 North Mississippi AllStars - K.C. Jones (On The Road Again) 034 Bass Drum Of Death -  Bad Reputation 035 Today Is the Day -  The Devil's Blood 036 Walk the Line Soundtrack- Get Rhythm 037 Jack White -  Temporary Ground 038 Jerry Lee Lewis - A Damn Good Country Song 039 The Homemade Jamz Blues Band - Rumors 040 Saving Abel - Pine Mountain (The Dance of the Poor Proud Man) 041 The Oxford Circle - Foolish Woman 042 Bobbie Gentry - Greyhound Goin' Somewhere 043 Reigning Sound - A Little More Time 044 NINA SIMONE - MISSISSIPPI GODDAM! 045 Laurie Anderson - Hiawatha 046 Glen Campbell - Burning Bridges 047 Dolly Parton - Hillbilly Willy 048 Elvis Presley - Guitar Man 049 Blue Oyster Cult - Divine Wind 050 Sammy Hagar - Halfway To Memphis 051 Izzy Stradlin   - Memphis                       052 Johnny Cash -  Run Softly, Blue River 053 Iron Horse - Unchained 054 The Cramps - Human Fly 055 Faces - Memphis 056 Jack Oblivian - Rat City 057 The Cooters - Bustin' Loose 058 Mott the Hoople - All The Way From Memphis 059 Dusty Springfield -  Breakfast in Bed 060 Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Tupelo 061 Chicago - Blues In The Night             062 Crossin Dixon - Guitar Slinger 063 Strummin' With The Devil - And the Cradle Will Rock 064 Stray Cats -  Can't Go Back to Memphis 065 Elvis Presley - Suspicious Minds 066 Suzi Quatro - Can't Trust Love 067 Lost Sounds - There's Nothing   068 Ike & Tina Turner ~ River Deep, Mountain High 069 Neil Diamond - Memphis Flyer 070 Julien Baker - hardline 071 The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion - Memphis Soul Typecast 072 Isaac Hayes  - Groove-A-Thon 073 Otis Clay - Trying To Live My Life Without You 074 Tim McGraw - Don't Mention Memphis 075 Eric Burdon & War - Blues For Memphis Slim 076 Homemade Jamz Blues Band - Blues Train 077 Sweet Knives - I DON'T WANNA DIE 078 Cream - Four Until Late 079 Grateful Dead - Golden Road 080 Huey Lewis and the  NEWS - Function At The Junction 081 The Cramps - I Was A Teenage Werewolf 082 Jesse Winchester_ The Brand New Tennessee Waltz 083 Dorsey Burnette - Tall Oak Tree 084 Field Music - Time In Joy 085 Jay Reatard -  Blood Visions 086 The Rolling Stones - Honky Tonk Women 087 Quintron & Miss Pussycat  - Block the comet 088 Al Green - Let's Stay Together 089 The Mountain Goats - Getting Into Knives 090 Johnny Cash -  Tennessee Flat Top Box 091 Robert Pete Williams & Robert “Guitar" J. Welch - Mississippi Heavy Water Blues 092 MARY JAMES - MAKE THE DEVIL LEAVE ME ALONE 093 Ministry - Mississippi Queen 094 U.S. Bombs - Rocks in Memphis 095 Nazareth - Jet Lag 096 The Bar-Kays - Holy Ghost 097 Ty Segall - Despoiler Of Cadaver 098 His Hero Is Gone - Like Weeds 099 Jerry Lee Lewis - Memphis Beat 100 Generation X =  King Rocker 101 The Doobie Brothers - Wild Ride 102 Bad Company - Whiskey Bottle 103 Black Stone Cherry - When The Weight Comes Down 104 Buddy Miles - Memphis Train 105 Memphis Slim - Rockin' The House (Beer Drinkin' Woman) 106 David Clayton Thomas  - Wish The World Would Come to Memphis 107 Lost Sounds - Better Than Somethings 108 Alice Cooper - Ubangi Stomp 109 Tom Waits -  Don't Go Into The Barn 110 Hank Snow - Music Makin' Mama From Memphis 111 Phil Ochs - Heres to the State of Misssippi 112 Reigning Sound  - Your Love Is A Fine Thing 113 Pixies -  Letter to Memphis 114 Bob Dylan - Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again 115 The Colorblind James Experience - Considering A Move To Memphis 116 B.B.King - Rock Me Baby 117 Carla Thomas - B-A-B-Y 118 Aquarian Blood - A Love That Leads To War 119 Nights Like These - Scavenger's Daughter 120 Rufus Thomas - Walking the Dog 121 Clutch -  The House That Peterbilt 122 Lyal Strickland - O Arkansas 123 Don Bryant - How Do I Get There 124 The Sensational Barnes Brothers - Trying To Go Home 125 Squirrel Nut Zippers - Memphis Exorcism 126 Faster Pussycat - Tattoo 127 The Rolling Stones - Memphis Tennessee 128 Alcatrazz -  Sons And Lovers 129 Evil Army - Violence And War 130 Deep Purple - Somebody Stole My Guitar (Purpendicular 11) 131 Dwight Yoakam - Guitars, Cadillacs 132 UFO - Natural Thing 133 Thunderbridge Bluegrass Boys - Tennessee 134 Confederate Railroad - Queen of Memphis 135 The Box Tops - The Letter 136 Jerry Lee Lewis - Night Train To Memphis 137 Reverend John Wilkins - Trouble 138 Phil Lynott - Kings Call (feat. Mark Knopfler) 139 Old Crow Medicine Show - Motel in Memphis 140 Candy Lee- Here in Arkansas 141 Pharoah Sanders - You've Got To Have Freedom 142 Molly Hatchet - Mississippi Moon Dog 143 Rwake - Crooked Rivers 144 CARL PERKINS & PAUL SIMON - A Mile Out Of Memphis 145 Eddie Floyd - Knock On Wood 146 Al Green - Talk to me 147 Mush - Eat the Etiquette 148 PJ Harvey - Memphis 149 EX-CULT  - Clinical Study 150 Isaac Hayes  - Mans Temptation 151 Lil’ Jon & Eastside Boyz - Rep Yo City 152 Rufus Wainwright - Memphis Skyline 153 Stray Cats - 18 Miles to Memphis 154 Amasa Hines - Earth and Sky 155 Joe Henderson -  Back Road 156 Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash - Memphis Woman 157 Norma Jean - Memphis Will Be Laid To Waste 158 Fess Parker - Ballad of Davy Crockett 159 Assjack -  Redneck Ride 160 Brother Andy & His Big Damn Mouth - Social Lube 161 The Replacements - Alex Chilton 162 Ann Peebles - The handwriting is on the wall 163 The Highwaymen -  Big River 164 The Cult - Memphis Hip Shake 165 STEVE EARLE -  Hillbilly Highway 166 The BO-KEYS featuring OTIS CLAY -Got To Get Back 167 Rush - Tom Sawyer 168 Class Of '55: Memphis Rock & Roll Homecoming - Birth Of Rock And Roll 169 Hank Williams Jr - Memphis Belle 170 Sam Moore & Dave Prater - Soul Man 171 Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark - Bloc Bloc Bloc 172 Kenny Rogers & The First Edition  - Just Dropped In 173 Linda Heck - pictures of dead people 174 Carla Thomas - Sugar 175 Three Mafia 6 - Mystic Stylez 176 Osborne Brothers- Rocky Top 177 The Beverly Hillbillies Theme Song 178 Wilson Pickett - Barefootin' 179 Dolly Parton - Jolene 180 Charlie Daniels - long haired country boy 181 The Civil Wars - From This Valley 182 Jill Jack - Gettin' On In Memphis (The Elvis Song) 183 Huckleberry Finn and His Friends - Opening title 184 Dead Cross -  Skin of a Redneck 185 Johnny Cash - I Never Picked Cotton 186 Old Crow Medicine Show -  Wagon Wheel 187 Isaac Hayes  - That love feeling 188 Aretha Franklin - I say a little prayer 189 Little Milton - What Do You Do When You Love Somebody 190 Howlin' Wolf - Spoonful 191 Weird Al" Yankovic - Money For Nothing / Beverly Hillbillies 192 The Oblivians - I'll Be Gone 193 OT Sykes - Stone crush on you 194 The Mad Lads  - Come closer to me 195 The Box Tops - Choo Choo train 196 Bobby Blue Bland - dreamer 197 Wanda Jackson - Rip It Up 198 Junior Parker - Love Ain't Nothin' but a Business Goin' On 199 The Nightingales ft. Tommy Tate - Just a Little Overcome 200  The Louvin Brothers - Satan is real 201 Overture "Big River" - (1985 Original Broadway Cast) 202 Ike & Tina Turner - Shake 203 Playa Fly - fly shit 204 Adia Victoria - Different Kind Of Love 205 Grateful Dead - Tennessee Jed 206 Red Hot Chili Peppers - Backwoods 207 Otis Redding - Tennessee Waltz 208 Nashville Pussy - The Late Great USA 209 The Paperhead - The true poet 210 Tomahawk - South Paw 211 Night Beats - Her Cold Cold Heart 212 Forest of Tygers - human monster 213 LOSS - All Grows on Tears 214 Charlie McCoy - Wayfaring Stranger 215 Dick Stusso - Modern Music 216 Eddie Noack - Aint the Reaping Ever Done 217 Jason & the Scorchers - Greetings From Nashville   218 Jasmin Kaset and Quichenight - A Single Right Word 219  Gospel Keynotes - Give Me My Flowers 220   WEEN - Scrape the Mucus off My Brain 221 Shannon Shaw - Broke My Own 222 The Jesus Lizard - Blue Shot 223 Eddy Arnold    - Tennessee Stud 224 Clutch - Pure Rock Fury 225 Today Is The Day -  Who Is The Black Angel? 226 Hank Williams Jnr - Tennessee River 227 The Dead Weather -  Bone House 228  Every Mother's Nightmare - Long Haired Country Boy 229 Motley Crue - She goes down 230 Waylon Jennings - Tennessee 231 Dolly Parton - Down On Music Row 232 Jello Biafra & Mojo Nixon - Lets Go Burn Ole Nashville Down 233 The Byrds - Nashville West 234 Sharon Van Etten - Every Time the Sun Comes Up 235 Bill Anderson ~ More Than A Bedroom Thing 236 Dottie West - Route 65 To Nashville 237 Intruder - The Martyr 238 Johnny Cash - Smiling Bill McCall 239 Lynard Skynyrd - Workin For MCA 240 The Everly Brothers  - Nashville Blues 241 Nancy Sinatra & Lee Hazlewood - Elusive Dreams 242 Nashville Bluegrass Band - Im Gonna Love You 243 Ringo Starr - No-No Song 244 Hank Williams - Hey, Good Lookin' 245 The Lovin Spoonful - Nashville Cats 246 They Might Be Giants - James K. Polk 247 Commander Cody  -  Back To Tennessee 248 Wanda Jackson - Shakin' All Over 249 Nitty Gritty Dirt Band - Grand Ole Opry Song 250 Tomahawk - Flashback 251 Megadeth -  Dystopia 252 Dolly Parton -  Train, Train 253 The Clovers - One Mint Julep 254 Trampled By Turtles - Whiskey 255 Tom T. Hall - Nashville is a Groovy Little Town 256 Muddy Waters - I am the blues 257 Foo Fighters - Congregation 258 Pavement - Strings Of Nashville 259 Joe Ely - Tennessees Not The State Im In 260 Waylon Jennings - Nashville Bum 261 The Charmels - As Long As I Got You 262 Eve Maret - Do my thing 263 SABATON - 82nd All the Way 264 Halfway To Hazard - Welcome To Nashville 265 Nashville Pussy - Go Motherfucker Go 266 Indigo Girls - Nashville 267 Snarls - Walk In The Woods 268 Steeler - Cold Day in Hell 269 Strummin' With The Devil  - Jamies Cryin' 270 spazz gummo love theme 271 The Cramps - Cornfed Dames 272 Saxon -  Solid Ball Of Rock 273 Al Green - Tired of Being Alone 274 Soul Friction - It's Out Of My Hands 275 Today Is the Day - Wheelin' 276 Jackie Lynn - Odessa 277 The Jesus Lizard - Nub 278 Bully - Where To Start 279 Sonny Boy Williamson II - Lonesome Cabin 280 Tomahawk - God hates a coward 281 The Louvin Brothers - Knoxville Girl 282 Tom Waits - Jitterbug Boys 283 The Evil Dead Soundtrack  - Bridge Out 284 Wanda Jackson - Thunder On The Mountain 285 Elvis Presley - Where Do I Go From Here 286 Booker T & the MGs - Back Home 287 Ezra Furman & the Harpoons - American Highway 288 Joe Ely - dream camera 289 Assjack - Tennessee Driver 290 Nashville Pussy  - We Want A War 291 Dwight Yoakam - A Thousand Miles From Nowhere 292 Hank Williams, Jr. - Knoxville Courthouse Blues 293 ZZ Top - My Head's in Mississippi 294 Nitty Gritty Dirt Band -  Honky Tonkin' 295 Dead Weather - Die by the Drop 296 The Black Belles - What can I do 297 Dolly Parton  - Cowgirl And The Dandy 298 The Secret Sisters  - I've Got a Feeling 299 Justin Townes Earle - Aint Got No Money 300 Tomahawk - M.E.A.T 301 Jex Thoth - The Places You Walk 302 Bill Carter - Road To Nowhere 303 Bill Dees (Roy Orbison back vocals) - Tennesse Owns My Soul 304 Karen Elson  - The Ghost Who Walks 305 The Who - Whiskey Man 306 Hank Williams III - Crazed Country Rebel 307 The Lost Sounds - I Get Nervous 308 Big Star - September Gurls 309 ZZ Top - Whiskey n Mama 310 Johnny Cash - God's Gonna Cut You Down 666 Isaac Hayes - Hyperbolicsyllablecsesquedalymistic

Hit play: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC1_X9nesbW37-9FNLiJWOQ1f

[cadaverinaflowerfield]

[slyttherins]

Unexpected flame (part 3) | Fred Weasley x Sirius Black’s daughter

June 1995

After the grim end of the Triwizard tournament, the return from Hogwarts was gloom.

Two weeks had passed since the final task and many students were still mourning Cedric Diggory. His death had been traumatic for a lot of people - they had expected to see a winner come out of the maze, not a cadaver -, and the image of Cedric's lifeless body in the middle of the pitch will forever be inked in their memory.

Juliet didn't know Cedric a lot. He was three years older than her and they didn't cross paths a lot at Hogwarts. All she knew was that he was the embodiment of the qualities of a Hufflepuff and was their quidditch team' seeker. She was sad and disturbed about his death, as everyone was, but wasn't weeping in mourning.

As they neared London, a smile formed on her lips. In his last letter, Remus had informed her that she'd be spending a small part of summer with the Weasleys and she was thrilled.

According to Ginny's letters, summer at the Burrow sounded really fun. The younger of the Weasley clan would always tell Juliet about the many pranks the twins would pull, swimming in the pond during hot days, playing quidditch above the field and even de-gnoming the garden.

''I don't mind you coming over during summer vacation, Juliet, but don't make it a habit. I see you enough at school,'' Ron said as he dragged his trunk onto a trolley.

''I'm just so obsessed with you that I can't leave your side, Ronald,'' Juliet replied jokingly. She wrapped her arms around him and attempted to kiss his face, but Ron dodged her lips. His cheeks were bright red from the attack, not used to girls being so close to him - beside his mother and sister.

Ginny and the twins laughed.

''Worry not, I won't be staying for long.''

''Well, I don't mind you staying for the summer. We're gonna have so much fun!'' Ginny said excitedly.

''Mom's here,'' George pointed out, seeing her hurry through the mass of parents and students and trolleys full of luggages.

.

The Burrow's back yard was beautiful during summer. Molly's large garden was filled with flowers, overgrown weeds and...chickens running around. It was a lot livelier than the old flower box at 12 Grimmauld place that she and Remus never watered and had left to die.

''You can stay in Percy's room if you want, dear. You'll be more comfortable than on Ginny's floor. I've put an extra blanket for you. The nights are cold, even in summer,'' Molly informed, tearing Juliet's attention from the window.

She thanked Mrs. Weasley and frowned. ''Where's Percy? Won't he need his room?'' she asked, confused. She didn't personally care about Percy, but she didn't want to steal his room and cause more trouble between them.

Ron shook his head, walking past her and looking around the kitchen, in search of anything he could steal and eat before dinner. ''He's not here. He got himself a job at the Ministry of Magic as assistant to Bartemius Crouch.''

''So you won't have to worry about him attacking you during supper,'' Fred added with a grin.

Juliet bit back a smile, shaking her head. Of course he remembered that.

''Mr. Crouch can't even remember Percy's name, it's hilarious. He calls him Weatherby,'' George added, not even holding his laughter.

Fred mimicked his brother and Molly scolded them both, using the hand towel she had in her hands to swat at Fred's arm. ''Quit making fun of your brother, will you? He worked really hard to get this job.''

''What's for dinner, Mom?'' Ron asked as his stomach made a growling sound.

Beside him, Ginny rolled her eyes. How could he always be hungry?

.

Percy's room being on the same floor as Fred and George's, Fred decided to be a decent host and show her the way.

''Here's Percy's den,'' Fred said, opening the door. ''Careful not to stay too long in here, you might lose your humor.''

The room was neat and clean compared to Ginny and Ron's. There were no posters or family pictures on his walls, but Ministry law books, ink pots, parchemin papers and old Daily Prophet newspapers all over his desk.

Juliet walked in and set her trunk down at the end of the neatly made bed. ''Fear not,'' she reassured the redhead, having no intention of staying in Percy's room for longer than necessary. She'll come here to sleep and that's it. ''My humor is deep in my blood.''

With Sirius Black for father, it was impossible to not have a great sense of humor. Juliet didn't share his attraction for mischief - not to his extent -, but she liked to tease people and joke around.

''I'll make sure to make jokes everyday, just in case. If you stop laughing, I'll know it's because of Percy's bedsheets.''

Biting her cheek, Juliet fought a smile. ''Always have my back, uh Freddie?''

He grinned in confirmation. ''If you need anything, just knock on my door.''

.

The next day, the sun was shining high in the sky as Ginny pulled Juliet through the backyard, both dressed in their bathing suits. They went up to the small deck that led to the pond, excited to jump in and cool off.

The first day of summer vacation was usually dedicated to cleaning the yard, but Molly had made an exception and let the kids play in the water since they had a guest.

When the girls arrived, Ron and the twins were already in the pond, fighting with pool noodles.

''Get him, George!'' Fred cheered as George hit their younger brother with a green noodle, a slapping sound echoing.

''Go George!'' Juliet joined in, taking George's side too.

Her voice had distraught Ron and his short moment of inattention cost him to get hit square in the face by George - and losing grip of his noodle. ''Bloody hell, what are you wearing?'' Ron asked, catching sight of the girls and staring at Juliet with wide eyes.

''I won!'' George exclaimed, turning to his twin for a celebratory high-five.

Juliet sat on the edge of the deck, about to get in the water. ''It's a bathing suit, Ronald. You wear it to swim,'' she explained, making the others snicker.

''This is a bathing suit.'' He pointed to Ginny's bright red one piece. ''Not...whatever this is.''

Juliet rolled her eyes and got in the water while Ginny jumped, cannonball style and splashed everyone - including Ron who scowled.

''You seemed in need of a cold shower,'' she told him as she resurfaced. ''Let's play chicken fight.''

''In case you forgot, we're an uneven number. It won't work,'' Ron reminded.

''Well, one of us is gonna wait on the sideline and replace the first person who falls. And, that person is you. You can be referee.''

''Me! Why me?''

''Because you're the one who mention it and I don't trust you to keep me up on your shoulders.''

Ignoring the bickering between his two siblings, Fred had dove under to refresh himself, starting to feel a burning on his pale shoulders. He emerged of the water and shook his head, sprinkling water everywhere with his long red locks. Those boys really needed a haircut. It was getting out of hand.

Ron grumbled some more, reluctantly accepting his fate as Ginny went over to George, ready to play.

''Juliet, you go with Fred. I'll go with George.''

Upon hearing his name, Fred caught eyes with Juliet and swam up to her. ''Ready?''

Fred's body had changed a lot over the past year. Puberty was most likely one of the reasons, but also quidditch. As beaters, they couldn't be frail and lanky; they needed muscles.

Standing so close to him, Juliet was surprised by how broad and strong those shoulders were underneath his robes and sweaters. She couldn't help but dart her eyes to his naked chest and the galaxy of freckles on his wet skin.

Shaking her head, she pushed those thoughts away. ''How do I get up there?'' she asked, having never played this game before.

Fred lowered himself down in the water and Juliet awkwardly climbed on his shoulders, fingernails digging into his freckled skin in panic as he stood up, feeling herself wobble.

''I'm not gonna drop you,'' he said in a reassuring voice, putting his hands on her knees for security. ''If I can hold Ron up, you've got nothing to be scared of.''

''Get ready to lose, losers!''

.

After playing in the pond all afternoon, the Weasleys had gathered in the backyard for a campfire. Mrs. Weasley had brought out the marshmallows to roast and Fred and George had decided to show off their firework skills.

It was a day Juliet wasn't going to forget anytime soon.

But, all good days come to an end and it was now time to go to bed.

After an hour of tossing and turning, the young witch came to the conclusion that she wasn't going to find sleep anytime soon. It wasn't because she wasn't tired - she was -, but sleeping in Percy's bed made her feel uneasy. His loud comments regarding Sirius had hurt her and she’d honestly rather sleep on Ginny's wood floor than here.

She had fallen asleep fast enough last night, but she always fell asleep fast after a train journey.

Sitting up, Juliet reached into her trunk and grabbed a book. Might as well read instead of sitting there in the dark and waiting for sleep to come.

A gentle knock on the door made her slightly jump, and then, someone poked their head in. Fred.

''Everything okay?'' He was in his pajamas and his hair was slightly mussed from sleep. ''I was on my way from the bathroom when I saw some light. Given the hour, I decided to check on you.''

Juliet put down her book, heart warm. It was very kind of him to check on her.

''I just... I can't seem to find sleep.''

''It's because of Percy's smelly sheets, isn't it?'' Juliet looked down at the bright patchwork blanket, doubt and disgust in her eyes, and Fred laughed. ''I'm kidding. Mom washed them.'' He stepped in and sat on the end of the bed. ''So, tell me. What's keeping you up tonight, Black?''

Juliet sighed. ''Lots of things,'' she half lied.

''Let's play a game. I tell you something I haven't told anyone and you tell me one until you fall asleep. I'll start. I'm gonna be graduating Hogwarts next year and I'm scared. Worried, mostly. As you know, George and I want to open a joke shop. It's always been our big dream. It used to be an almost impossible dream to reach because of our shortage of money, but with the money Harry gave us, it's allowing us to make test samples and slowly build a small variety of candies to sell. But what if we fail?''

Hearing Fred confess his worries about the future changed Juliet's perspective of him. Fred was always so bold, confident and positive, going around telling people that anything's possible if you've got enough nerve. He gave the impression that he was never afraid of anything, but he was just good at hiding it.

''I think everyone's a bit afraid of the future. It is scary.''

''I try to stay positive, but there's always this 'what if' that's in the back of my head. If we fail, what will I do with my life, work at Gringotts? At the Ministry of Magic? Become a teacher? Absolutely not.''

''You're great at quidditch. You and George are the best beaters Gryffindor ever had.''

Fred chuckled. ''I’m flattered, but I’m not good enough to play professionally. And I like to play with George. Quidditch is something we’ve always played together. I’d feel weird to play without him. It’s your turn.''

Finding something Juliet had never told anyone turned out to be more difficult that she'd imagined. In their Ravenclaw dorm, she and Luna had a lot of late night conversations over the years. They’d talk about everything and nothing, typical girl things and...stranger things, but Sirius was a subject they never dipped in.

''I almost didn't meet my father,’’ she started, which immediately caught Fred’s attention. ‘’When Harry and Hermione saved and helped him escape in third year, I almost didn't follow Harry into the yard. I was scared he wouldn't be the person Remus had told me about. That he wouldn't be as great as I had been told. I was scared to be disappointed. I also knew that it might be my only chance and I'd regret it all my life if I didn't go.

''When I got to the yard, he wasn't at all like I had imagined him to be. He was...scary looking, as anyone would be after spending so long in Azkaban. I almost turned around and ran, but he called my name, his voice so hoarse and broken, and a smile had curled on his face. The first in Merlin knows how long. At this moment, I realized that I held a power. A power to bring him a sliver of happiness after all those years of coldness, darkness, misery and despair.''

''I'm sure it was an emotional experience for him too. It must've been a shock to see you.''

''I write him letters almost every day, but I don't have an address to send them to so I keep them in a shoebox under my bed.'' Juliet laughed at herself. ''It's silly, I know-''

''It's not,'' Fred countered. ''I think it’s cute and understandable. You had gotten your father back when he was taken away from you - again. It's a way for you to talk to him, even if he can't read your letters or respond.'' He yawned and apologized. Unlike Juliet, he had been sleeping before knocking on her door.

''You can go back to bed if you’re tired.''

Fred shook his head. ‘’I’d rather stay and talk with you. It’s my turn now, is it?’’

They kept going for a few more minutes, talking in Percy’s room while the rest of the house was asleep.

If Molly were up, she’d undoubtedly scold them for being awake past midnight and Fred going into Juliet's room. Her rules were clear about guests from the opposite sex: no visiting after bedtime.

While they were talking, they had shifted on the bed and changed positions. Their knees were now touching and their feet were buried under the patchwork blanket.

''I didn't want you to go back to Angelina after we danced at the Yule Ball,'' Juliet said, surprising herself. She found herself panicking inside, realizing that, although true, it could ruin their friendship in a disastrous way.

A smug smile curled on Fred’s lips. ''I'm a brilliant dancer, am I?''

She chuckled, but didn't deny. Although Fred Weasley wasn't great at following through with the classic steps when ball dancing, he knew how to spice it up and make it really fun.

''I didn't tell you, but you looked gorgeous in that dress.''

Juliet blinked.

It wasn’t the first time Fred complimented her, but he had never been so bold. He’d usually say something subtle that he could easily say to his sister, but tonight, it sounded very flirty - and Juliet didn't hate it.

After that, it was a blur. She could recall Fred talking, but one of them fell asleep and the other followed.

.

Fred was gone when Juliet woke up.

At first, she thought last night had been a dream, but the blanket was moved as if somebody else had slept there. She grabbed the blanket and a faint smell of Fred lingered on the blanket. Juliet smiled.

''Morning!'' Ginny greeted, walking in and inviting herself on the bed. She was still in her pajamas so it must've been still early. ''Luna sent an owl this morning, inviting us to have tea at her house tomorrow,'' the redhead informed, holding the piece of parchment in her hand. ''I'll ask Mum if we can go, but it should be okay. She doesn't live too far.''

Juliet rubbed her eyes, still washed with sleep and nodded, looking forward to seeing Luna. One of the things she didn't like about summer was not sharing a room with Luna for two months. She missed her so much. They'd write letters, but it wasn't the same.

''Mom is making pancakes. She sent me to get you.''

''Oh, yum!''

The raven haired girl pushed the covers away, excited to eat Molly's delicious pancakes, but Ginny stopped her. ''Before we go down, there's something I wanted to talk about...I think my brother fancies you.''

Panic flashed in Juliet's mind. Was Fred that obvious? His flirting was pretty subtle and rarely when there was people around. How could've Ginny come to that conclusion?

Juliet laughed. ''What? He doesn't. Gin, you're insane.''

''He was so red at King's Cross when you hugged him! And, he kept staring you when we were at the pond yesterday. He's into you.''

Ron. Ginny was talking about Ron, not Fred.

''See it the way you want. Now, let's go eat pancakes!''

[house-of-1000-corpses]

241 songs bangers for any occasion

1.MASTODON - Blood and Thunder 03:48 2.RED FANG - Wires 05:43 3.DYING FETUS - Second Skin 04:42 4.OBITUARY - Sentence Day 02:49 5.DEATH - Pull The Plug 04:26 6.AMORPHIS - Black Winter Day 03:50 7.MYRKUR - Leaves of Yggdrasil 04:00 8.NOTHING - Say Less 04:15 9.TORCHE - Admission 04:00 10.BARONESS - March to the Sea 03:11 11.THE DILLINGER ESCAPE PLAN - 43% Burnt 04:31 12.PIG DESTROYER - Trojan Whore 01:34 13.NASUM - Scoop 02:21 14.NILE - Cast Down The Heretic 05:45 15.SUFFOCATION - Catatonia 03:55 16.INCANTATION - Entrails of the Hag Queen 04:33 17.NEUROSIS - Through Silver In Blood 12:11 18.HIGH ON FIRE - Blessed Black Wings 07:43 19.YOB - Ablaze 10:13 20.WINDHAND - Diablerie 05:20 21.MONOLORD - THE LAST LEAF 05:14 22.BONGZILLA - Amerijuanican 06:46 23.GATECREEPER - From The Ashes 03:59 24.EXHUMED - Ravenous Cadavers 01:49 25.FULL OF HELL - Burning Myrrh 02:12 26.INTEGRITY - Hymn, For The Children of the Black Flame 02:16 27.GISM - Endless Blockades For The Pussyfooter 03:46 28.CONTROL DENIED - Expect The Unexpected 07:16 29.NECROPHAGIST - Only Ash Remains 04:11 30.OBSCURA - The Anticosmic Overload 04:16 31.REVOCATION - The Grip Tightens 04:10 32.GRUESOME - A Waste of Life 06:00 33.ZOMBI - Breakthrough & Conquer 03:46 34.GENGHIS TRON - Board Up The House 05:54 35.SURVIVE - A.H.B. 04:25 36.THE ALBUM LEAF - Ambo 04:53 37.CEREMONY - Turn Away The Bad Thing 04:02 38.BORIS WITH MERZBOW - Away From You 07:35 39.ROYAL THUNDER - Parsonz Curse 06:57 40.KING WOMAN - Hierophant 07:59 41.CLOAKROOM - Seedless Star 07:37 42.AUTHOR & PUNISHER - The Speaker Is Systematically Broken 04:14 43.DISFEAR - Deadweight 02:52 44.IRON REAGAN - A Dying World 02:24 45.TOXIC HOLOCAUST - Nuke The Cross 02:47 46.CANDY - Super-Stare 04:01 47.RINGWORM - Death Becomes My Voice 05:19 48.INTER ARMA - Citadel 06:40 49.PRIMITIVE MAN - Menacing 08:00 50.UNEARTHLY TRANCE - Famine 06:14 51.LYCUS - Solar Chamber 10:41 52.DEVOURMENT - Cognitive Sedation Butchery 04:53 53.SKINLESS - The Optimist 05:42 54.DEVIL MASTER - Black Flame Candle 02:46 55.OUTER HEAVEN - Bloodspire 04:15 56.GENOCIDE PACT - Conquered and Disposed 04:37 57.COFFINS - Hour of Execution 04:55 58.MAMMOTH GRINDER - Superior Firepower 02:38 59.LIVING GATE - Heaven Ablaze 03:35 60.REPULSION - Maggots In Your Coffin 01:45 61.AGORAPHOBIC NOSEBLEED - Agorapocalypse Now 02:25 62.MISERY INDEX - Fed To The Wolves 03:47 63.MORTICIAN - Rabid 02:01 64.BRUTAL TRUTH - Sugardaddy 02:36 65.HUMAN REMAINS - Rote 03:31 66.-(16)- - Me and the Dog Die Together 03:05 67.ALABAMA THUNDERPUSSY - Motor-Ready 04:21 68.ASG - Avalanche 04:17 69.CEPHALIC CARNAGE - Endless Cycle Of Violence 04:14 70.CHERUBS - Sooey Pig 04:44 71.COUGH - Haunter of the Dark 07:50 72.CRIPPLE BASTARDS - Non Coinvolto 02:04 73.DISEMBOWELMENT - Your Prophetic Throne Of Ivory 07:40 74.EX EYE - Opposition/Perihelion; The Coil 12:29 75.GADGET - Pillars Of Filth 01:20 76.GRAVES AT SEA - The Curse That Is 11:14 77.HAEMORRHAGE - WE ARE THE GORE 02:15 78.HORSEBACK - Mithras 05:04 79.ILSA - SHIBBOLETH 02:39 80.INDIAN - The Impetus Bleeds 06:40 81.INVERLOCH - Distance Collapsed (In Rubble) 08:39 82.IRON MONKEY - Crown of Electrodes 04:21 83.JOHN FRUM - Presage of Emptiness 04:47 84.LOCRIAN - Arc of Extinction 07:16 85.MARUTA - Hope Smasher 02:19 86.MIRACLE - Light Mind 04:49 87.THE OBSESSED - Sodden Jackal 04:23 88.PINKISH BLACK - Concept Unification 05:13 89.PUBLICIST UK - Slow Dancing To This Bitter Earth 03:36 90.RWAKE - Leviticus 07:17 91.SUMERLANDS - The Seventh Seal 03:46 92.TERMINAL BLISS - Clean Bill of Wealth 00:51 93.TRAPPIST - Victims Of A Bomber Raid 01:38 94.TRUE WIDOW - Four Teeth 06:16 95.WEEKEND NACHOS - Jock Powerviolence 01:23 96.WRONG - Culminate 02:33 97.USNEA - Lathe of Heaven 09:44 98.VICTIMS - The Horse And Sparrow Theory 03:41 99.ZEKE - Two Lane Blacktop 01:37 100.ZONAL - System Error -ft. Moor Mother 04:06 101.ARCADEA - Infinite End 03:28 102.BLACK SALVATION - In A Casket's Ride 07:03 103.BRAIN TENTACLES - Fruitcake 02:35 104.ABSCESS - Naked Freak Show 01:15 105.ABYSMAL DAWN - Inanimate 04:15 106.AGENDA OF SWINE - Gethsemane 01:08 107.ANAL CUNT - Radio Hit 01:11 108.ANATOMY OF HABIT - Radiate and Recede 20:11 109.ANTIGAMA - Pursuit 01:16 110.ATRIARCH - Entropy 05:53 111.BEDEMON - Child Of Darkness 04:12 112.BENUMB - Once And Never Again 01:00 113.BIRDS OF PREY - Hustling the Coroner To Overlook the Strychnine 03:27 114.BLACK ANVIL - May Her Wrath Be Just 04:25 115.BLACK TUSK - Bring Me Darkness 03:05 116.BLOOD DUSTER - Porn Store Stiffi 01:33 117.BLOODIEST - BROKEN TEETH 07:31 118.BRIAN POSEHN - Cuddling 03:55 119.BROUGHTON'S RULES - Reversers 03:50 120.BURIED INSIDE - IV 06:07 121.BURNT BY THE SUN - Soundtrack To The Worst Movie Ever 02:32 122.BURST - Where The Wave Broke 03:36 123.BUZZOVEN - Mainline 05:30 124.CALL OF THE VOID - Bottom Feeder 01:42 125.CAR BOMB - Gum Under The Table 03:27 126.CHRIS CONNELLY - Wait For Amateur 02:05 127.CIRCLE OF ANIMALS - No Faith 04:21 128.CHRISTIAN MISTRESS - Over & Over 02:41 129.COALESCE - Have Patience 03:11 130.COLDWORKER - The Interloper 02:38 131.COLISEUM - Defeater 02:01 132.COLUMNS - Mudfucker 01:18 133.CRETIN - Ghost of Teeth and Hair 03:54 134.CRYPTIC SLAUGHTER - Lowlife 02:32 135.CULTED - BROODING HEX 19:13 136.DAVIE ALLAN - Buzz Saw Effect 02:36 137.DAYLIGHT DIES - Four Corners 08:11 138.DEAD WORLD - The Machine 08:06 139.DEATH BREATH - Death Breath 02:55 140.DEKAPITATOR - The Storm Before the Calm 06:39 141.DISRUPT - Domestic Prison 02:00 142.DON CABALLERO - Railroad Cancellation 05:16 143.DUKATALON - ZX 06:23 144.DYSRHYTHMIA - Appeared at First 03:06 145.EAST WEST BLAST TEST - Magnetic Field 00:51 146.ECSTATIC VISION - Don't Kill The Vibe 05:00 147.EMBALMER - There Was Blood Everywhere 01:51 148.ENEMY SOIL - Sentencing 01:39 149.EXIT-13 - When I Get Low, I Get High 02:36 150.EXPULSION - Altar of Slaughter 01:43 151.FACEDOWNINSHIT - NPON 04:19 152.FATHER BEFOULED - Sacrilegious Defilement of Deranged Salvation 03:20 153.FLESH PARADE - Backstabber 01:14 154.FUCK THE FACTS - The Wrecking 04:39 155.GENERAL SURGERY - Slithering Maceration Of Ulcerous Facial Tissue 01:11 156.GENOCIDE SUPERSTARS - Hatestomp 03:08 157.GOD MACABRE - Lost 04:01 158.GOBLIN REBIRTH - Requiem for X 04:16 159.GRAVES OF VALOR - Suffocation of the Last King 03:45 160.HAIL! HORNET - Beast Of Bourbon 03:11 161.HARVEY MILK - The Anvil Will Fall 07:34 162.HALO - Buried In Light 04:37 163.HEMDALE - Delicious Gory Fun 01:11 164.HERO DESTROYED - That's An Axe 03:27 165.HOODED MENACE - Elysium Of Dripping Death 11:33 166.HOPE DRONE - Riverbeds Hewn in Marrow 10:39 167.HOWL - Horns Of Steel 03:26 168.HUMAN REMAINS - Weeding Out The Thorns 02:37 169.INEVITABLE END - The Severed Inception 04:04 170.JOEL GRIND - The Invisible Landscape 02:12 171.JUCIFER - Blackpowder 02:16 172.KARABOUDJAN - Den Svarta Ön 07:32 173.KILL THE CLIENT - Vicious Slaughter 01:06 174.KINGDOM OF SORROW - Enlightened To Extinction 03:47 175.KRIEG - CIRCLE OF GUILT 05:20 176.LENG TCH'E - The Fist of the Leng Tch'e 01:50 177.LIBERTEER - Build No System 01:34 178.LOOKING FOR AN ANSWER - Tapias De Cementerio 02:07 179.LORD DYING - POISONED ALTARS 03:47 180.LULL - Moment 1 01:08 181.MAGRUDERGRIND - Sacrificial Hire 01:32 182.MAN MUST DIE - Kill It Skin It Wear It 04:18 183.MANTAS - Evil Dead (Death By Metal Demo) 03:22 184.MERZBOW - Woodpecker No. 1 06:43 185.MINDROT - Anguish 07:11 186.MINSK - Within And Without 07:57 187.MORGION - The Serpentine Scrolls 10:33 188.MORTA SKULD - Sacrificial Rite 03:26 189.MOSE GIGANTICUS - The Left Path 04:13 190.MUMAKIL - Brothers in Slavery 01:20 191.MURDER CONSTRUCT - Compelled by Mediocrity 02:44 192.N2K2 - Mourning 03:54 193.NOISEAR - Inevitable Extinction 01:00 194.NUM SKULL - Ritually Abused 04:27 195.NUX VOMICA - Sanity Is For The Passive 12:40 196.OBLITERATION - Goat Skull Crown 04:40 197.OPPROBRIUM - Voices From The Grave 03:23 198.ORIGIN - Finite 03:08 199.PAN.THY.MONIUM - The Battle Of Geeheeb 11:55 200.PENTAGRAM - Forever My Queen 02:25 201.PHOBIA - Rehashed 01:05 202.POISON BLOOD - The Scourge and the Gestalt 03:40 203.PRIMATE - Draw Back A Stump 01:26 204.PUTRID PILE - The Satisfying Dead 02:50 205.PYRRHON - Balkanized 04:46 206.RABBITS - A Tale Of Tales 04:44 207.RAZOR - Hypertension 03:19 208.REGURGITATE - Putrid Serenity 01:44 209.ROTTEN SOUND - Superior 01:28 210.RUMPELSTILTSKIN GRINDER - Grab a Shovel (We've Got Bodies to Bury) 04:51 211.SATAN'S SATYRS - Succubus 03:40 212.SAYYADINA - Their Control 01:04 213.SCOTT HULL - Il funerale di Bonnie 03:47 214.SACRILEGE - Shadow From Mordor 04:50 215.SERPENTINE PATH - Essence Of Heresy 03:47 216.SOILENT GREEN - It Was Just An Accident 04:12 217.SPAWN OF POSSESSION - Apparition 08:24 218.STEVE MOORE - It's Complicated 02:41 219.SUBARACHNOID SPACE - A 09:16 220.TERMINAL SOUND SYSTEM - Silt 06:43 221.THE COUNTY MEDICAL EXAMINERS - Morgagnic Anatomics 04:14 222.THE END - Throwing Stones 03:29 223.THE GREAT TYRANT - Closing In 07:42 224.THE HIGH CONFESSIONS - Chlorine And Crystal 09:35 225.TITAN - Wooded Altar Beyond The Wander 08:00 226.TOMBS - Merrimack 03:56 227.TRIAL OF THE BOW - Father of the Flower 04:07 228.TRIBES OF NEUROT - Primordial Uncarved Block 06:24 229.ULCERATE - ABROGATION 05:50 230.ULTRAMANTIS BLACK - Prescription Culture 01:04 231.UNKIND - Vihan Lapset 02:45 232.UPHILL BATTLE - Ripped Off Face 03:29 233.VVEREVVOLF GREHV - Audio Processor 04:45 234.VIDNA OBMANA - The Insane Brightness 05:33 235.VIRAL LOAD - Methlab Machete Massacre 03:07 236.VOIVOD - God Phones 05:07 237.WEAPON - Vanguard Of The Morning Star 04:19 238.WOLVSERPENT - Within the Light of Fire 16:24 239.BASTARD NOISE, SICKNESS - Death's Door 16:09 240.PSYWARFARE - Au Regal Des Voraces 20:02 241.THE SOUL REBELLION ORCHESTRA - DOLEMITE 03:01

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 7

<- Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 ->

Summary: I gave myself a stomach ache writing this one 🙃

2,961 words

Thirty-two days. Nine surgeries. Twenty blood transfusions.

Sometimes it seemed like just yesterday when everything was going right—you and Frederick were so happy together, his books were selling, your career was flourishing, and he had just asked you to marry him. Sometimes, it felt like a lifetime ago. A state of being so foreign, you wondered if it had even been real, or if you were remembering someone else’s life.

Seasons turned. Cherry blossoms were starting to bloom in the parks around Maryland, and each gust of cool wind carried with it their sweet pink fragrance. The spring air vibrated and sang with life renewed. But where you were headed, the air was stagnant, beige, and sterile.

As the automatic sliding glass doors drew you into the hospital, away from the sun, a piece of your heart withered like a flower. It sank deeper when you considered how the unhappy hours you whiled away in those sterile halls were nothing compared to what Frederick had to endure. He didn’t have the luxury of being able to leave.

Physically, he was beginning to show signs of real improvement. The pneumonia had completely cleared up, and he was starting to receive permanent transplants from the cutting-edge, lab-grown skin created from his own cells. Most of his body was still wrapped up in gauze, but a few places had only received second-degree burns, and those patches were almost back to normal. For the first time since the attack, his odds of not dying were higher than his odds of dying.

Mentally was a different story. His moods grew progressively more sour. With none of his true nemeses at hand to take out his bitterness on, that burden fell upon his nurses, doctors, and upon you—and it was beginning to weigh heavily. At first you didn’t want to see the rift that was forming, even as he cut your visiting hours short in an angry huff, and had fewer and fewer kind words for you. You shoved every fear and frustration into a box at the back of your mind so you could keep smiling. He was just in pain, you kept telling yourself. He just needed time.

You held onto the hope that as he got better, your relationship would return to what it had been before. But he was getting better, and the rift grew wider.

“We’ll still want to wait at least six months to do the procedure, until your infection risk has dropped to baseline levels for a healthy adult, but we’re putting you on the transplant waiting list now,” the doctor explained. She was one of his regular surgeons who had been with him since day one. She wore a white lab coat over blue scrubs, and hid behind a clipboard as she spoke. You liked the that she needed to use the file as a shield—it made her relatable. Always friendly, and clearly a skilled surgeon, but uncomfortable with the heavy emotional talking to patients, especially to Dr. Frederick Chilton, who was always in a bad mood, and always ready with a scathing remark.

But today he had nothing to say. No critique on the hospital’s competence. No casual observations with hidden barbs. Just a silent nod of acknowledgment before turning his head to gaze out the window at the fresh spring flowers, framed by the sea of fake ones you had bought.

Francis Dolarhyde, the Red Dragon, had bitten Frederick’s mouth with such extreme ferocity there was not enough connective muscle left to reconstruct new lips from Frederick’s own tissue. The only option for him to look normal again would be a face transplant—donated facial muscle, skin, and hair from a cadaver—although the doctor explained that the procedure was risky. After taking the transplant, Frederick would be put on immunosurpressant drugs for the rest of his life to prevent rejection, which meant every flu season, or even a coworker with a cold, could turn deadly without careful precaution. But to Frederick, it was worth the risk. He couldn’t bear spending his life being stared at. He couldn’t even stand you looking at the black hole that was his face.

Yet what the doctor explained about the procedure added weight after weight to Frederick’s chest until he felt crushed by despair.

The donated tissue had to be a very close match, or his antibodies would reject the new lips. Unlike receiving a heart or a kidney, his new skin had to be an aesthetic match as well. It could not be from too old a donor, or the skin would lack the proper elasticity. And, unfortunately, most organ donors were not comfortable donating external organs—it ruins the open-casket wake.

So, he could be waiting on a match for a very long time.

You thanked the clipboard-wielding doctor when Frederick remained sulking, not bothering to look up as she left. He adjusted himself slightly to follow a flash of movement—a bird—out the window, and winced as it tugged his unyielding scar tissue. Something tore under his armpit, but he didn’t yelp in pain—he was used to this level of it by now—but his eyes watered.

“At least you can sit up a little bit now. That’s great, isn’t it?” you said in an attempt to cheer him up.

He scoffed, and made no immediate reply.

Years, was all he kept thinking. It could take up to three years to find a match, possibly longer, the doctor said.

“Up to three years or longer,” he growled sarcastically. “She does realize that means nothing? It means any time, or never.”

“I know...”

“But thank god at least I can sit,” he spat bitterly. “A little.”

You were taken aback by his sharp rebuke and fell silent, a cavernous gulf between you though you sat right beside his bed. As you recovered from the sting, however, his words made you smile. He had always been churlish, but recently all of the spirit had been eroded away from his petty attitudes, leaving him defeated and mean. It was nice to hear his churlishness take on a spark of sarcastic sass.

“Don’t lose hope, darling,” you said in an overly-sweet patronizing cadence. “One day you’ll have enough movement back to flip her off.”

He paused, eyes flicking over to you curiously. You had been downtrodden for weeks, too, and he hadn’t expected a joke. He chuckled appreciatively. You wished the good moments lasted longer these days.

It wasn’t as though his life had ended, even if his full cosmetic recovery would take a little longer than he hoped, and even if he was bedridden for several more months. It was that sharp mind and wit that made you fall in love with him, and he still had that. He could keep you entertained for hours discussing some arcane piece of trivia or sharing lurid gossip. Since he was cut off from his normal sources of scuttlebutt, you kept him updated on all the latest rumors you’d learned over dinner with Jack Crawford—about the shitstorm he’d brought down on himself at the FBI when Will Graham went rogue, how Alana and her wife fled the country (but you heard they might be in Cuba), Freddie Lounds being sued again. He always enjoyed hearing about other people’s misfortunes, but today it just made him jealous that you’d been spending time with Jack.

“You have both recently lost a spouse. What comfort you must take in each other,” he insinuated.

“I haven’t lost you, Frederick.”

You went into that sentence thinking you were convincing him that you loved him, but as it closed, you realized you were desperate to convince yourself he wasn’t gone. The more you tried to hold him close, the more you felt him pulling away, and felt a creeping dread that even if he got better, you would lose him. Everything you tried to say to reassure him only made him feel worse, and you wondered if it was your fault. Someone more capable, more empathetic, would know the right things to say. You were a failure. He deserved more.

His professional life, too, hadn’t ended. His injury would barely be a bump in the road to his writing career if he wasn’t so stubborn and prideful. The publisher offered to send a ghostwriter to finish The Dragon Slayer, for which they greedily anticipated a significant boost in sales, considering the author’s headline-making personal involvement in the Red Dragon’s end. Frederick, however, refused to be interviewed by “some insipid amateur.” He claimed they would not understand the nuances of psychology required, and stood firm on the grounds of “artistic integrity,” but the truth was, he did not want anybody else to see him.

His face had not made it into the papers, despite several attempts by Freddie Lounds to sneak into the hospital with a hidden camera, and he did not want any more of the world than absolutely necessary to know the extent of what the Dragon had done to him. He did not want to see the shock in the writer’s eyes at seeing his disgusting lipless teeth. He did not want a stranger to see him inevitably start drooling the longer he spoke—and he hated repeating himself to people who could not understand his impaired diction.

No. Publishing The Dragon Slayer would have to wait, though the possibility of another author beating him to the punch bothered him nearly as much as his missing lips. After an entire month recuperating, he thought he would at least be able to type again, but he could barely move his gauze-mittened fingers.

The world had not forgotten him, evidenced by the occasional fan-mail the publisher forwarded to him. You would bring them in and read them—a lot of get-well-soons, and entreaties to hear his side of the Francis Dolarhyde story. A lot of them were from professionals and students in the psychiatric field, pointing out errors or suggesting contradictory theories. Those were the most fun to read, because Frederick would come alive with indignation, debating with the letter as if its sender could hear him, sometimes making you send a response, seething with superiority as he dictated.

In those brief moments, it was like having the old Frederick back. Then a nurse would come in and need to run a test, or feed him, or something else that embarrassed him back into his shell of anger. Or he would grow too animated and rip one of his grafts, and his zeal for argument would end precipitously with a scream, and a surgeon.

As you shuffled a handful of addressed envelopes and started reading through the latest batch of strangers wishing him a healthy recovery, you were struck by a thought.

“Why haven’t I met your family?”

The wind caught in his throat. His scabbed-over nostrils flared before he answered, “I doubt that is what the letter reads.”

“They never visit, even when… even when you could have died. My parents even flew in that first week, when they heard. They helped me with the flowers. Why do your fans send more condolences than your family?”

Gritting ones teeth does not come easily when ones teeth are constantly bared by default, but Frederick grit his teeth. “My mother is old. She can hardly be expected to travel.”

A plausible answer, but not the full story. His discomfort with the subject only spurred your curiosity. All the time you’d been together, you had simply accepted Frederick as an individual, with no need for a childhood backstory or a group of others sharing his features and last name to complete him. You’d gathered, in snippets, that their relationship was not the best, and were satisfied to leave it alone. But he nearly died. The nurse who asked you about his next of kin looked so confused when you had no one you could contact, and it made you feel foolish for never having asked.

“It’s just, we’re going to be married.”

“So?” he said, a hard, mocking edge to his voice.

“So, if I’m going to be part of your family, isn’t it weird that I’ve never met them?”

Instead of answering directly, he snarled, “Look somewhere else.”

“I wasn’t staring!”

“Look. Somewhere. Else.”

You huffed, and sat back in your uncomfortable plastic chair whose unpadded seat bruised your butt after countless hours, crossing your arms. The box full of anger was overstuffed. You shoved its contents down like clothing in a suitcase to squeeze one more sting of hurt inside, but it began to overflow. “I swear I don’t stare at your face any more than I used to,” you muttered aloud what was supposed to remain a thought, “but now every interaction needs to be a carefully calculated balance between not looking at you enough to feel gawked at, and not not-looking enough to make you feel like I’m averting my eyes from your horrible face.” At the word “horrible,” you wiggled your fingers and wavered your voice the way the vampire running a children’s haunted house would say the word “spooky.”

“I am sorry my suffering is so inconvenient for you,” he said in clipped, cold syllables, and you knew you’d pushed him too far.

“I’m just saying, you know I don’t care about your face. You’re acting the same way as when you got shot, and you got over that. You know I still think you’re beautiful. Can’t you give me some credit and just stop freaking out?”

Being stuck in a hospital bed with limited range of motion, he had few resources with which to express anger, but his chest rose and fell and his breath hissed like steam through his nose. “You...” he seethed. “You never care about the pain I suffer, do you? You, in your fantasy world where you accept my injuries and make it all better—you have no idea what it is like to be violated. To have your body ripped apart! It is not a thing one ‘gets over.’ Beautiful? That is rich coming from one who would not know how to tuck in a shirt without my guidance. It must be lovely in whatever quaint children’s storybook your mind inhabits, but in the real world, appearance matters. It matters to me. Your fetish does not stop every sane individual from seeing ugliness. You believe I should be delighted to have a partner who calls ugliness beauty and trivializes my grief? I should have had you analyzed years ago—my judgment was compromised by my relationship with you. I could not see. Your attachment increases with my physical deterioration. You prefer me broken.”

“That… that isn’t true! How dare—”

“You could barely tolerate me before Abel Gideon took my kidney. I was shot in the face and suddenly you professed your love. What shall it be this time? Ah, yes—marriage. You must be elated.” He rolled the words over his tongue in that distinctively upper-class way that was almost musical, yet bone-cuttingly brutal.

“Stop. This had nothing to do with it—you proposed to me!”

His eyes had been flashing with energy behind the bandages as you argued, but all the anger in them vanished like a message written in steam on a bathroom mirror. They took on a dull, blank glaze.

“Then I take it back,” he said. You wished you believed he meant the accusation. His head shifted toward you, but his dull stare seemed to look right through you to the door. “The engagement is over.”

Your throat dried up. “You don’t mean that,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I will not be with one who gains pleasure from my mutilation. Get out of my room. There are some amputees over in the rehabilitation ward; go explore your fetishes elsewhere.”

He couldn’t be serious, and yet there was no hint of sarcasm or hyperbole in his flat tone. He meant it. You were surprised to find that you weren’t sad. Your hands began trembling uncontrollably, the tiny convulsions working their way from your extremities to your shoulders, tightly clenching in your gut, but it wasn’t sadness. The overfilled box tore open at the seams, exploding its pressurized contents, and weeks of frustration shattered against the walls and cascaded out over the floor.

“Fine!” you stood up from the hated plastic chair so sharply it scraped across the laminate floor and tipped over backward. “I can’t put up with a second more of this, anyway! I can’t keep walking on eggshells waiting for you to snap—if this is the way it’s going to be from now on, then marrying you would be a nightmare.”

If you had seen him flinch as if your words had physically wounded him, then you might have stopped shouting. A surge of pity might have overwhelmed you, and you might have broken down sobbing. He might not have been able to go through with it, then. Seeing you blubbering with heavy, hot tears rolling down your face, he might have said he was sorry, like he wished he could have said if only he were not so much like his father.

But you were too angry to look at him, and you didn’t see him flinch.

So a moment later when your back was in the doorway, instead of I’m sorry, he said, “Keep the ring. Sell it, and get a new apartment. Do not come back.”

“Fuck you!”

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

The irony of white lilies

CW: funeral, mention of death, hate of a loved one

Bright golden sun, radiant blue sky, fluffy white clouds, joyful chirping birds, colourful blooming flowers, iridescent dew drops sliding off waxy green leaves, sweet scents of freshly-baked bread and pastries wafting through the fresh morning air… all of it was too much for Remus. It was too pretty, too happy, too good to be true. London was never this beautiful. Of course, the one day where it was had to be the funeral of his three best friends and his relationship with the one person he had loved more than anything else. He looked at himself in the narrow mirror in the hallway: tall, slim, long gangly limbs drowning in a dark brown suit, the only one he owned, which was slightly too large for him, mousy brown hair strands hanging limply over his face and having lost their golden shine, honey brown greenish eyes shadowed by dark rings, and pale, ashy skin stricken with several old silvery scars and a couple of fresh pink ones. The mirror reflected the ghost of a person, a mere shadow of who he was before. In the top right corner of the reflective glass, five words and a name were hastily written in black marker. The letters were perfectly shaped, curved in elegant lines, clear and regular, so very different from Remus’ own scrawny, barely readable handwriting. It was unmistakably Sirius’ handwriting through and through, remnants of his aristocratic past clear as day. And it read:

“I love you, remember me

-Sirius”

It was nothing more than a mere note, a regular thing Sirius did, nothing out of the usual, and yet, it was as if he had known what would happen, as if…

“As if he had planned it all along,” Remus realised. Ragingly, he whipped the glass with his long, frayed sleeve, attempting to erase the message before his eyes, from existence, from his memory, but the letters wouldn’t even smudge. Huffing in frustration, he grabbed his wand, before stomping out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind himself.

“Colloportus,” he whispered sharply, waving at the lock briefly with his hand.

The air around him crackled quietly, buzzing with the magic that escaped the howling wolf inside him, are emotions and uncontrollable feelings ruling over his entire being, brimming with pure power. Remus ran down the stairs, ducking out of the building, and slipped into a nearby foul-smelling alley, shadowed by the silhouettes of the tall houses surrounding it. Hiding behind a dumpster, he Apparated away with a loud crack.

***

The fields surrounding the Potter’s barndominium swayed in the fresh autumn wind, grass blades rustling softly as the last few flowers undulated and bent over under the pressure of harsher gusts of cold air. Not far from him, about 50 meters or so away, a group of people clad in black clothes stood amongst pristine white chairs. An altar of some sort crowned with a plethora of flowers stood proudly above them, a few long ribbons of white silk swaying in the wind over the guests. Ridiculously, it looked almost like the preparations of a wedding ceremony instead of a funeral, full of decorations and extravaganza.

“The entire opposite of what James and Lily would have wanted,” Remus thought, scoffing, before making his way over to the small crowd, striding through the tall yellowy dried out grass.

No one noticed him when he approached the congregation, all too busy talking in hushed whispers amongst themselves or staring at the front towards the flowered altar. Remus recognised a couple of faces here and there, some Professors from Hogwarts, some people he remembered having seen at Fleamont’s and Euphemia’s glorious and colourful Christmas parties, and a few students he had attended Hogwarts with. Order members were stationed in several places, milling around the mourners, stances guarded and wands drawn. Now more than ever, the aftermath of the War hung heavy in the air, looming darkly over everyone’s minds, deemed finished yet never entirely gone. Clenched fists stuffed in his pockets, Remus hung back a little, staying at the back of the crowd, observing everyone carefully and nodding to the occasional acquaintance who caught his eye. Something about the atmosphere felt very off and erroneous, yet he couldn’t quite place his finger upon it thus far. Suddenly, the loud telltale crack of Apparition cut sharply through the muffled conversations, and Dumbledore appeared in the middle of the funeral, exceedingly dramatic. Everything quieted down as he swept the crowd with his bright blue eyes, staring half-pensively half-gravely at everyone behind his half-moon spectacles. Finally, after a few strangely agonisingly long seconds, he turned around swiftly in a swish of robes and walked up to the altar on which lay James and Lily’s lifeless bodies. While Dumbledore waved briefly at the gathered attendance, gesturing for them to sit down on the white wooden chairs, Remus only had eyes for the cadavers of his two best friends, allowing himself to really look for the first time. They laid side by side, dressed in pristine softly shimmering silk white robes as if it were their wedding day, surrounded by wreaths of white lilies. James’ dark caramel skin and black curls and Lily’s auburn hair stood out drastically against the pureness of their milieu. Eyes closed faces relaxed and serene, they almost looked like a pair of coloured porcelain dolls that had been deposited on an elaborate flowerbed. Neither of them seemed dead, on the contrary, it was as if they were plunged in nothing more but deep, tranquil sleep, away from everything, at peace. Unable to bear it any longer, Remus turned away, biting his trembling lip as he watched the grass continue to sway softly. The sickeningly sweet smell of lilies was carried to him by the wind. A small, ironic smile bordering on slightly crazed stretched across his thin lips as his face contorted into a tight, pained grimace.

“Lily hated lilies, especially white lilies,” he thought with morbid amusement.

Behind him, the people had ceased to shuffle around and settled in their chairs. Dumbledore coughed lightly, and Remus glanced back, locking eyes with him. A rush of anger surged inside of him, though he did not know exactly why. The old man must have perceived it somehow, maybe seen the raging flare in his eyes, because after a few seconds, he lowered his eyes, gazing instead at the guests.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” he began, “we are gathered here today to honour James and Lily Potter, who unfortunately and tragically lost their lives far too soon on the grim night that was the 31st of October 1981. Both Lily and James were remarkable people, praised both in magical and emotional domains by many. They were caring and loving people, who brought much new to better the world we live in. I would thus like to go back on some of the deeds James and Lily Potter accomplished in their noble, albeit short lives, to mourn them in a celebration of them rather than in wallowing in sadness, reminiscing what we lost. I knew James and Lily as students under my care at Hogwarts first and foremost, but they revealed to be dear friends as they grew older. I remember the first day…”

The words blurred in Remus’ ears, sounding meaningless and hollow, empty, almost…false, if one would dare to call them as such. They did not appear to hold any real value, and as speaker after speaker would pronounce their own valedictory, Remus doubted more and more whether these people actually knew or cared about James and Lily. All they ever seemed to remember was how good of a witch Lily was considering she was a Muggleborn, how wonderful of a Potioneer she was, how spectacular and outstanding James’ Quidditch skills were, how pleasant of a boy he was even if rather mischievous, and on and on and on. It was incredibly and unexpectedly painful for Remus, to whom Lily and James meant so much more than that, to hear people deliver such vain and barren speeches.

“They deserve better than a listing of their accomplishments, Lily and James deserve better,” he thought ragingly.

All throughout, he noticed Minerva, who sat quietly at the first row, only distinguishable from this far by her telltale pointy black hat, remained quiet. Remus deemed it rather surprising, but paid it no real mind, knowing she must have her reasons. Ever since the war, that peculiar bond they had formed on his very first day when she welcomed him had strengthened, grown into something deeper, maybe a friendship. Minerva McGonagall was probably one of the last few remaining people Remus still trusted. Finally, the tall, thin, balding man whose name Remus had failed to catch finished talking with a mere “We will miss them”, and Dumbledore walked up to the small stage once more.

“Before we bid farewell to our dear friends forever, does anyone else wish to speak?”

After a brief moment of hesitation, Remus walked up to him from the back of the gathering.

“Yes, Professor, there are some things I would like to mention before we let go of James and Lily, some things I believe they would have liked to hear,” he started, nodded faintly.

The gathered witches and wizards watched him expectantly, mistrust painted on the faces of a few at the sight of a skinny, tall, scarred, and shabbily dressed young man.

“Lily Evans hated lilies you know, James learned that the hard way in 5th year when she threw the humongous bouquet he had offered her in an attempt to woo her right at his face. Some said Lily could have been a fine Chaser with such precision of throw. James later learned that the way to Lily’s heart was blush roses. Anyhow, I believe it is time we change…this,” he said gesturing vaguely at the extravagant decorations, a slight moue of disgust forming on his bony face.

Whispering an incantation, he waved his wand briefly in the air and the lilies disappeared in a light poof of sparkles, replaced by creamy white roses with very faint blush pink cores.

“Better isn’t it?” he asked rhetorically, laughing a little to himself at the disbelieving looks painted on some of the elder witches and wizards. “Lily and James were two very special and talented people as you all already mentioned, but to me, they were important in a very different way, I remember them for other reasons which I believe, are just as significant. Lily Evans Potter and James Potter were two of the very first people who made me feel safe and welcomed, who made me feel truly loved, who made me feel at home. I trusted them with my life, and I still would if they were among us. I could spend hours here in front of you, telling you hundreds of stories about them, both sad and happy, about the time James fell off his broom into the Black Lake while attempting to impress Lily with some crazy stunt, about the time Lily was paired up with James in Potions and nearly died of stress and frustration, considering James was practically hopeless at Potions. I could tell you about the time they had a picnic under the stars at the top of the Astronomy Tower and Si…”

Remus choked on the word, feeling his throat tighten around it, refusing to let it go.

“And some friends and I,” he continued, sighing shakily, “found them and scared them into believing there was a ghost haunting them, although it was James who was more afraid if truth be told, Lily was too busy laughing and making fun of him.”

Some people in the audience cracked a faint smile at that.

“What I mean to say is, we can remember Lily and James for the many deeds they accomplished during their lives and for the wonderful stories we have of them. But we could also simply remember them as wonderful people who worked tirelessly to be good and make this world a little brighter, as people who cared for and loved everyone who was in need, as people who always strived to be a better version of themselves. I saw James and Lily as examples of kindness we should all attempt to live up to, and it is how I wish to remember them. I…”

Remus didn’t know what else to say, it felt like he had shared so much already, yet spoken so little of them, and none of the things swirling in his confused mind right now felt right to share with these strangers. It was simply too much, he wasn’t even sure he had already accepted the deaths of his friends, a part of him was still in deep denial, believing hopelessly and foolishly that neither James nor Lily nor Peter were gone, that it was all a terrible nightmare he would wake up soon from. Sirius wasn’t even worth mentioning anymore, he couldn’t think about him. Not today, when his focus should be entirely on Lily and James. From the first row, Remus saw Minerva smile at him gently, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks which appeared so pale against the darkness of her robes. He mustered a faint mirthless smile in response, before turning away, tears welling in his eyes. Desperately, he clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into the calloused skin of his palms, trying to distract himself with the sharp pain, doing anything just to forget what was going on around him. He left the stage like that, and walked away from the ceremony, refusing to turn back again, even though he felt a sharp stare drilling holes into his back. Dumbledore probably. Finally, he stopped and willed himself to glance back at least one last time at the lifeless bodies of his friends. At that precise moment, Dumbledore waved his wand, and the flower bed went up in silvery-white crackling flames. Only two white marble caskets remained when they died away. The charred petals of white roses which had burned in the fire softly twirled down on the stone, gentle and dead.