#wasn’t it fucked up how she lived with this phantom pain carrying around her father’s greatest failure the mark of a killer

[your-local-granny]

fall from grace

[creativeashproductions]

Shattered Hearts // Luke Patterson

Summary: The teenage years are supposed to the best time of life but not when fate has other plans for Sunset Curve. Not feeling well reader stays home while Luke prepares for the performance of his life at The Orpheum. Shit hits the fan hard and the fallout ensues.

Warnings: Swearing, death, hospital, cancer (type is not detailed) angst, and fluff.

Words: 2.3k

Requested: @lolychu​

A/N: I didn’t go into detail about the kind of cancer because I didn’t want to, I want it to be as general as it could. I’ve never gone through it or had someone close go through it so it could be wrong and I apologize for that. Broken heart syndrome is REAL by the way.

Masterlist

Los Angeles, 1995

There are articles of some medical mysteries that can’t fully be scientifically explained, such as when someone dies in excellent health following the death of a loved one. The scientific term is takotsubo cardiomyopathy, but the world knows it merely by Broken Heart Syndrome. It was a day that was supposed to be the greatest of your teenage years, but the day couldn’t have gone any worse.

First, you woke up with an incredibly high fever and newfound bruises. Pain in a wrist out of nowhere but you wrote it off. You had plans, and illness wasn’t scheduled for the day. Your boyfriend and his band had gotten their big break, well their almost big break. Today was the day Sunset Curve would perform at The Orpheum, and you were gonna be backstage cheering them on.

Luke made his appearance at your house in the morning before early rehearsal, and you managed to convince him you were feeling okay. He went on to their studio, and your mother drove you to the hospital in fear.

Life was an asshole. While you waited for test results pale against the hospital sheets, an ambulance rolled in. Carrying three bodies that would go to the morgue for positive confirmation of death. You wouldn’t know for a full day, Luke’s parents too grief-stricken to call you and that’s okay. 

“Mom?” You asked as her form caved in on the floor near your hospital bed, “Mom!”

Her eyes filled with so much pain brought you fear and concern. With a struggle, she came closer to hold your hand tightly and spoke brokenly the fate that would snatch you.

“Baby, you don’t have the flu.”

“That’s good? So just meds and we can go home?” You asked heart clenching as her eyes closed tight and you knew whatever the doctor had told her after pulling her out of the room wasn’t good.

Couldn’t be good with the slump in her shoulders, the pain in her eyes and the guilt coating her every word. Mom wasn’t a housewife; she wasn’t a flower in need of protection, but she never kept something from you. Always said it straight and as it is.

“Sweetheart, they’re gonna move you to another ward.” You knew deep in your heart the news had to be the worst because Mom wasn’t telling you the whole story. Finally, she broke down, “The doctors got the results back as soon as they could. The fever, the bruises, and the broken wrist have a reason. You have cancer.”

Cancer. A word that sealed your fate. It left you reeling in shock. It shattered your dream with just one single name. Couldn’t be seen but made its presence known. The coming hour was spent with the specialist detailing the type and a tentative treatment plan he wanted to initiate immediately.

A nurse escorted your mother out as the orderlies and nurses prepped you to be moved to a new room. Knowing you were in good hands, your mom walked to the main doors for fresh air only to be astounded at the sight of Mitch and Emily Patterson. Equally shocked, they came together.

“Emily?” Your mom spoke, looking carefully at the parents of your boyfriend. She wondered how the Patterson’s had found out, “Did someone call you?”

“No.” Emily spoke with a numb voice. Your mom took a step back, understanding that one could only react that way for one thing. Something had happened to the Patterson teenager.

 “Luke isn’t here, is he?” Your mom asked, turning to look up at the tall building of the hospital, “Y/N, hasn’t had a phone. She only found out, but Luke hasn’t been with you-“

“The cops came,” Mitch spoke tucking his upset wife into his arms. He was equally as grief-stricken and bitter, but he had to be calm for his wife. They wouldn’t get anywhere if one of them couldn’t get answers.

Your mom gasped, “No.”

“I always knew that band-“Emily’s own sob cut her words off as her knees threatened to buckle. Your mom helped lead Emily into the emergency room before she jogged off to join you but not before turning to the Patterson parents.

“We’ll meet up. Discuss why we’re all here.” 

Being told you had cancer and then informed your boyfriend died all in one night was the most painful thing you had to live through. It was weeks of screaming, invasive procedures and therapy sessions. Your father came from his business trip to Dubai as soon as he could and didn’t leave your side.

A painful six months rolled with cancer stealing your hopes and a fucking bad hotdog taking your dreams away. Nothing made you curious. Nothing felt worth living for.

Not the realistic watercolour tattoo your parents let you get of Luke’s blue guitar you loved so much. It seemed to have a terminally sick child made it practically impossible to say no to, so you got a tattoo of your favourite lyrics of Sunset Curve.

In pretty font, it said ‘When all the days felt black and white. Those were the best shades of my life’ just like it said in Now or Never. One of your favourite songs, you got the privilege of watching Luke create.

“Mom, can I have a popsicle?” You asked from your bed. Eyes barely open as she nodded off her chair, “My mouth is dry.”

“Of course.” She nodded, leaving the room with a kiss on your forehead. Both of you mumbling I love you just in case. You felt like your clock was close to the end, so every word had meaning.

It was a good day so far; you hadn’t had to press for more pain medication like the last couple of weeks. You had managed to turn to stare out the window at the pretty sky. Your eyes fluttered shut completely content that this was it.

Your mom returned to a room with doctors and nurses trying to resuscitate you with your father screaming. No one could figure out if it was the cancer or the broken heart syndrome that killed you first. Your death was a double blow to Luke’s parents the most, along with Reggie and Alex’s own parents. 

Los Angeles, 2020

So much had changed since you died in 1995. Phones had changed, and buildings were torn down. You changed as well too. In relief physically, you had changed from the gaunt, skinny, pale patient to the girl you had been before the diagnosis.

Your hair now looked as healthy as it had been before you had cancer and you weren’t gaunt looking. You were looked just like you did a few months before you got diagnosed and you hoped so since you were dead. It would have sucked to be dead and beyond ugly.

“Do you think she went on to have a family?”

You kept your attention on the waves crashing the beach content to watch the waves doing the same movement they had since the beginning. You paid no attention to the group walking by. Not until one tripped over you landing in an awkward heap.

“Ouch!” The voice hissed. Your eyes flicked down to Reginald fucking Hastings’s blue eyes in pure shock. You scrambled away from the teenager with a sharp scream that pierced the ghoul group.

“Jesus.” You grumbled pushing the little sand that had stuck somehow to your body made of air.

“Oh my god. I think I just summoned Luke’s girlfriend.” Reggie hissed towards the equally astounded members of former Sunset Curve and current Julie and the Phantoms bandmates.

“No, you idiot we’re dead.” You spoke, taking a deep breath in, “After not seeing you for five years I thought you passed on. I’ve been travelling around America and Canada. Something felt like I needed to come home.”

“When did you die?” Alex questioned sadly when you were quiet. His sad blue eyes unable to leave your expressive face, he hoped somehow you had lived to your 90s and died to come back youthful.

“It’s wasn’t harm-“

“No, Luke. I don’t think I’ll ever positively know what happened, but the night you guys died my life ended as well.” You revealed sitting back, letting the three boys join you for an intriguing story to them. Luke wasn’t hesitant in grasping your hand in his, “Funny enough your bodies were being unloaded in the morgue while I was being told by my Mom, I had cancer. The battle was hard but short.”

“Cancer?”

“Our love story was destined to be tragic, whether it be cancer or a hotdog.” You told the teenage guitarist to experience in the afterlife to be gentle about it. The three boys flinched from the indifference, “Have you visited your parents yet? My parents are home for a few weeks.”

“My neighbourhood was torn down. Alex doesn’t know about his and-“ 

“-I’ve seen my folks once so far.” Luke finished playing with your fingers, “You say our love story was tragic, I say it would be tragic if we hadn’t had the chance in life that we did.”

You nodded your head, “Where have you guys been?”

All three boys took their chaotic turn in describing their last meal to Reggie tripping over you with the belief of walking through you. They were in a band with a lifer who made them visible to the public when playing music together. You told them that your parents would choose a destination from your dream travel journal; you would follow them on the adventures.

Slowly you met Julie who put up a distance as she acclimated to having the girlfriend of her crush around always. Julie couldn’t help the feeling of jealously when Luke focused on the teen ghost girl. She couldn’t even hate you! You were so lovely and welcoming to the girl with respect for boundaries, in fact, you were exactly the girl she would have been friends with. Julie loved Flynn, but she could be over the top and dramatic sometimes.

“Good rehearsal. I’ll meet you outside.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You nodded before walking through the white, painted barn doors.

Everything put away properly; Luke was quick to meet up with his girlfriend for their date. Alex noticed the stare by Julie. He had seen it for the past few weeks since you were introduced to the passionate musician with a beautiful voice.

“I’m really sorry, Julie.” Alex softly told the sad Puerto Rican girl yearning to hug the teenager but alas his ghostly body couldn’t allow it.

“Did I have an honest chance before she came back?” Julie asked. Her doe brown eyes bringing Reggie’s attention to the conversation at hand. 

“No.” Reggie answered this time solemn with his blue eyes holding no mirth or childlike glee, “Luke’s been in love with her for years. She’s his all or nothing.”

“I didn’t have a chance between them, and I don’t want you between them either. It’s not a nice place to be even if I was mutually breaking up with his as well.” Alex soothed the live girl yearning to physically comfort her but alas that damn hotdog ruined everything.

“Luke also said when the first big payment came, he would marry her. He wanted to give her the wedding of her dreams.” Reggie unintentionally rubbed the salt in Julie’s wound on the topic of her tragic love story.

Julie learnt to deal with the pain of seeing Luke, so in love and happier than before you had reconnected. In her fashion, she had hidden a new box for her thoughts that was so well hidden the boys would never find it. It was filled with papers that progressively got less romance angst.

“I’m just saying,” Alex spoke, raising his hands in the air after another one of Luke’s emotional rants on the loss of things in death. Such as marrying you.

“Dude, we’re dead, and our ghost connections happen to either be our band, Willie or a very questionable sketchy vintage magician.” Luke snapped slouching on his couch sulking as you were spending time with your family no matter how oblivious they were to your presence.

“I’m ordained.” Willie supplied sitting next to the blonde drummer who had easily swayed from Caleb to the good side again. At the group’s looks of disbelief, he continued, “I was bored! Took some art classes too. It won’t be the average wedding, but you could still call each other spouse.”

“I can check local clubs for wedding dresses. Flynn can easily put together music and Alex can find a venue.” Julie piped up, avoiding the sympathetic look from Reggie, who still thought the teenager had feelings for his bandmate. She no longer did. 

“You can use one of your rings on a chain as well. Maybe hold off on getting a ring until we get money from the band.” Reggie gave his input, earning himself a proud expression from Alex; an expression the drummer rarely was able to give his friend.

“I guess I’m proposing.” Luke beamed already thinking of ways to make his proposal special, not like being ghosts wasn’t already impressive enough. 

It wasn’t the ideal wedding, but it honestly didn’t matter as long as the two of you were able to vow yourself to each other. It no longer mattered on the details other than you two.

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[totallyexhausted]

So, I am re-watching Danny Phantom and the idea of Lancer caring for an ill Danny crossed my mind after I read all the ones I could find. I also toyed with Danny’s powers; him being able to change, obviously, but also seance and see dead spirits (and ghosts; leaving spirits and ghosts as separate entities) walking around. Basically, I upped the rating on Danny Phantom and combined Klaus Hargreeves powers with Danny’s own abilities.

Also, I’ll say, and maybe it’s the song I’m listening to, or the fact that I was reworking Greenberg and Coach from TW, but I got the picture of Danny showing up at Lancer’s door, high off his ass mumbling about Sam, Ghosts, and other teenager things.

…………………………………..

Lance Lancer had never seen a kid so sick, nor did he remember his own son ever being this ill. Danny groaned loudly, curling further into himself, his arms tightly protecting his stomach as his nails dug bloody indents on his forearms. He was shivering, his ghost sense going off every few minutes, creating a barely visible burst of cold air biting back against his sweaty flesh. He clenched his eyes shut as he tried to forget about the spirits flooding the room. As he tried to forget their voices, their screams, their hands brushing over him as they pleaded for him to look. As they begged for him to help.

Lancer bit his bottom lip as he pressed his hand harder against the 17-year-old’s shaking front shoulder, his other trying to work through some of the knots plaguing the boy’s shoulder blades. He shouldn’t have this many tight muscles, this much stress forced in his back at his age… and the fact that Danny seemed to curl tighter into himself, straining his muscles further every time he took a slow, shallow breath, worried the English teacher more.

The teenager groaned again, clenching his eyes shut tighter as he swallowed quickly, letting out a shaky breath. He stilled, hoping his lack of movement would help ease the nausea stampeding through his body and after taking several slow breaths, he relaxed. He hated being sick… not that anyone loved puking their guts out for hours, let alone in someone else’s home, but his ghost sense always made him on-edge, unable to sleep peacefully or unwind. Every spark of Ghost-breath as Tucker called it, sent violent shivers through him making it harder for his body to heat or cool properly.

The last time Danny remembered being this sick was a few days after the Accident. He’d been on a famous “Fenton Family Vacation,” which was just code for some lame ghost-convention his parents attended every year, forcing their two kids to cram in the RV for a 12-hour car trip to some middle-class hotel. Usually, Jazz and Danny occupied their time exploring the city or making fun of the people who attended the convention. But since the Accident a few days before, for Danny, the family vacation turned into 3-days of complete feverish hell as his body tried to figure out how to survive with only half an immune system, half the person he used to be.

There wasn’t much to remember from that experience except cold showers, endless puking, aimless wondering in some sauna-type hotel as Danny tried running from himself, and the vague memory of leaning against his father several times as his mother coaxed him to take whatever foul-tasting liquid she wanted him to drink. Whether or not his parents actually attended the convention, or if Jazz had explored the same boring city, Danny couldn’t remember. But he remembered his parents arguing, his sister cradling him to her chest on the bathroom floor, and at some point, crouching under the bathroom counter as he forced himself small, trying to hide from the green-eyed, white-haired kid in the mirror or the bloody, contorted people following him. Since then, sickness never came easy despite his immune system being half-dead or ghosted or whatever it was Tucker had told him.

The 17-year-old pressed his face against the comforter, lessening the pain shooting through his temples as the thought of puking again slowly began to evade, and his head welcomed the soft cool fabric cushioning the migraine eating away at his jawline. He was lying at the edge of the bed, curled into what had to be a pathetic sweaty ball, his knees pulled halfway to his chest as he braced his arms across his stomach. This was hell. It had to be. Because only some sick fuck would make him miserable, feverishly grasping what little reality he could hold onto, and so nauseous he couldn’t move, away from his parents with only Mr. Lancer as his only comfort. It was some kind of sick joke.

Danny’s stomach churned, and he swallowed hard, his hands clammy against his overheated skin, trying to will whatever else he could possibly still have in his stomach, back down. He stilled again, breathing shallowly through his nose, feeling his stomach relax slightly. He sighed internally, praying to God he was done puking as heat lit through his veins, and Danny lurched, retching loudly as he shut his eyes, willing for everything to stop. He had no strength left to hold himself up; his mind fuzzy and everything hard to piece together through sweaty nauseating moments. He whimpered as he lurched again, retching as bitter acidic bile spewed from his mouth, running down his chin, and the 17-year-old coughed harshly, tightening his grip across his stomach, and clenching his eyes shut as he struggled to breathe through the rest of it.

He felt something wipe across his chin and mouth, his stomach lurching further at the thought of the humiliation of being so exhausted and sick he couldn’t even be bothered to wipe any of his vomit away from him. Danny whimpered loudly, letting foul saliva pool from his mouth as his stomach heaved, hanging his head off the edge of the bed over what he had been hoping for the past two hours was a wastebasket… but considering Lancer had rapidly become more concerned with other ailments such as the teenager’s temperature or the tight muscles straining in his shoulders and back, the 17-year-old was willing to bet the dark wooden floor wasn’t pretty. He’d also been too scared to look, not wanting the guilt of Lancer having to clean up his vomit added onto the guilt and humiliation he already felt.

“Alright. Easy, Daniel. It’s alright… just let it all up. It’s alright,” Lancer said as softly as he could. He was pretty sure the kid was mostly delirious by now, his fever spiking as sweat layered on top of him, soaked through damp clothes and sheets that were plastered to the teenager’s pale skin. He couldn’t even hold himself up anymore, his face pressed against the edge of the bed while Lancer kept a firm grasp on his shoulder so the kid wouldn’t topple off.

Lancer pressed the disregarded and mostly warm rag from the nightstand against the teenager’s face; forehead, cheeks, neck, trying his best to mop up as much sweat as he could, trying to cool Danny off as much as he could without physically carrying him into the bathroom and forcing him under a cold shower. It wasn’t ideal, and Lancer knew from previous experience with his own son, it wouldn’t be pretty; but considering Lancer was currently in charge of the poor kid, he was willing to do whatever was necessary. He’d just never seen a kid so sick.

Lightening flashed outside as a branch scrapped against the glass windowpane, thunder clashing loudly as rain continued to beat against the old house. The small leak in the roof audible in the kitchen as tiny droplets fell against some crappy tin figurines his wife failed to take in the divorce. Lancer had always hated them… but he didn’t have the heart to toss them… or admit to himself that those stupid scrap metal trinkets were his last thread he had tied to her. His last hope that maybe she’d come back. But it’d been 12 years… and she wasn’t coming back. Neither was Charlie.

Danny coughed harshly, flinching as something cool touched the back of his neck, brushing sweaty sticky hair matted to his neck from his burning flesh. He felt like he was on fire. No, worse… his core was always cold, freezing almost; so, his temperature was lower than any other humans. So, the fire eating away at his muscles and memories, was excruciating.

He coughed again, wheezing slightly as his heart skipped. He had to be breathing faster than normal… hell, he was breathing faster than normal. Air sucked through achy lungs and forced out through a dry mouth as his heart tried keeping up the pace. He swallowed, pulling his knees further to his chest, shivering again as his ghost sense went off, and he opened his eyes slightly, wincing as the dark room spun in a multitude of blacks, browns, and dark purples. Red mixed against almost translucent flesh as faces inched closer, and Danny’s stomach lurched, hard, as his eyes met the contorted and split face of a middle-aged man in coveralls.

The teenager choked, swallowing loudly as his stomach cramped again, barely feeling Lancer’s hands trying desperately to work out the clenched muscles in his back. Blood dripped from the man’s face; his appearance split into two as his smile dropped in opposite directions. Normally, Danny could ignore it; ignore them… but it was worse when he was vulnerable. He couldn’t block them out. And to be completely honest, the past couple of months hadn’t been easy on him.

He and Sam had broken up before they ever began dating. Tucker had maintained under the radar both boyfriends and girlfriends while helping his childhood crush, Valerie, pick off the ghosts Danny had missed. They were still close, the three of them; but Sam had been more distant, avoiding plans with Danny when it was just the two of them… and deep down the teenager knew it was his fault. Everything was.

The 17-year-old bit his lip, blood coating his tongue as he buried his nails further against his flesh. Sam had almost died. She had been willing to sacrifice everything for Danny… and that was something Danny would never have been able to live with. He had fucked up. He had tried to help… and she had almost died. The faint tan scars still visible against her neckline, shining as a reminder in the sunlight and under the florescent lighting in the chemistry lab. Since then, she’d been doing her best to avoid Danny, and Danny let her. He couldn’t face her. He didn’t know how.

That had been months ago, but it still flooded the teenager’s mind every time he glanced in her direction. Every time their hands touched in chemistry… every time she forced a watered-down excuse past purple lipstick. The sigh. That sigh. She had been scared of him that night. He saw it. The fear plagued across her face. The horror. And Danny didn’t blame her because he scared himself nowadays too.

He felt colder than he had been in his youth, emotions concrete against things that troubled his peers. His demeanor seemed further away as he toppled over the puny shadow of his early years. He wasn’t a pushover; Dash didn’t come near him anymore… but he was still outcasted, marked freakshow as newer threats and tougher bullies appeared. Sam had borne witness to things Tucker knew nothing about; she had seen a darker side of Danny that the teenager tried so damn hard to hide. But it was getting harder… the spirits were bleeding through more and more, scratching his mind and haunting him with nightmares that kept the 17-year-old up most nights. Nothing was a comfort anymore. Not even his friends. Not even his sister.

The teenager’s stomach lurched again, and he felt cooper flood his mouth as he bit his lip harder, forcing his eyes shut, cutting off the images around him as the spirits continued to scream. He breathed through his nose slowly, feeling Lancer’s hand grip his fingers as he tried to pry the teenager’s grip baring against his sweaty flesh.

“Wuthering Heights, Daniel!” Lancer breathed, still trying to force Danny’s fingers away from his arm as the small bloody marks from his nails became visible. Despite visibly shaking, and his breathing coming in teeth-chattering waves, Lancer was surprised Danny’s grip remained resilient. Likewise, when Danny had grabbed his wrist in the hallway earlier, when Lancer had startled the teenager, his icy-blue eyes daggered towards him, watching the older man’s actions, his fingers tight and threatening around his wrist… Lancer had been taken aback by the teenager’s strength. Just like now.

The English teacher sighed, giving up and pressing his hand against the 17-year-old’s shoulder once more as Danny lurched, coughing harshly. Concern and sympathy ate away at Lancer’s expression; his own actions feeling clumsy and foreign as he tried to soothe the teenager as much as he could. As much as he remembered. But he hadn’t comforted his own son in almost 12 years… and Danny had become much more distant and independent over the past three. So, the comfort Lancer used to try and reassure the kid, felt awkward, just as the sickened pain written across the teenager’s pale face, looked wrong.

The lights flickered above, and Lancer glanced up, hoping he wasn’t going to lose power as that would add to his already worrying list of problems. Lightening cracked again, a tree in the front yard visible momentarily as a branch fell against the window, rain threatening to break glass, and the distant sound of a tornado signal blaring through Amity Park.

Danny whimpered loudly, clenching his eyes as voices cut through his skull, pounding against the pain enveloped in his forehead and cheekbones, trailing down his jawline and neck. The bed spun despite the teenager being curled into a tight motionless ball, sweat falling from his hairline as the smell of body odor reached his nostrils, and the 17-year-old gagged.

Lancer pressed a reassuring hand against the teenager’s shoulder, murmuring he’d be right back before rising, grabbing the lukewarm rag from the nightstand, and trashcan from beside the bed as he made his way towards the kitchen. After replacing the trash bag and running the rag through cold water, Lancer sighed loudly, pressing his hands against the counter as he watched water droplets forming through the small hole in his ceiling and ping against the metal statues harbored on the bar.

He huffed again, running a tired hand over his bald head as he stared at his reflection in the dark window. The electricity shut off as the lights flickered before the microwave beeped loudly as the powerlines fought against the storm. He didn’t need this. And if there was any type of superior being looking out for him, they’d keep the lights on. At least, Lancer would have one thing going for him then.

He sighed again, glancing towards the direction of his guestroom then back towards his reflection. It was nearing 5am, and despite the sun aimed to rise in an hour, Lancer doubted it would bleed through the storm that had showed no signs of letting up. He wished it would, wished the skies would clear… wished flights would take off because that meant Danny’s parents and sister could fly home. They’d be able to take better care their son… they’d know what to do. Lancer didn’t. He hadn’t been a dad in years… he hadn’t looked after someone in years…

Danny had been miserable all day, this had become evident to Lancer in 4th period as he berated the teenager for once again sleeping in his class. His cocky, sarcastic attitude pushing the English teacher to his limit as he awarded the 17-year-old with another days’ detention. But it hadn’t been until later that Lancer began to notice things he should have seen to begin with. The dark circles, pale complexion, the bloody nose, and red tint painted across sharp cheekbones; his voice, cracked and sudden, as Danny retorted sarcasm aimed to hurt… his stare gazing past whatever Lancer had been teaching, staring at nothing but looking at everything.

Lancer shook his head as he glanced down at the red coffee cup and abandoned bowl of cereal lying in the sink. This had not been in his Wednesday evening plans… then again, there was no way in hell Lancer was going to let the teenager go home to an empty house. Lord knows what could have happened, and the fact that Danny’s temperature had spiked in the night, confirmed any doubts the older man had of letting the kid stay with him until his parent’s plane landed, which had been grounded until tomorrow evening, at best.

The older man glanced back towards his reflection, catching sight of the radar flashing across the television in his living room, silently. The storm was huge, coming from the Gulf, pressure building from the North and East as it moved slowly over Amity Park. And it was only expected to get worse which was ironically befitting. Lancer had played with the idea of taking Danny to the Emergency Room several times within the past few hours; the only thing stopping him was the question of what was more dangerous: Danny’s illness or the storm?

Jack Fenton had argued while on the phone with Lancer that he had half a mind to rent a car and drive back, despite it being a 20-hour drive back to upstate New York. But much to the English teacher’s amusement, Mr. Fenton’s plan had been shot down from his wife in the background, asking Lancer the condition of her son. Danny’s sister groaning loudly in the background, yelling something about embarrassment. But that had been yesterday evening…

And now. Danny couldn’t keep anything down, not even the miniscule amounts of water Lancer had encouraged him to take to prevent dehydration. His fever had spiked from 102 yesterday to 104.8 through the night, and most of the hardened demeanor Lancer had come to expect from his pupil over the years, was vanquished within a matter of hours. The tough, fuck-you-attitude Danny had adapted, was replaced with the youthfulness of his age. Only 17. He was still a kid; scared, alone, and whether he wanted to admit it, trying his best not to cause his teacher any further inconveniences than he already had. And despite Lancer finding the teenager’s attempts admirable, he found himself at a loss of trying to convince not only the teenager, but himself, that he only wanted to help, to make the kid feel better. But Lancer was so far out of his parental element, and he’d never seen a kid so sick before.

It hadn’t taken long once Lancer had settled down for the night, warming his hands against a mug of tea, quietly watching the news, for things to take a turn. Danny had been rather quiet during the drive to Lancer’s house, slumped in the passenger side, forehead pressed against frosted glass and still mumbling in disagreement with whoever thought he needed a babysitter every couple of minutes. The 17-year-old had attempted to convince Lancer he was fine, that he felt better since puking in detention, and his parents were overreacting. And despite sloppily scribbling through his homework, half of which the older man was certain Danny hadn’t even bothered to read, the teenager remained sullen, flushed, barely touching the sandwich Lancer had offered.

After some time spent brooding in a chair at the kitchen table, Danny had apparently concluded his English teacher wasn’t going to take him home anytime soon. He seemed more compliant then, taking up to inspecting Lancer’s memorabilia instead, trying his best to leave everything exactly as he’d found it. The older man had admired how careful the 17-year-old had been when picking up photos or knickknacks, casting weird what-the-hell-is-this glances towards his teacher as he explored.

Something sounded to his right, and Lancer blinked, running another hand over his head as he cleared his mind. Most of the things taking up refuge in the old house were objects ghosted with the memories of previous family, previous love, a previous life. He had never had the heart to take them down… it was creepily comforting.

Lancer sighed, reaching for the water-soaked rag puddling on the counter as something moved in the corner of his eye causing the older man to jump. He turned, facing the 17-year-old leaning heavily against the wooden arch of the hallway, shaking as he pressed a hand firmly against the wall for support, the rest of his lanky form hunched.

“Great Gatsby, Fenton! What are you doing up?” Lancer advanced, his tone slightly harsher than intended causing the older man to grimace. The teenager looked fairly close to passing out, a hand on his stomach firmly, the other grasped at flat wallpaper. Sweat trailing down his flushed face, forming in droplets at the kid’s chin before melting into his sweat-soaked shirt. Red set high across the bridge of his nose, painting his cheeks as he opened his mouth to speak before closing it, confusion setting across his features.

Lancer made a move towards the teenager as Danny stepped back, his eyes wide as they observed the older man cautiously. The English teacher raised an eyebrow, taking another step forward, a sick feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach as the teenager recoiled once more. Lancer cursed softly, pushing his hand towards the 17-year-old slowly, his voice low and calm as Danny reeled back. Lancer hesitated, “I’m not going to hurt you, Daniel.”

Danny pressed against the wall as Lancer took another step forward, leaning a shoulder against the wall, his eyebrows furrowing together as he tried to focus on the swimming interior around him. He couldn’t breathe, the air around him sucked from tired lungs, voices piercing through his head as he raised a shaky hand to his ear, wincing loudly as the spirits around him grew louder. He clenched his eyes shut, feeling his body struggle against the wall supporting him as he jerked away, wincing again as questions pelted him, begging, pleading for his help, for him to look. Look. Look! Just look at what had happened to them!

“Daniel?” Lancer questioned quickly, stepping forward again as the teenager gasped loudly, forcing a hand against his left ear as blood began dripping slowly from his nose, his shoulder slamming against the ugly wallpaper, “Daniel? Danny! Hey!”

The 17-year-old felt something brush against his wrist, and he forced his eyes open against the harsh lights flickering above him. Everything was hot, confusing, mashed together in a nauseating off-kilter vibrancy that hurt; his legs refusing to support him, lungs unwilling to take air as panic took over as he tried to clear his head, as he tried to remember where the hell he was.

He grimaced, sliding against the wall as his legs fought to keep him upright. He felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, weird, gone. He swallowed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, fear crossing his face as he pulled back, red sticky liquid coating his fingertips. Tears threatened to spill as he tried to catch his breath. This was his fault. Everything. And now he had blood on his hands. Sam’s blood.

Piercing cut through as Danny pressed a shoulder to his ear, crying out as the man in coveralls laughed, reaching towards him. Danny dropped to his knees, his fingers trembling as they slid down the wallpaper, forcing a picture of a little boy in a baseball uniform to the ground; the glass breaking around it as it smashed against the wood flooring. Tears clouded his vision as he glanced towards the photo, the blonde-haired kid morphing, mirroring Danny’s own reflection through splintered glass.

“No,” The 17-year-old choked, pulling the photo from the floor, glass splinters slicing his trembling fingers as the kid’s gap-tooth smile distorted. He couldn’t breathe; suffocating fear eating away at him as he realized he was gone. The kid in the photo was gone. Taken, dead, his soul split, lifeless as the portal had taken everything from him. He had died, leaving behind grief and broken disappointment. His friend’s hurt, bleeding out on the side of the road as Danny struggled to hold onto any humanity he had. As he struggled to save those he should have left long ago.

Blood dotted the photo, the boy’s face hidden by crimson, and Danny wiped his hand under his nose again, smearing blood across his face. The innocent boy in the photo was gone; he had killed himself in the Accident, left behind by evil contentment and a nightmarish reality that he’d never been good enough. He was broken, built in a sweetness that no longer existed, a black gaping hole where his soul was, under aching ribs, sweaty skin and a tormented, fucked up version of himself. A black pit of beautiful disappointment. An unlovable thing. He had become something unlovable, the portal killing the good and resurrecting the bad, and even that wasn’t worth much. He wasn’t worth much.

Danny gagged harshly, crumpling the photo in his hands as the leftover glass pressed into his palm. The floor swaying under his body as he grasped the wall for any support he could find. He wanted to go back; to be his parent’s innocent little boy again, to forget about the shitstorm around him, forget about the portal, forget about those he’d hurt, the blood he’d shed. But that was unfixable. He was. And unforgivable. He’d hurt Sam; hurt others, the blood of death splattered on what was left of himself, his human self. And in the end, he was the cause of everything; the collector of souls, the Grim Reaper labelled by Freakshow years ago. The bringer of death.

Lancer took another cautious step forward, crunching down before reaching once more towards the teenager as Danny crumpled sideways, slamming against the wall beside him. The older man faltered. Sweat glistened against the 17-year-old’s face as he gulped for air, his breathing harsh and sporadic as he pressed a trembling hand against his chest, eyes towards Lancer, clearly alarmed by his own breathing. He coughed roughly, doubling over as he caught his breath, and Lancer reached towards the kid, his fingers brushing against the sweat-soaked cotton fabric clinging to Danny’s shoulders.

The 17-year-old flinched, shoving his English teacher away from him harshly, wincing again as he pressed his shoulder to his left ear. He fell backwards, his knees failing him as he slammed against the wall, his head smacking against the small hall table. Darkness swallowed him momentarily, his hands shaking as the photo was crumpled tighter in his hands, letting out a strangled cry as the spirits towered over him, their eyes white, pupils missing as they shouted his name.

The electricity failed as the teenager recoiled violently, and Lancer swore the kid’s cold-blue eyes flashed green before the lights flickered back on, the light in the living room broke, glass shattering to the ground as Danny flinched, gripping one of the iron legs of the hall table, tightly. He eyed Lancer, his knuckles white against black, his forehead pressed against the cold metal, his breathing labored as he pulled his knees towards him in an effort to make his lanky form small.

The 17-year-old coughed, the sound hurting his chest, forcing his headache to crawl, spreading across his shoulders. He grasped at the metal leg of the table, yearning for more cold than the iron rod was willing to give as he sucked in breath after breath. He couldn’t think anymore, the heat had taken everything from him, had taken his core, leaving him with a spinning floor, voices flooding in dizzying waves, and the horrifying notion he was surrounded by death. He had died… the portal had stolen half of him, and now, the nightmares screaming at him, had killed whatever he had left. And the photo crushed in his hand was all he had of forgotten innocence.

Phantom had taken everything. And no one knew. No one understood. The beating, aching heart pounding in his chest was a lie. He was soulless; Phantom was soulless. Welcoming the darkness that swallowed the person Danny once was. And everything else, everything he did, was insignificant. His life was insignificant, a short dull buzz, a flicker. Just shit that happened and none of it meant anything. It was the flick on his lighter as he tried cupping his trembling hands against the wind, trying to spark one of the cigarettes he’d stolen from his father; the light fading, barely there; lighting what has killing him. Because no one wanted Danny Fenton. He was just a mask of stupid disappointment, broken and haunted by his past, damaged by unlovable fear. A shell of a person; a shell of a kid with nothing else to offer the world except the blood he was willing to spill. And then, life moved on.

Something pressed against his wrist, and the teenager yanked it back quickly, clawing at the back of his neck with both hands as he pressed his forehead against his knees, trembling as he tried blocking out all of them. Tried blocking out the tormented and lost souls swallowing him. He clawed again at the back of his neck, pressing his head between his sweaty arms as he rocked on his heels.

Something wet splashed against his joggers, barely noticeable against the heat plaguing him as the 17-year-old coughed. He clenched his arms over his ears as he realized he was crying, hard. He felt sick, wrong, the ghost sense no longer going off because he had nothing else left to give. Tears sliding down overheated flesh, meshing against black cotton as loud pleas left his mouth, the taste of blood sitting on his tongue. Something grabbed his arm, and Danny choked, “Please go away. Please go away. Go away. Go away. Go away...”

His parents would be disappointed. His sister would be a wreck. If they knew. Knew he had killed himself years ago; that the innocence that he once had, was gone; eaten away by the things his parents aimed to hurt. Danny Fenton had surrounded himself in a hypocritical tranquility; believing nothing past the Ghost Zone yet praying to God every night that there was a way out, a way away from himself, from Phantom. Because despite the good he’d done, bad followed him further, bathing his body in the blood of those around him. Sam’s screams, her tears, the fear she felt as Danny shred the last remaining hope of becoming more than the ghost killing him.

Some people deserved to die, and yet, he was the exception. An unkillable thing because the Accident had done that for him; and no amount of pills, cuts, stupid mistakes, or blood could take that from him. A cosmic joke of isolated soulless bullshit. The 17-year-old dug his nails harder into the back of his neck, coughing on the blood in the back of his throat as it smeared further down his chin. Tears mixed with the monster he’d become, crushing his heart as the reality of himself, the fact that no amount of water could wash away the pain he’d caused others, was coated in blood on halfa hands. An unholy thing.

Someone laughed, and Danny flinched, digging harder as something sticky coated his fingertips. The spirits were louder, yelling for him, scratching his skin as they tried forcing him to look; to look at their pain, to look at what had happened to them, at what he had done to them. The 17-year-old gagged as the scent of blood, dirt, and rotting flesh overpowered him. This was his fault. Their lives. Their souls. Death had collected those around him, pulling their individualities from themselves as the teenager tried to hang onto his. Danny was drowning in death, spirits shredding him, ghosts pulling him apart molecule-by-molecule as he constructed more damage than his parents ever could.

Air fell between his lips as his lungs refused to take any more. He couldn’t do this anymore. He needed his friends, his family- but they didn’t need him. They needed Phantom. Leaving Fenton as nothing more than a liability, a liar with cops and parents, a part-time substance abuser as he tried killing what everyone needed. Danny refused to move, pressing his body as hard as he could against the wall as spirits crowded him, ripping skin from his body, screaming for him to look at the damage around him, the lives he had taken.

The grip tightened on his arm, clawing at bruised skin as his world morphed and the ground hovered below him. He was pulled up, his body slamming against the spirits pulling towards him, no longer able to cooperate himself. He gagged loudly as he forced his eyes open, meeting the upside-down bloodied split face of the man in coveralls, an elderly woman praying in the corner, the back of her head blown off revealing dark grey matter.

Danny heaved as some of the grey matter fell from the woman’s white hair to her rosary, liquid meshing against him as the man in coveralls slapped another man, his head decapitating slightly, spewing blood across his vision. The teenager groaned as he glanced towards a German couple screaming at each other in the hall, the wall moving as hot fingers braced against the memories etched in the wood paneling and ugly wallpaper. He whimpered as he locked eyes with a small boy reading in the corner; the boy glanced up from his book and waved towards Danny as the 17-year-old wheezed.

Words passed his ears, muttered and useless as the pleas continued to pierce his mind. Red tears of pain he’d caused, spirits forcing him to look; their bodies distorted and warped as they screamed for the souls he had taken. The ones that had left him, a bloody and tormented ending of human life. His death was coming fast, Danny knew. He could feel it. A sudden drop-off from connection, any humanity left, falling moment-by-moment, a punctuating ending happening so involuntary fast as those would soon realize the monster he had become; realize the death he had collected. Danny retched weakly as the man in coveralls forced his head together, pain screaming from his mouth as lips that no longer wanted to meet, met, and hatred ate away at his features before the heat that fell from the 17-year-old washed over them, their bodies disappearing in the flames.

Danny gagged as the smell of menthol and stale sweat filled his nostrils, his head falling back further as a heartbeat echoed around him. Sweat trailing upward as blood fell back down in a disheveled passion, choking any air left, and the teenager’s body gave out. His eyes connected with the flames engulfing the man in coveralls, his disgust bleeding from his eyes as his face separated again before he disappeared in the fire. Danny whispered, “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save anyone…”

His vision failed as he continued floating through those he couldn’t protect… and death swallowed what was left.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Danny had fallen asleep, and relief settled across Lancer’s features as he took another slow sip of his tea, leaning further back in the couch. The teenager had been pretty quiet, but his looks and constant moving had become a distraction to the older man as he tried re-reading Pride and Prejudice. It’d been a long time since there’d been a kid in his home, and Lancer had forgotten how annoying they could be despite wrangling them during class as he desperately tried to pour some type of education into his students.

Lancer set his book down, glancing towards the television as the weatherman showed another map of the storm outside, the pictures flashing silently across the screen as Lancer hit mute. He sighed as rain began to pelt against the roof, the shutters on his windows slamming against the old brick harshly, and thunder echoing around a few other houses in the neighborhood as wind threatened to tear down the old house. It was going to be a long night if the storm kept up and the damage was probably going to cost him a fortune considering his salary wasn’t worth a lot these days.

The teenager coughed, and Lancer turned to see the kid curled at the other end of the couch. His head resting on the armrest at an awkward angle, his knees drawn to his chest as he refused to take any more space than needed, as he tried to force as much distance between himself and his teacher as possible. He shivered slightly, and Lancer wondered whether he should have told his charge to take the guestroom or given him a blanket… or checked for fever. After all, the 17-year-old had been trying to convince the teacher he was fine over the last few hours, but something about him, something about his demeanor told Lancer otherwise.

Lancer sighed again, setting his mug on the coffee table, eyeing the pile of books crammed into the rickety wooden shelf as it slanted forward. He needed to fix it, to buy another one before it fell, or before the weight of the books forced it down. He swallowed loudly as his eyes met the ripped, yellowed copy of Catcher in the Rye, dust coating it as it lay on the top shelf, untouched and abandoned for years. Despite all the books Lancer had reread, all the books he spent his nights enveloped in, that one, that book, he refused to touch… refused to move, to think about, to reread. Memories sat in its pages, crushed between folded pieces of paper from being read over and over, and that was something Lancer didn’t want to revisit, to think about, to remember.

Danny shifted uncomfortably, and the English teacher leaned back again, pulling his book from his lap once more, opening to the page he’d left off on. Considering it was closing in on midnight, Lancer debated heading to bed, but he hadn’t reread Jane Austen in a while. And besides, with the storm raging outside, and a kid he would feel guilty about waking, the older man considered waiting to see if he would need to dig the flashlights from the back of his silverware drawer before making any further decisions.

The ceiling fan sputtered slightly as the lights flickered, and Lancer grit his teeth as the teenager shivered again, his teeth chattered momentarily. Lancer sighed. The situation was uncomfortable needless to say; but Lancer had been a teacher and dad long enough to know that kids were good at hiding things… especially Daniel as he always had some excuse for his tardiness, his absences… his injuries. And a simple cold could turn quickly because most of the students at Casper High were walking petri dishes. Besides, Lancer and Danny’s parents agreed it was best, if the teenager were to become ill, to be surrounded by someone who could look after him or take responsibility for him if he were taken to the hospital seeing as he was still a minor and given the circumstances.

So yeah, the situation was uncomfortable; and Lancer knew that pissed Danny off. But the Fenton’s had gone with Jasmine to visit several Universities, refusing to let their only daughter attend if they couldn’t ensure the campuses were safe from ghosts. An amusing and almost stupid idea but considering Amity Park had seen its fair share of ghosts, not ridiculous. Besides Lancer could understand the Fenton’s concern, their protectiveness over their children as he once had felt it too. He knew what it was like to want to hide your kids from the evil in the world… to protect them, to hurt anything that hurt them, to give them everything. But that was gone now.

The lights flickered again as the screen door slammed against the side of the house. Wind howling outside as the news channel flashed a weather advisory warning across the screen, and Lancer exhaled, setting his book down, and leaning further against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. It’d been a long day… like most. Lancer spent a good portion of his time trying to keep a classroom of 17-year-olds from laughing over the cringing dramaticism of The Mysteries of Udolpho. Considering most of the books he taught were classic romanticism or gothic, the English teacher understood he was faced with a level of immaturity from his students. After all, it was hard for 17-year-olds to fully grasp the concept of metaphorical and real monsters of society.

The other portion of his day was spent grading poorly written essays over whatever topic he had sought to assign his students for the week. Honestly, Lancer had come to the conclusion that the only capable student in his class, after Jasmine Fenton had graduated two years prior, was Tucker Foley. If only his intelligence would rub off on Daniel, Lancer would have very little to worry about. Clearly, the teenager was capable of decent grades as Lancer had always been surprised when Fenton passed an exam or book report. But he seemed more concerned in his peers, in his life outside academics, to give his grades the attention they needed. He wasn’t stupid, Lancer knew that… and considering he came from a family thriving on higher IQ’s than half the city, the English teacher was sure that if Danny put even a little effort in his studies, he’d have no problem climbing to number one in his graduating class just as Jazz had.

But Jasmine Fenton had been competitive; aiming for greatness through academics and challenging those who threatened her perfect GPA. Daniel, however, competed with his teachers, refusing their help as he challenged them, challenged Lancer on a daily basis. Danny’s comments and cockiness had become a problem in his classroom; his antics or clownishness, difficult, as he proved how very little he cared about his grades. And despite his attitude problem, the older man was almost certain the teenager suffered from ADHD, which would explain his inability to focus most of the time and his forgetfulness.

Today had been no different. And Lancer had given the 17-year-old several chances to correct his behavior, letting his less-than-quiet remarks slide under the radar as he continued teaching. But with the constant bickering between him and Tucker, the annoyed whispers from Sam, falling from his seat twice, and the inability to explain what page the class was even reading from, Lancer had had enough. He’d tried to push back, pointing his ruler in Daniel’s direction and explaining there was an idiot at the end of it; but this resulted in the teenager’s sarcastic question of which end? After the laughter had died down, Lancer retorted that the 17-year-old could find out in detention.

Normally, detention was Lancer’s chance to unwind; to bask in the quiet as he encouraged his students to take the time to go over their studies. But today had been different. Not only had the lights gone out more than twice during his 3-hour prison sentence, but Danny had seemed different than earlier that day. Distracted, his eyes out of focus, shivering, and his quiet, slumped demeanor. Usually, the 17-year-old was pouting, refusing to do any real work, or trying to rally those who shared detention with him. But today he just sat there, quietly tracing some type of drawing on his textbook with his finger, his head resting against his desk.

Lancer had let it go for a while… after all, it was beginning to become obvious something was wrong. But into the 2nd hour, the complete lack of motivation, had become annoying, eating away at the older man’s patience. The other students in the classroom had taken Danny’s character as an invitation to abandon their own work for better things such as texting, making paper planes, or horseplay. Through the 17-year-old’s melodramatic and pitiful attitude, Lancer was losing control of his classroom. That had been when things had taken a turn, going from long to endless.

The older man had risen, scowling the other students into compliance as he made his way towards the cause of his current problem. Lancer scoffed when the teenager didn’t even bother reacting to his presence, but continued tracing over the outline of Thomas Jefferson on his torn-up history textbook. And it hadn’t been until Lancer had slammed his copy of Northanger Abbey on the 17-year-old’s desk that Danny reacted.

He jumped, flinging his book from the desk as he jerked towards Lancer, a look of horror crossing his face as he straightened slightly. The older man crossed his arms, a stern look casted down as he raised an eyebrow while the teenager scrambled to grab his textbook from the floor, flipping to a random chapter. Lancer stood there for several minutes, ensuring Daniel was at least pretending to read the words in front of him, and to enforce his authority as the superior in the classroom to his other students. This didn’t last long.

Once he had situated himself back at his desk, opening his book to the last page he’d read, Danny had raised his hand. Lancer raised his head towards his pupil but ignored him and continued reading. After a few minutes, the teenager put his hand down but forced it in the air a few moments later. Again, the English teacher refused to acknowledge his student’s attempt to leave detention. Normally, Danny would give up and ride out the rest of his punishment, partially compliant. Lancer had learned this during the kid’s Sophomore year; refusing to acknowledge or give the teenager permission for whatever excuse he had, was the only way to ensure he completed detention without further incident.

Lancer watched from his peripheral as the 17-year-old dropped his hand, sighing loudly as he continued scanning the words in his barely passible history book; Lancer smiled slightly. Some quiet had passed, relaxing the mood in the room as the older man felt himself beginning to unwind from the day once again. A few seconds later, however, there had been a noise, and the older man had glanced up to see Daniel rushing from the room, his book once again smacked against the tiled floor. The remaining students had jumped, conversing amongst themselves as their eyes watched the open-door slam against the wall.

Lancer grit his teeth, a scowl crossing his face as he calmly rose, placing his book on his desk before glaring towards the remaining students. They straightened, returning to their tasks as the older man exited the classroom, closing the door gently as he traced over the small indent in the wall from the door handle slamming against it. He shook his head as he glared back inside the classroom to his students watching him before looking busy as the wooden door clicked shut.

Out of all his antics, Danny had never defied Lancer enough to leave. And something in his gut told the English teacher this was either a new low from the teenager or an incident that needed attending to. Lancer had hoped all that was needed was a harsh conversation and another week of detention, but as he rounded the corner past the lockers, the root of the 17-year-old’s behavior became evident.

The older man closed his eyes briefly, sighing loudly as he ran a hand over his bald head and made his way towards the kid. Danny was hunched over one of the trashcans in the hallway, retching loudly as his arms trembled slightly, threatening to bring him down from his own weight. He had expected the unpleasant smell of half-digested food, but what Lancer hadn’t expected was the warmth radiating off the teenager as he reached out to grasp his shoulder. Both him, and the 17-year-old gasped, and Lancer stumbled back slightly as Danny pushed him away, slumping against the wall as he slid to the floor.

Danny had landed with a small smack, and he groaned as he eyed his teacher before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. He mumbled something that sounded like a half-assed apology as Lancer inspected his character. Pale, sweaty features set in a flushed undertone as pink ate at his cheekbones. The English teacher ran another hand over his head as he glanced towards his classroom, then back towards his pupil, before turning and advancing towards the class.

After explaining that he felt like cutting detention short due to the storm clouds forming outside, Lancer had gathered his belongings, slinging Danny’s tattered backpack over his shoulder as he crossed through the halls towards the teenager still slumped against the wall, pitifully. He knelt down, reaching a hand out to rouse the 17-year-old, his fingers brushing against his hairline as he made an attempt to check his temperature before the kid jumped. He grasped Lancer’s wrist, pulling it from him harshly, his fingers tight enough around his arm that the older man could feel Danny’s fingernails digging into his flesh.

The teenager’s eyes were locked on his English teacher; the warm blue turning cold and hard as a menacing look crossed his face. Lancer had opened his mouth to speak but closed it a second later as Danny tightened his grip. He’d been surprised by the amount of strength the kid possessed seeing as he always seemed lanky, awkward, and weak. And the threat crossing the 17-year-old’s face sent chills down Lancer’s spine as Danny blinked, releasing his grip before apologizing quickly.

The older man stilled, his eyes glancing over his student as the kid refused to make eye-contact with him. Lancer sighed, offering the teenager a ride home, only to find out that his parents had been out of town for the past few days and weren’t due back until later that evening. And after a very awkward but short conversation with the Fenton’s and finding out their flight had been cancelled due to the oncoming weather, Lancer was driving a pissed off teenager to his own house until his parents returned. Thus, claiming an uncomfortable situation which neither Daniel nor Lancer liked much. But the older man wasn’t a monster… and if a night of letting Danny occupy his guestroom until he was convinced the 17-year-old was fine was what it took, then the English teacher would bare through it.

Lancer sighed again, letting his mind drift as he felt his body relaxing, sleep creeping towards him. Outside, the wind ate away at the chimes and shutters surrounding the house, lightening sparking against powerlines as the lights wavered in and out. Thunder roared overhead, creating a low rumble through the old house as the imminent threat of a tornado loomed in the horizon. But silence engulfed the English teacher as the thought of just resting for a few minutes evaded his tired mind…

It hadn’t been the flinch that woke Lancer, but the loud crash of things falling. Panic clouded his mind as the thought of a tree crashing through the front windows washed over him as he jumped up, cursing loudly. He glanced towards the windows quickly to find them intact and instead turned his attention in front of him as another sound hit him. Heaving.

“Lord of the Flies!” Lancer remarked as he turned his attention towards the sound. The coffee table had been overturned, laying on its side, its belongings littering the floor. And the rickety bookshelf the older man had been wary of earlier, had fallen slightly; its shelves no longer apart of it as the books wedged between non-existent space had crashed to the floor, surrounding Danny as he struggled to breath.

Lancer made his way around the overturned table, crouching down next to the kid as he gagged again, vomit coating his sweatshirt, puddling on the floor below as sweat trickled down his temple. The older man put a steady hand on the teenager’s shoulder, running his hand between his shoulder blades as the muscles in the 17-year-old’s back spasmed between heaves. Lancer let out a slow breath, his voice low and calm, “Alright. It’s alright, Daniel. You’re alright, just get it up. It’s alright…”

The teenager tensed, breathing through his nose lowly as he spit foul-tasting salvia from his mouth, and concentrated on settling his stomach. He felt disgusting, sweaty and embarrassed. He could feel vomit squished between his fingers, and the fact that he had just emptied the contents of his stomach on his English teacher’s floor, mortifying. But considering he had forgotten he wasn’t home, and in attempt to seek out the bathroom, tripped over the coffee table, not only taking it and its belongings down, but falling against the bookshelf, bringing a pile of books crashing to the floor with him, was more humiliating than the acidic puddle in front of him.

Danny closed his eyes briefly, breathing slowly as he leaned back on his knees, scrapping a hand against his mouth and chin. He turned his head towards his teacher but refused to make eye contact because he was afraid of the expression on the older man’s face. The 17-year-old groaned inwardly, setting a hand on his stomach as he let the short silence pass over them; the television cutting off then flicking back on a second later.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Lancer asked softly as he glanced around at the state of his living room. Surely, the shelves or books had fallen on top of the kid when he fell, and given the state of the coffee table, Lancer was betting the kid had tripped over it or something. The splintered shelves could have cut him, or his foot could have gotten caught on the ledge, and injury wasn’t something the older man really wanted to add to his list of problems right now.

Danny was quiet for a while, making brief eye contact with Lancer before looking back towards the floor. He swallowed loudly against the hiccups forcing themselves up his throat and hunched his posture further. He looked downright miserable which didn’t help Lancer’s current situation. The 17-year-old swallowed again before muttering quietly, “Sorry, I’ll help you clean up… I’m sorry about all the mess.”

Lancer sighed, relief washing over him as the kid finally spoke. He ran a hand over his head as he bowed his head, trying to get the teenager to look him in the face, “That doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Fenton. Are you hurt?”

Danny froze for a few seconds before meeting the teacher’s gaze slowly. He shook his head, his body twitching slightly as hiccups still resonated through his chest. Lancer nodded, glancing over the kid quickly, looking for any visible injuries but finding none, and ran his hands over his knees before standing, exhaling loudly.

The wind howled outside, and the branches on the tree outside knocked against the window forcefully as Lancer glanced towards the clock hanging on the wall. It was around 2am, which answered two questions: Was he to be expected at school tomorrow and was he going to get any sleep tonight. The 17-year-old coughed gently, and the older man turned his attention back towards the teenager.

“Well,” Lancer started carefully, “Let’s get things cleaned up.”

Danny cast his gaze back towards the floor as he moved to pick up one of the books next to him. Lancer crouched down again, pulling the book from the kid’s grasp, “What are you doing, Daniel?’

The teenager glanced up slowly, “You said to clean-”

Lancer shook his head, cutting the kid off, “The state of my living room doesn’t concern me right now, Mr. Fenton. You, however, do. Despite what you and your friends may think of me, I’m not heartless.”

Danny’s expression shifted as the older man grasped the kid’s arm, pulling him to his feet. He put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder as he swayed slightly, an eyebrow raised as a silent question flashed across the teacher’s face. The 17-year-old swallowed and gave Lancer a weak nod before crossing his arms over his stomach gently, stepping around the chaos as he followed Lancer into the hallway.

He shivered harshly as his ghost sense went off, and his eyes danced over the photos nailed against the ugly wallpaper in the hallway. Pictures of family- of times no one at Casper High knew of; a different side of the English teacher never shown. Danny lingered on the photo of a young boy with blonde hair, a huge gap-toothed smile swallowing his face as he held his ice cream cone towards the photographer. Confusion crossed the teenager’s face as he glanced over some of the other photos, the blonde kid present in almost all of them… and a pretty woman in a few others, posing next to the kid. As far as everyone knew, Lancer didn’t have kids, and he wasn’t married.

His ghost sense went off again, and Danny shivered as he paused momentarily, the photos around him blurring together, spinning into a colorful mess as dizzying fatigue washed over him, his limbs shaking as they fought to bring him down. He made a slight noise as he glanced towards the end of the hall, towards a small boy hiding behind a half-closed door; his green eyes huge and alarmed as he watched the teenager. Danny swallowed, Lancer’s questions floating over him as the boy peered further out the door, motioning for the 17-year-old to follow.

The teenager made an attempt to move, the hallway spinning as the pictures on the wall melted together in an array of sickening colors, and Danny blinked slowly as several spirits began to crowd around him, blood forced from gruesome wounds. A sharp noise escaped his mouth as he glanced back towards the boy, only to find the doorway empty, the door fully open now. Chills washed over him as his knees gave out, and his ghost sense sparked again.

Someone grasped at him, a hand gripping his arm while another snaked over his torse, pulling him back on his feet. Black filtered through Danny’s vision momentarily as his body went limp before he groaned, looking towards his left as Lancer adjusted his grip on his torso, asking something Danny couldn’t grasp. The teenager’s feet dragged against the wooden floor as he struggled to gain his footing, but his legs felt clumsy and foreign. He felt like shit, weird, split into two, leaning heavily against his teacher as the older man led him slowly down the hall, towards the room that’d been previously occupied by a scared little boy.

The 17-year-old hadn’t realized he’d been deposited on a bed until everything stopped moving. The room swaying slightly but no longer spinning in a multitude of nauseating colors. Heat pressed against his body as he glanced over the side of the bed towards the boy he’d seen earlier, hiding behind the rocking chair in the corner. His eyes fixed on the teenager as cold air pushed past Danny’s lips, and he shivered again, turning towards the ceiling fan as his shoes were slipped off his feet, followed by his socks.

He groaned as Lancer pulled his hoodie over his head gently, forcing his arms from the sleeves, leaving him shivering against the warmth dotting against his skin. He was freezing. His ghost sense going off every few minutes, causing his body to ice, goosebumps breaking out over his arms as warmth rushed through him a second later. He blinked slowly, feeling something press against his forehead, and he squinted towards Lancer leaning over him.

“We need to get that fever down, Daniel,” He whispered, running his hands through the kid’s messy black hair. Danny groaned, tuning out his teacher’s movements as he turned back towards the boy hiding behind the chair, hoping that this was as worse as his night got…

……………………………………………………

Heat. Heat blistered against tired flesh and limbs that refused to move… and warmth. Warmth pressed against bruised flesh gently, killing the heat sweating against him, weighing him down in thick blankets. Warmth poured over him, comforting him, drowning the confusion and panic etched in his veins, and Danny suddenly found himself calling to his childhood memories.

“M-mom?” He whispered, his voice barely audible as it scratched past his throat, rough and raw. He swallowed harshly, trying to force his eyes open but finding the task difficult. His body felt heavy, weak, tired… he felt like he had gone several rounds with Skulker… or someone worse.

“Shh, don’t talk, Daniel,” Someone said softly, and Danny blinked slowly, squinting against the dim lights swaying next to him. He shivered as shadows danced around him, and he groaned loudly as he tried pushing himself up. Strong warm hands pressed against his chest, keeping him in place as any strength the teenager had, left him momentarily.

Warmth threatened to pull him under again, and Danny swallowed, his head lolling to his right as he forced his eyes to stay open against flickering, dancing lights. Something pressed against his temple, his cheek, his neck, dampening the fire momentarily wherever the warmth touched, lingering against his skin just long enough to cool the sweat clammed against his body.

Danny coughed harshly as he opened his eyes sluggishly, unaware he had closed them, and he glanced around disoriented, his neck aching from the little effort he put into turning it. His vision wavered slightly, and the 17-year-old groaned as he made another feeble attempt to move only to be stilled by calm hands.

“Just relax, Daniel. Otherwise, I might be obliged to add to your weeks’ worth of detention,” Someone chuckled softly, and Danny forced his eyes open again, “Mr. L’ncer?”

The 17-year-old winced as his voice met his ears, weak and small; the syllables barely leaving his mouth as his tongue felt heavy against his teeth. He swallowed, his mouth feeling cottony and thick as his eyes lazily met his English teacher’s face hovering above him; a stern expression settled on tired features.

The teenager groaned loudly, closing his eyes briefly as the room began to spin, leaning his head back as he listened to the silence surrounding him. A quiet popping echoing around him, and Danny squinted, noticing several candles sitting on the counter and next to him, their flames flickering wildly. Confusion crossed his face as Lancer leaned further over him, “The power went out a while ago, so I had to improvise as I couldn’t find any batteries for the flashlight.”

The older man held up the flashlight, shaking it gently as confusion continued to sit on the 17-year-old’s face. He blinked slowly as he tried to piece together everything. But it was hot. And he felt weird, sick, his mind a muddled mess of exhaustion; his headache still pounding behind his eyes. He tried moving again, sitting up slightly before being pushed back down gently as Lancer sighed, “I swear, Mr. Fenton, do you ever listen?”

Danny swallowed, doing his best to understand his surroundings. He sighed loudly, letting his head fall behind him as he slowly connected the dots. He was in a bathroom. More importantly, he was lying in a warm bath, shivering against the heat beaded on his skin. And more embarrassingly, Lancer was soaking washcloths in the water, pressing them against his face, wiping down the sweat that was forming on Danny’s body. It took him longer than he liked to realize his shirt was gone, gentle fingers pressing lightly against his torso, covering every inch of heat that surrounded the bruised and scarred flesh. Whether or not he was wearing further clothing wasn’t something Danny tried to think about, and if he had the energy, he would have protested this level of comfort. This level of embarrassment. This level of weakness. But he felt too tired, too sick, and too hot to care.

Something moved in his peripheral, and Danny peered at the end of the tub to find the boy from earlier sitting on the edge, his gaze still watching the teenager. He bent down slightly, his blonde hair covering his face as he touched the water before jerking his hand back and shivering. Warmth hit him as Lancer washed over his chest, and the 17-year-old squinted, his eyes still watching the boy, refusing to let his exhaustion overpower him.

The boy disappeared momentarily before returning to his spot at the edge of the bathtub, a rubber duck in his hand. He set it in the water gently, pushing it in Danny’s direction before smiling widely, his two front teeth gapped, three missing from the bottom. The 17-year-old stirred, pressing against Lancer’s hands as his eyebrows furrowed together, and he yelled, “Hey!”

The boy jumped from the ledge, fear setting on his face as Danny struggled against his teacher’s grasp. His ghost sense went off, goosebumps breaking out over his naked skin as the boy disappeared, and the teenager let out a strangled cry as he shoved Lancer’s hands away, leaning over the edge, water splashing to the floor as he scanned the hallway for the boy. The 17-year-old gripped the slippery ledge of the tub as he scrambled to pull himself up, water slapping against the ground loudly.

Lancer gripped the kid’s shoulders, forcing him back down as alarm crossed his face. He held the teenager down as the candles flickered, water soaking into his khakis as the 17-year-old continued to thrash. The older man let out a quick breath as he tried grabbing the kid’s attention, “Daniel! Danny!”

The teenager stilled, his gaze moving from the hallway towards his teacher as his nickname left Lancer’s mouth. The older man sighed softly as he felt the kid’s body relax, his grip loosening on the bathtub as the teacher eased him back down. The alarm that crossed Danny’s face earlier, vanishing as confusion set in, his head smacking once again against the back of the bathtub as exhaustion ate away at his features.

He exhaled loudly as Lancer pressed a washcloth against his forehead, leaving it there for several minutes before repeating the action. Danny swallowed softly, closing his eyes against the dimly-lit room as his teacher cleared his throat, “I’m sorry about the circumstances, Daniel. But your temperature spiked again causing you to pass out, and I had no other way of bringing it down quicker. I know it’s uncomfortable. My son freaked too.”

Danny turned towards his teacher’s voice but kept his eyes closed as his mind spun violently. He furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to understand the information, as he tried to recall the pictures on the wall in the hallway. He coughed, sweat dripping from his hair plastered against his face, “The kid…”

“In the photos. Yeah,” Lancer sighed, wiping across the teenager’s chest again before pressing another rag against his forehead, “He passed some time ago… a car accident.”

The 17-year-old’s eyes opened slightly as he met his teacher’s sad smile before his focus lazily danced towards the hallway. The boy stood there, leaning against the doorway as he fumbled with the zipper on the bottom of his blue jacket, worry flashing across his face as he met Danny’s gaze. The teenager swallowed again, closing his eyes as he turned his head away from the door, sweat rolling down his cheeks as it dripped from his chin.

“Hey…” He muttered softly as he tried calling the boy closer, as he tried to connect the dots. He felt like shit. Even after being extremely sick after the Accident, he didn’t remember it feeling like this. Then again, that had been 3 years ago… and Danny hadn’t really been sick since. But maybe that had to do more with Phantom. Maybe he’d left… leaving the 17-year-old as a barely alive thing. Maybe this was his immune system dying, the other half giving out as it had struggled to survive with half function over the years. Maybe this was the portal killing the other part of him, claiming what it had started.

Danny’s teeth chattered loudly as he shivered against the warmth, “I shou-should call my parents…”

“I assure you they’re fine, Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said calmly, rewetting a washcloth and pressing it against the teenager’s neck, “They’re just concerned, trying to find a quicker way back to New York… unfortunately, the storm is making that difficult.”

The 17-year-old swallowed slowly, confusion washing over him before swallowing again. He coughed, his throat raw and his mouth dry like sandpaper, feeling his mind slipping, the reality he could understand becoming harder and harder to grasp. Everything was muddled, fuzzy, hard to comprehend.

“I- I should call them,” He muttered softly, “Apologize for killing myself… they’re going to be-be so- disappointed in me…”

Lancer froze, alarm flooding through him as he choked. He watched the confusion on Danny’s face melt, his features relaxing slightly as moments passed. The older man turned the teenager’s face towards him, shaking his shoulder gently as he let out a sharp breath, “What? Mr. Fenton- what! What does that mean? Daniel? Daniel- Danny!”

The kid whimpered but other than that, showed no sign that he had even heard Lancer’s questions. The English teacher took a few slow breaths, closing his eyes as he forced the panic back down. Perhaps he had misheard… or the 17-year-old’s temperature was getting to him. Hallucinations and muddled speech were common, so perhaps, that’s all it was. Thoughts of a delusional and feverish mind.

Then again, Danny’s attitude had shifted over the years as he still maintained his cocky and sarcastic demeanor… but darker things lurked over him. Lancer knew the kid smoked from time-to-time, and he had heard from a few rumors that Fenton had become no stranger to weed or alcohol. Then again, the aspect of rebellion was fairly common in teenagers, and Lancer couldn’t see the Fenton’s letting their son get away with anything too serious. But perhaps they didn’t know… perhaps they didn’t know about their son’s newer habits. Or the fights. The grades. The attitude problem. The bruises or scars. Perhaps Danny was hiding his true self from them just as he was from his peers.

But it wasn’t Lancer’s place. Not exactly. Sure, he cared for the kid, as he did for many of his pupils. But Jack and Maddie had become neighborly to him after the loss of his son, and the divorce. They expected Lancer to keep Jasmine and Daniel on the straight-and-narrow when they entered high school… which Jazz was no problem… but Danny. Danny was a different story.

Every direction Lancer took, the 17-year-old steered in the opposite direction. And it seemed even worse the last couple of months. Lancer knew something had happened between Fenton and Manson… and Danny seemed really broken up about it. After all, he had overheard Foley’s comment that the two had begun dating… among other things. And rumors were they’d been caught in the Janitor’s closet several weeks prior… But for the past few months, both Danny and Sam could barely sit next to each other, let alone look at each other. And most of the flirting Lancer had come to expect from the two, was replaced with cold stares, harsh short comments, and feeble excuses as to why they couldn’t work together.

Something sounded behind him, and the English teacher jerked, turning his head quickly towards the hall, squinting against the flame’s shadow dancing over the dark doorway. He scanned the empty area before closing his eyes briefly, breathing slowly through his nose, allowing his thoughts to calm as thunder roared overhead. Most nights Lancer could swear his house was haunted. Haunted by the memories of his past, the memories of his wife, his son… the life he missed every day. But that was ridiculous. An idealization deluded from the minds of Jack and Maddie Fenton… and nothing more.

The lights flicked several times as one of the lightbulbs above the bathroom counter popped, before burning out. The TV in the living room spluttering to life, news blasted through old speakers loudly before silence and darkness once again evaded the small house. Lancer sighed, running a hand over his head, listening to the rain pelt against the roof. Despite it being close to 10am, the storm hadn’t ceased… in fact, it seemed worse with every passing hour which was ironically befitting given Lancer’s current situation, and Danny’s condition.

The English teacher sighed loudly, wringing another washcloth out before pressing gently against the teenager’s forehead, cheeks, and neck as lightening cracked against the house. The 17-year-old whimpered softly, his eyebrows drawing together momentarily before Lancer shushed him, forcing another rag against his forehead lightly. Despite trying his best to bring the kid’s fever down, the older man was more than certain he was doing little to cause a significant change in the teenager’s temperature. Or at least it felt like that.

When the 17-year-old had passed out in the hallway, collapsing against Lancer the second he was pulled from the floor, going limp in his arms as the older man tried his best to hold Danny as gently as he could, Lancer had been at a loss. But when the lights spazzed, the shutter door slamming against the entryway and the power gave out, Lancer was close to both panicked tears and self-consumed anger.

He’d been angry over the situation. Over the power going out, the storm wreaking havoc outside and forcing flights to ground. Angry with his own useless attempts to soothe the teenager he thought he could care for. Angry he hadn’t taken Danny to the Emergency Room earlier and angry, that in spite of everything, the teenager seemed to be getting worse rather than better. Panic had eaten away worry and concern, leaving fear racing through thoughts riddled with questions; his own parental instincts, despite having died long ago, blaring as every sound, every cough, every whimper, and every unconscious groan that whispered from the 17-year-old’s mouth, sent Lancer’s senses on high alert.

Something that had scared Lancer more than he could account for was the fact that the 17-year-old was crying, hard, and his temperature. The moment he was near, the heat melting off Danny was deeply concerning, sweat plastered down pale flesh, dripping in puddles down his face and soaked through hand-me-down clothes Lancer had given him earlier. The teenager had been on the verge of hyperventilating when Lancer pressed his hand against his forehead, worry and panic lacing his tired mind as Danny cried harder, pleading with fevered hallucinations to leave and forgive him.

The thought of which was worse, the storm or Danny’s illness, no longer a debate but a firm decided answer that should have been sought long ago. But Lancer wasn’t sure if he would be able to find his keys in the dark, the rain pounding sideways against the windows as it threatened to break glass… and even though it was early morning now, the sun having rose two hours prior, it was still black as hell outside. Lancer’s own attempts to calm the teenager were futile. He was out of his element… so beyond his own familiarity, and he had forgotten how to soothe his own child. Lancer needed help, he needed another adult, and Danny needed a parent, but the older man hadn’t been a parent in a long time…

…………………………………………………………………………………….

He wasn’t a hero. Because a hero wouldn’t do this. A hero couldn’t. And Danny Fenton was no hero. He’d shed blood through Phantom hands, ghosted in hellish torment as he sat, throne to bodies and souls collected at his feet. Human hands forever red with mortal lives, halfa instincts more dead than alive as Fenton became a facade for Phantom. A mask. A plaything. A puppet of normality and bitter resentment as Phantom was forced to live in a barely alive flesh suit. And now, only now, was the teenager hit with the realization that he was no hero. He’d never been.

He’d been a boy. Stupid and ignorant in childish idealization, playing make-believe, costumed in his parent’s clothes, pretending to be something more. Something better. But he wasn’t. He was joke. A harsh cosmic occurrence of puny humanity and preemptive temperament of selfish actions. Cocooned in the tranquility of his youth as he tried to convince himself that he was more than the blood dripping from halfa hands, that he was the savior of death instead of the bringer. But he’d been stupid. Weak. Pathetic. Insignificant. A joke.

Danny Fenton was a joke of unlovable fear and horrible outcomes. Death followed him. Shadowed by terrible posture and cold features. Sam had fallen for the wrong boy. Had loved the wrong boy. Fenton wasn’t a hero. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save her… fuck, he couldn’t save anyone. He was just a stupid kid with stupid luck. A false identity born to humanity, mirrored from the reality of Phantom, a messenger, a front for what had killed him years ago. Fake bravery. Fake chivalry. Everything fake.

Ectoplasm oozed down his temple, sliding past his left cheekbone, gathering at his chin as sweat and dirt fell past, splattering against ashen snow and green puddles of forgotten souls. Blood pooling from open wounds, forced between busted knuckles and broken fingers as red stained white. Danny choked, his fingers pressing tighter across Sam’s neck as blood gushed from wounds he couldn’t close… from a death he couldn’t stop. From a love he couldn’t lose.

The purple haloed around Sam no longer vibrant or visible through dark crimson, eaten away by the innocence of her youth, and the immorality dripping from Danny. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a good guy… and Phantom? Phantom couldn’t save her. Phantom couldn’t save anyone. Ever. But Phantom wouldn’t have done this… he couldn’t. Fenton had.

Fingers slipping from flesh, Sam’s necklace pulled from her neck as Danny fought for a better grip, forcing the broken bones in his right hand to bend, to curve, to keep blood from puddling around him… to fix this. But he couldn’t. There wasn’t a way to fix it. A way to fix death. To restore what was lost. What he had taken. What he had always taken. Over and over and over again.

And now, because he wasn’t willing to live without Phantom, Fenton had destroyed the one thing he loved more than anything. The one girl he loved more than anyone. The one girl willing to fight for him instead of Phantom. But that had been a mistake. Sam loving him had been a mistake. He and Sam had been a mistake. An intimate beautiful mistake.

Danny wasn’t the same person she’d fallen in love with. He wasn’t the same person he used to be. He was different. Darker. Quieter. Colder. He was awkward in his own shadow, uncomfortable in a foreign skin as he allowed Phantom more and more control. Danny Fenton was a waste. Danny Phantom wasn’t. He was the thing people needed. But Phantom wasn’t the one Sam had loved. He wasn’t the one she trusted. He wasn’t the one she tried so desperately to save… He wasn’t the one who had killed her.

The fight was over the second it’d begun. Box Ghost had slipped through the Ghost Zone, followed by Skulker and Johnny; the three musketeers of complete failure as they threatened to destroy the state of New York. But Danny had barely broken a sweat. Ghosts were easier now; less challenging than in his youth, repetitive and old, and most of the time, the teenager had bigger things to worry about. Like Spirits. The Veil. The Spirit World. And Vlad. There was always Vlad fucking Masters. A pain in the Fenton family ass… not that Jack would ever admit it.

Snow had started littering the ground in heavy flurries by the time Vlad appeared. Danny had sat on the park bench for hours, waiting for the stupid pointy-haired bastard to make an appearance; after all, Danny had gotten his message the night before when he was pulled into the Veil. He always got the message while in the Veil. He wasn’t welcome. He was never welcomed. And the Spirits collected within made sure he knew it, made sure he stayed long enough to understand the damage he had caused, the lives he had fucked, and the lives he had taken. Many in the Spirit World knew him, but he knew very little about them.

Despite knowing almost everything about the Ghost Zone, the teenager knew almost nothing about the Spirit World. About summoning. The Veil. The Spirits. He only knew how to tune them out, but the older he got, the more his power grew, the harder it was to keep them in check. Too many times had he been caught in public, or with his parents, or his sister, talking, ranting, yelling or even fighting Spirits that refused to leave. He couldn’t block them out. Their voices, cries in the dark, hands pulled through murky water towards his body as he dreamed, screams echoed through restless thoughts. They were getting harder to ignore… harder to kill.

Drugs didn’t really work anymore, barely a dull buzz of quiet whispers, and other outlets were laughable options. Weed made it hard to focus between Fenton and Phantom, his abilities harder to control… and the Spirits had barely left. Ecstasy was great, the screams a distant thought, the Spirits warping into smokes of green, yellow and red; but Phantom disappeared too, refusing to appear for several days after. And Acid… Acid just made the teenager more jittery, more paranoid, more on-edge than he already was.

Vlad had taught him a few tricks to keep the Spirits quiet enough to function before he died. He’d promised to teach Danny more, but his death made that almost impossible. Unlike the Ghost Zone, the Spirit World lacked a supernatural possession; rather turning anyone such as Vlad, normal and human- barely able to summon Danny through the Veil to talk. And Danny? Danny’s powers were pretty much useless inside the Veil, humanity coursed through fragile bones, muscle, and skin as blood beat through a half-alive thing. The teenager could barely summon, barely survive a night in the Veil, of being pulled through, forced out-of-body through airless lungs and the stillness of a barely beating heart.

In the Spirit World, the teenager was human. So very human. And so very vulnerable. A War progressed through the Veil, the Spirits capable of darker, more sinister realities than Ghosts such as Skulker or Freakshow could ever procure. A world of Death. True Death. The promises of the Ghost Zone vanquished through shreds of paper-thin souls of victims to the War. Death in the Spirit World meant no Ghost Zone after. No other World beyond. No connection or tie back to humanity. To the Human World. Nothing. Just black. Just…

The 17-year-old’s ghost sense had been going off for hours; his teeth chattering as he pulled the thin green jacket closer, cursing Vlad for taking his sweet time. To any untrained individual, the teenager appeared to be alone… but Danny was never alone. Not anymore. His shove through the Veil on his 16th had killed any isolation or solitude he had. They were always there. Always watching. Always with him.

The teenager grit his teeth as he smacked his head against the bench behind him, staring towards the grey sky as white dust fell in clumps, blanketing Amity Park… and most likely, the rest of New York. The weather had been unpredictable lately; a chaotic shitshow of indescribable patterns, something his father chalked up to some weird readings in the Ghost Zone. Despite never really seeing a ghost, his parents still obsessed over them, inching closer and closer to diving into the portal with each passing week. But Danny, Danny wished he’d never have to see another fucking ghost in his life.

More and more of the transparent bastards had been slipping through the portal lately. Part of that was Danny’s fault. The other, unknown. Valerie had helped pick up the slack, along with the Fenton Duo, but the teenager had more important things to worry about like Spirits. The harder they were to ignore, the more of them appeared… and they could touch him. Hurt him. Kill him… the scars plastered against his right ribs should be evident enough to speak to their danger. He’d barely survived his first trip through the Veil, and Vlad kept pulling him fucking through… mainly because summoning wasn’t something the 17-year-old had mastered yet. And with Vlad dead, Danny doubted if he’d ever actually be able to master summoning… leaving no hope for resurrection.

Something kicked against the teenager’s red converse, and Danny shot up quickly, expecting Vlad to be standing over him. A smile crawled across his face as his eyes met Sam, her black hoodie blowing viciously against the winter air, small specks of white clinging to the fabric. She kicked his foot again, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Danny smirked, forcing his hands in his pocket, his right hand clamped around the red lighter he had stolen from his dad’s secret stash. Whether or not Jack Fenton had noticed a few of his smokes were missing, the teenager would never know. After all, if his father ended up confronting him about it, then that meant Jack would also have to come clean to Maddie about smoking… something he supposedly gave up a few years after Danny was born.

Sam slumped down next to him, her shoulder hitting his as Danny turned towards her, smiling. Sam rolled her eyes, her purple lipstick twisting into a grin as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She sighed, “So, I take it Vlad hasn’t shown?”

The 17-year-old shook his head, before clearing his throat, “No.”

“That’s pretty unusual for him, isn’t it?” She asked, pulling her head up as wind forced her hood down, short black hair flying chaotically. She glanced in Danny’s direction as he flicked some snow off his jeans. He hadn’t really thought about Vald’s behavior- about his pretty punctual habits, but now that it was mentioned, it was rather worrisome the older man hadn’t shown yet. Especially given he seemed rather paranoid the night before. But surely, the older man would have said if he was in danger.

Danny shrugged his shoulders, meeting Sam’s gaze, biting his bottom lip. Pieces of ice clung to her hair, freckled across her face, and the 17-year-old hesitated, before brushing his thumb across her cheek carefully, wiping away some of the fallen snow. He paused, his fingers pressing gently against her jawline, following the curve softly before Sam pressed her hand over his. Danny froze, warmth flooding his face as he refused to advert his gaze.

Sam had been weird lately. She’d been acting weird… almost feminine… which was weird for both Tucker and Danny as they had always seen her as one of the guys. But between a few awkward non-date dates, a few fake-out make-outs, and being caught half-naked in the Janitor’s Closet a few weeks prior when Danny had phased through the wrong room after a fight; Danny was finding it harder to act normal around her. And then there was the Annual Winter Dance last month which neither Sam nor Danny refused to acknowledge, involving some sloppy drinking, heated kissing, and one awkward morning after at the Fenton household as Danny tried sneaking Sam from his room only to be caught by his sister.

Since then, Sam had become more… Well, it was hard to explain because Danny was pretty sure he’d become more of it too. Every moment he was around her, it seemed like he had reverted back to his weird, awkward, clumsy demeanor. He couldn’t talk around her anymore, let alone act normal anymore. His ghost sense unpredictable, his powers uncontrollable as his body forgot how to be him around her. He couldn’t eat or sleep and paying what little attention he normally did in class, unbearable. He couldn’t get Sam out of his head. Her purple lipstick. Her laugh. Her hands clasped around his. Her mouth… Her. And it was driving him insane.

Mentioning it to anyone was out of the question. Tucker had them married in 9th grade. His parents were too hyperactive and weird to be able to deal with their only son dating- let alone his sister’s recollection of her very awkward first date that involved more of Jack Fenton than Danny wanted to picture. And Jazz? Jazz had freaked when she had caught Danny and Sam together the morning after the Annual Winter Dance, forcing both teenagers to attend a lecture involving responsible actions, so asking Jazz for advice was out of the question. Honestly, Danny had found some console in Vlad, but that bastard’s advice was wishy-washy and outdated.

Sam’s fingers brushed over the rough scars on his hand before she trailed up his arm. Her hand hesitating on his shoulder before cupping the back of his neck, her fingers tussling his hair softly. The wind whooshed past, snow raining over them as Sam met the 17-year-old’s gaze, a small smirk painted across purple lips. Danny shivered slightly, brushing his thumb over her cheek again, “I-”

“Shut up,” Sam cut him off, pulling herself from the bench as she pressed her lips against his, pushing the 17-year-old back slowly as he dropped his hand from her cheek, trailing down her shoulder slowly, arm, back. He inhaled loudly, a hand pressed against the small of Sam’s back, the other pressing her closer to him as she kissed him again, one of her hand’s slipping underneath his shirt. Cold fingers pressed against the warmth on his back. Black nails scrapping gently over scarred flesh, fingers through black hair, and Danny’s hands dragging her closer. Sam was driving him insane… but maybe this time, they could acknowledge it… maybe this time, he could tell her how he really felt.

Maybe this time he could tell her he couldn’t get her out of his mind. That he couldn’t concentrate around her, he couldn’t get that night at the dance out of his mind… that she made everything better, made everything okay. He needed her like he needed air. She was a reminder that he was still alive, that he was still human, that he was still more than Phantom. Because she seemed to want him more than Phantom… She liked him. Not Phantom. And that- that was all Danny ever wanted from someone. From her…

Her nails scrapped harder against his back as Sam straddled him; her hair flying in the wind, covering her face, smacking against Danny’s face comfortingly. His hands gentle as they trailed down the rest of her back, her thighs, holding her steady against him. Her lips forceful against his, nails marked against skin, her heart pounding against his. She breathed deeply, “Danny…”

“Well, isn’t this nice,” Someone sneered. Danny pushed Sam off him gently, jumping to his feet as he pressed Sam behind him, his stance protective as he met the stranger’s gaze. The 17-year-old watched as a woman stepped forward, a smirk on her face as she pushed some of her long blonde hair behind her ear. She eyed the 17-year-old, sizing him up as she walked around the small bench. She scoffed, “They said the halfa was young, but I never would have thought this young… Tell me, handsome, do you even know how to tie your own shoes?”

Danny tensed, “Do you want to find out?”

The woman laughed loudly, circling them once more before standing a few feet from him, “Oh, and that wit. I bet you’re a troublemaker, uh?”

She crossed her arms, straightening her posture until she was eyelevel with him. Her skin almost translucent against the white ground, blood dotting against her neck where a necklace should have been. Her bright pink and blue jumpsuit standing out against the snow, fitting the ideal clothing for an 80’s teenager… her blonde hair in half-buns, purple triangle earrings dangling from her ears. She laughed again, shaking her head, her red lipstick twisting slightly as she peered towards Sam.

Sam had risen from the bench, pulling her hoody back over head as her hair still fought against the wind. She forced the sleeves past her hands, her fingers intertwining gently with Danny’s as the 17-year-old stepped forward, “Where’s Vlad?”

The woman cocked her head, her smile offsetting as she held up her hand, inspecting her chipped blue fingernails, “I wouldn’t worry about Grandpa anymore. He’s been taken care of.”

The teenager swallowed, dropping his hand from Sam’s as he took another step forward, his hands burning slightly as Phantom threatened to appear. Danny swallowed, “What did you do to him?”

The woman laughed again, shoving her hands on her hips as she faced the 17-year-old again, “You’ve become quite the gossip in the Veil. Did you know that? Everyone talks about the halfa; the teenage boy with a hitlist bigger than… well… for decency, think of someone historically bad. The merciless angel. The bringer of death. The red. You could say you’ve become very popular amongst Spirits… and to hear, the little ghost boy could be harmed,” She paused, clasping her hands together as a smile painted her face, “Well, that was like Christmas morning.”

Sam reached for Danny’s shoulder, her fingers gracing over the fabric of his hoodie as he stepped forward again, “What did you do with Vlad?”

The woman smirked, “Me? No, honey, I’ve done nothing. See, I don’t really care for the creepy-uncle-lotion-in-the-basket types. You, however, are much more interesting. Much more powerful than Vlad would be… I can feel it. Radiating off you like the wind around you. It’s beautiful… And we can hurt you. We can touch you. Something those pathetic airbags in the Ghost Zone could only dream of. And believe me, pretty boy, there are many in the Veil eager to show you their real power. Eager to walk this Earth again… all we need is the blood of the halfa.”

“Fuck you!” Sam yelled, stepping in front of the 17-year-old, her finger’s gripping Danny’s wrist. Sam took a step forward, her stance tense, her hood down as wind washed over her. Snow beading in black hair, melting down her face as hatred flashed across her features. Her grip tightened around the teenager’s wrist, protectively; and Danny swallowed softly as he realized she wasn’t about to let go.

The woman stepped forward slowly, smirking again as she chuckled, “Call off your guard-dog, Daniel. I have no intention of killing you today… besides, in order for us to be reborn, you have to come to us willingly. Which I give you… a year before you enter the Veil for the last time.”

Danny scoffed, “Unlikely.”

He shivered as he met the woman’s gaze, her smile hiding something that scared the teenager more than the threat. An understanding… knowing. She knew what went through his mind. What he thought about, how he thought about himself… The way she looked at him, the way she smirked towards him, sneering… she knew. About the drugs. The blood. About the recklessness. She knew what stimmed through a tired mind in the nightmarish reality of Fenton from Phantom. She had to know… but the only way she would, would be- Vlad.

Danny glanced down for a second, swallowing loudly. Him and Vlad had had their differences, but they seemed to work it out over the years… so would Vlad really tell people about him? Would he really betray his secrets to other people, well, Spirits? The teenager had confided in him over the years. Not about everything… but about himself, about how he had come to hate Phantom. How he had become forced to live with Phantom’s pain and torment. How he felt, as the years past, and he let Phantom have more power, he could feel reality crumpling around him. Crumpling in, and slipping through his fingers, through the cracks created by Phantom, opened and birthed through the Ghost Zone and Spirit World. How it felt like he was being drained… that his humanity was dying. Would Vlad really betray him like that? After all this time?

The woman scoffed again, “Perhaps. But I’m willing to help you out… give you another nudge in the right direction.”

Confusion crossed the 17-year-old’s face as he stepped forward again, only a few feet from the woman as she crossed her arms, raising her head. She shook her head slowly, “I can see you’re confused, so I’ll make it simple for your stupid hormonal teenage brain.”

There was a flash, and Danny dropped harshly, his hands and arms burning as he felt the shift starting to take over. Phantom gaining control as the Fenton canister, forgotten on the park bench, exploded loudly, and the teenager pressed his burning hands against the snow. Cold braced against his fingers as he looked up, wiping away some green ectoplasm that litter across his body, blood dripping down his chin slowly from a cut on his upper lip. His eyes flashed green as he let Phantom gain control, his body burning slightly as he shifted, the aching pain that plagued him, gone as Phantom took over.

Within a second, he had the woman pinned against the tree, a smirk twisting against his lips as she struggled pathetically. He huffed, his tone cocky as he tightened his grip, “You missed.”

The woman hesitated before laughing loudly, snapping her fingers as Phantom reverted back, forcing Fenton through translucent skin as he was shoved back into his teenage body. Sweaty fatigue washed over him as she kicked his leg, slamming him against the ground harshly, pinning him against the snow. The 17-year-old squirmed, trying to coax Phantom out, trying to shift but finding the task difficult, his fingers tingling and sparking green but refusing to change.

The woman snorted, grasping his hand in hers, smiling down at him as her blonde hair brushed over his chest. She pressed her fingers between his, humming softly before jerking her hand back, bending Danny’s fingers as she clawed at his palm, bones cracking, causing the teenager to scream loudly as he fought against her. After a few seconds, she let go as wind rushed past them, and she pressed her chest against his, stroking his hair back gently. She bent down further, her lips brushing against his ear, “I wasn’t aiming for you, honey.”

The 17-year-old twisted; his head jerked towards Sam as he tried forcing the woman from him. Blood splattered against the snow as Sam fell, her face pressing against the ice, her hand, bloodied and shaky, as she reached in Danny’s direction. The teenager cried loudly as Sam’s hand dropped in the snow, her body going limp as red bled through white. The woman pressed her fingers against the 17-year-old’s cheek as he screamed again; his hands and arms burning as heat clawed through his chest. Sam opened her mouth, purple lips parted but no words came, only tears trailing down pale flesh before green eyes shut.

The woman laughed softly, digging her nails painfully into Danny’s cheek and chin, prying his eyes away from Sam and towards her. Rage ate away at his features, his skin scorching against Phantom as green began to steam off him, his eyes flashing bright green before darkening as his eyes met hers. The woman tightened her grip as green smoke continued to envelope them; a smirk plastered to skin pulled back too tightly as she pressed her clammy forehead against his, gently. She took a deep breath as Danny struggled against her, his skin itching as black ectoplasm began to drip from his nose and ears, running down his face before smacking against the ground. Cold soaking through his clothes as his skin began to burn away, green fading to black, and black sparks radiating from his fingertips as the woman pressed her lips against his.

The teenager jerked away, his gaze meeting Sam’s stilled face. Her features silent, and Danny choked again as he yelled her name, fighting against the woman’s grasp again. Her nails dug once more into his flesh, pulling his face back towards her as black tears fell down his cheeks in thick trails. She thumbed some away slowly before licking the liquid from her thumb and smirking, pressing her chest once again against his.

“Such power. Such a waste,” She bent down further, her lips pressing against his temple, “Two down… See you in a year, lover.”

Pain seared across his chest, and the 17-year-old screamed as her hand pressed over his heart, burning against flesh as the greenish black swallowing him, ceased. His eyes flashed back to blue as he choked, grasping towards her hand before realizing she was gone. His hand pressing over the bloody handprint stained against his shirt as the pain slowly began to evade, and he twisted around, stumbling to his feet as he forced himself towards Sam….

[maria-scribbles]

cocoa

sick of hearing his parents fight day after day, reggie goes to the one person who knows exactly what he's going through: the pretty violinist who lives next door.

fandom: julie and the phantoms

ship: alive!reggie x reader

word count: 1.5k+

featuring: swearing (as always), fighting, allusion to an abusive relationship, general sadness, mention of a family member’s death

a/n: day 2 of my holiday challenge: hot chocolate! this is kind of depressing and i'm sorry, sad!reggie was stuck in my head and he wouldn't leave until i wrote this but it has kind of a hopeful ending tho so i guess that counts for something? this is also my first time writing for this fandom so forgive me if it sucks. as usual, unbetaed so all mistakes are my b.

come join my holiday challenge!

December 1994

They were fighting again. It was the same old story: his dad being an ass on purpose, his mom taking the bait, wash, rinse, repeat. Their shouts rang harshly throughout the house, gloomy and miserable despite the cheerful decorations strung up in every room and the massive Christmas tree downstairs, dressed in its festive best and looking like it came straight out of a seasonal catalog.

Reggie had gone to them at the beginning of the month, begging them not to fight, please; his everyday life was already ruined by their screaming matches and the only thing he wanted for Christmas was some peace, quiet and civility to celebrate his favorite holiday. His father had pretended not to hear his son's pleas, ignoring him completely like he always did while his mother offered a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"We'll try, honey." She'd said and he knew it was a lie. His mother always lied, his father always threw a plate at her head, Reggie always wished he had the courage to run away for good, like Luke did. But he wasn't Luke, he never would be, and he just didn't have it in him to leave them, even though he was the one who came out worse for wear after each fight.

The distant shatter of ceramic drifting up the stairs was his cue to go until things cooled down again -he never stuck around after the first dish got thrown, not anymore, the scar on his arm the perfect reminder why- and so he jimmied open the window of his room and climbed down the trellis into the salty air, the crashing waves of the Pacific covering his escape like a blanket.

(He could've stormed down the stairs and slammed the door behind him and his parents still wouldn't have noticed he left but something about sneaking out and risking a broken bone made him feel alive, the same rush he felt when he was on stage, bass humming in his hands, performing alongside his bandmates and knowing they felt it, too.)

Even outside, the echoes of his parents' angry voices still rang in his ears, haunting him all the way to the house next door, its sparkling lights shining brightly and guiding him through the darkening night like a beacon. The driveway sat empty, sans for one lone bicycle haphazardly lying on its side in front of the garage and he carefully propped it up on its kickstand before climbing the stairs to the front porch.

The faint sound of a slow, somber violin came to a stop as he knocked on the door, followed by a quiet, familiar voice Reggie knew like the back of his hand.

"It's open."

He found Y/N alone on the couch, eyes downcast and fingers fiddling with the strings of the violin on her lap and she glanced up at the tap of his boots on the hardwood floor, face brightening the slightest bit at the sight of her friend rounding the corner into the living room. 

The girl didn't speak as she gently placed the instrument aside and stood, meeting him halfway and throwing her arms around his neck to draw him into a crushing hug. His own arms wrapped around her waist and held her just as tightly, his head resting on her shoulder, and the warm vanilla scent of her soft hair tickling his nose helped calm the storm in his heart.

"I'm sorry, Reg." Her voice was low and soothing in his ear and he didn't know how he could possibly hold her any tighter than he already was but he managed as he replied, "I'm sorry, too."

While his parents fought like wildfire, explosive and loud and raging with the wrong type of passion, hers were like a deep freeze, icy and cold and desolate in the worst possible way. Too many times Y/N was left to her own devices, all alone in an empty house with her thoughts and a violin her only company (at least they had given her that, the gift of music and a beautiful, expensive instrument to prove their love was real, albeit superficial).

It was some time later before she pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye and brushed a wayward strand of his dark hair back from his forehead with one calloused finger. "Okay, pity party's over. It's almost Christmas and we're not spending it being sad about shitty parents. Deal?"

She held out her pinky with one eyebrow raised expectantly and grinned when he nodded and hooked his pinky around hers. Reggie loved really liked that about her, the way she could just make all the heartache and pain and disappointment vanish from his mind like magic and replace them with thoughts of her and her sunny smile, her big heart, her touch that made the very blood in his veins spark like lightning. Y/N was his bright spot, his safe haven, and while Luke, Alex, and Bobby knew what he was going through, they just didn't understand like she did (they had their own problems to deal with, anyway, so he couldn't blame them).

"Good, now come on," She wrapped the rest of her fingers around his hand and started tugging him down the hall to the kitchen. "You're helping me make hot chocolate."

"Peppermint?" He asked, smiling when she glanced up at him with an offended look on her face.

"Duh. Only a heathen would make it without peppermint, Reginald."

Another thing he liked about her: she never did anything halfway; half-assing things, taking the easy way out, cutting corners just wasn't her style. It even applied to hot chocolate apparently, as he watched her flutter around the kitchen with practiced ease -heating milk and cream on the stove, measuring sugar and chocolate, slowly adding drops of peppermint oil- and despite her saying he was going to help, the only thing he got to do was crush some candy canes. Not that he minded, though, because while his hands could play bass like no one's business, they were a total disaster when it came to cooking and he knew Y/N was well aware of that fact, considering it took a week for the burnt popcorn smell to fade from her microwave the last time he tried. 

The violinist smiled and proudly handed him the finished drink, whipped cream piled high and candy cane bits almost overflowing from the edge of a red mug. "This is my grandma's recipe," She said, one hand holding a purple mug for herself and the other reaching to grab onto his wrist and pull him out the front door. "She'd always make it when she came to visit for the holidays and we'd sit out on the porch and watch the ocean, each and every year." 

"She was the best," Reggie said as the two sat together on the porch swing, his right side flush against her left. "I still have dreams about her cookies and wake up drooling."

The cool ocean breeze ruffled Y/N's hair and carried her laugh off down the beach. "She loved you, you know that? She was always talking about 'that nice boy next door.' Pretty sure she wanted us to get married."

"I loved her, too." He took a sip of his drink in an attempt to hide the blush that was taking over his entire face. "And we still have time for the whole marriage thing."

"I'm still waiting for my ring." She laughed again before looking down at the mug in her hands, voice becoming quiet as she replied, "I really miss her. She was the only person in my family who actually cared about me 'cause my parents sure as hell don't."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong but he knew it'd be a lie and he never did that, refusing to become a pathological liar like his mother, so instead he just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his side. "Hey, no more talk about shitty parents, remember?"

"Sorry, I know," She took a long sip of her cocoa, then rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. "I just feel alone sometimes when you're not around. I mean, you have your band and I always had my grandma to talk to but now she's gone and I'm kind of...lost."

"You have the band, too, Y/N! Alex and Luke love you and Bobby, well, he's Bobby. No one really knows what goes on in that guy's head but I know he thinks you're cool. We all do, especially me, and you should know you're never alone 'cause you'll always have us."

The girl abruptly sat up and grabbed the mug from Reggie's hand before he could blink and placed it alongside her own on the floor, then threw her arms around his neck in another one of her fierce hugs.

"Has anyone told you how fucking amazing you are?" 

"You just did." He buried his blushing face in her shoulder as his arms wrapped around her waist once again. "I'm serious, Y/N. You'll always have me."

"And you'll always have me, Reg. No matter what."

And as they sat there on the porch swing, wrapped in each other's arms, Reggie knew as long as he had Y/N in his life, things were gonna be okay.

[ms-a-z-u-l]

All Over Again (Goro Akechi x Reader)

Summary: Every time, you wake up in April 9. Nothing works and you’re beginning to think you and him are going to keep dying until fate gets tired of punishing you. Until Akira finds the most cruel solution to break the cycle that keeps causing Goro pain, and you have to decide if you want to follow or stay.

Categories: Angst

Warnings: Character death

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A/N: This is the last one I’ve written. I honestly don’t know why I took so long in posting in when it was done some time ago but I sorta got my motivation back (my college essays have been killing me) I hope I can start writing more and post more quickly and get more ideas on more characters. Thank you for reading!

****************************************

Over and over, the same events repeated until either or both of you ended up death, blood pooling from your bodies as your eyes went dull and everything faded.

The next thing you know, you wake up once again in bed with groggy eyes, as if what happened last time was just a nightmare.

Every time, you would go to the living room to find Goro sitting in the couch, staring at nothing. Sitting beside him, you stared at your hands, verifying that, yes, you were alive once again and that, no, the cycle that’s been going on for who knows how long now is still taking you back in time to April 9. The day He arrived.

From changing routines, a significant action, a specific response, to the tiniest of details, nothing seem to change what happens in the end. Even letting both of you be killed together, that was the latest tactic and yet you managed to see the repeated light of day. There was silence for minutes, wondering and grasping at possibilities of what could break the torturous cycle, something missing in the equation. Goro’s knee started to bounce, seeming at his wits end.

“I’m beginning to think this is punishment” he chuckled dryly, clearly tired and restless. “If it is, then they went all out, huh?” You replied sarcastically. “It should only be me to be pulled into this bullshit” hearing him whisper that made you turn your head to look at him. His head was down now, looking defeated, or perhaps guilty, you never knew with him. Even though you’ve been living in the same apartment, Goro never really told you anything about himself or his past, and you didn’t pry in fear of appearing nosy. It wasn’t until the first time reset after he almost got shot, but you took the hit and woke up in April 9 that he told you more than he did in almost two years of knowing him. After all, the others had already found out about his father and the shit he got put through in the engine room, might as well tell his assistant and what he could call a friend everything he bottled up.

You didn’t show shock or fear despite knowing his deeds as a hit man for Shido, instead trying to change his actions this time around. None of the Phantom Thieves seemed to notice the reset in time, except for of course the leader himself. Akira didn’t notice right away, it took him the second reset to feel like something was amiss, going to Shujin for the first time again, meeting Ann and Ryuji, feeling like the conversation already happened. You both managed to notice his awareness the moment you “met” his eyes narrowing at Goro, not because of his betrayal, but because he was alive. Revealing your awareness  and explaining more in detail, Akira tried to contain his shock and most of all confusion, but agreed to help find a way out.

However, nothing worked and even he was getting desperate as each reset happened. This might be punishment, but what Goro wonders is why it wasn’t only for him, but for you and Akira as well. You sighed, slowly reading your hand to lay it on his shoulder, “Maybe because I was willing to take it with you. You don’t have to be alone, even in this- whatever you wanna call it, a punishment, curse-“

“You don’t get it!!” He pushed your hand away angrily, “The least I wanted was to pull you into this!! From the moment I stepped foot out of the apartment to go after them in Shido’s palace and told you not to follow, that was the goddamn moment you should of bolted and escaped from me!! But no, you decided it was best not to listen and be stupid by following me. You ruined yourself and for what? For a petty concept such as care and friendship” He sounded harsh, and yet you didn’t dare flinch, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“Hah, it’s for the same thing that you’re saying this now, idiot” you huffed, looking at him as if he was ludicrous. “What did you-“

“You didn’t want to involve me for the same reason, Goro. Because you cared, because you believed that if I saw you like that, I would be hurt, but guess fucking what, I didn’t. And I didn’t because for once I saw you, not the “look at me, I’m so charming” facade you mastered over time, and I wanted- “ you paused as you were building your resolve and stared directly at his eyes, “I wanted to see more of you, no matter how terrifying it could be, because at the end I’ll see my friend, not a monster. And I’m not justifying you. Yes, I was furious at what you did, but that didn’t mean giving up on you was the best thing to do, or leaving you to die. You will carry on your sins, and turn them into resolve to destroy this shitty system. Now we might died just a few more times-“ you narrowed your eyes and pinched your thumb and index finger close together while he wore a dumbfounded face.

“Buuut, that’s the price I took even if it meant spending all my Aprils and Mays and Junes just to get to spend more time with you” you quickly added, “even if you can be an asshole sometimes” at that, he actually slapped his hand over your mouth to shut you up, trying to keep your laughing at bay, “Keep it up and I just might be the biggest asshole and throw you out-“ you laughed harder at those words, getting him more irked. He let out a long sigh and removed his hand from your mouth, “You’re impossible”

——————————————————————

Akira was finally able to find you in the park, alone since Goro still had his work going on again. He looked disturbed in a way and serious, as if he was anxious to speak. You looked at him worryingly and with furrowed brows, “You do still remember, right? It took you quite some time now call us” you heard him hold in a breath and after a few seconds, released and began to speak, “This time when I woke up it was different, it’s going to sound weird but I kept hearing a voice”

“A voice? Did it sound familiar? Or what did it tell you?” You were brimming with curiosity now, this time it wasn’t him telling you of those dreams where he was in a cell. If something different happened, it must mean something.

“I could only hear it saying... “you have to let go” and I didn’t know what it meant. I kept hearing it this week, what I could pick from it was “loop” “break” “let” and yesterday at night it said.. “Akechi”” and after that she appeared and showed me. Her name was Lavenza, she explained everything, why she couldn’t reach me, why time keeps resetting... what caused it, and.. she told me how to stop it too” Akira stayed silent, scared of your reaction if you had already figured out what he meant, but he continued, “She told me to let Akechi- that we were supposed to let Akechi die back in Shido’s palace” he looked down, dark hair obscuring his eyes. He didn’t hear and he was getting scared that perhaps he made you in snap, but when he felt a hand harshly grab him by the collar of his uniform, he saw the judgmental look in your eyes and tears of anger starting to brim. You hands were shaking but the hold was tight, wanting him to stay still in order to listen to her words, “How..could you think..that we should just stand there.. and.. watch him die DAMMIT!!” You bursted out, “You what me to just stand there and look as they shoot him when we could something??!! I thought you all of people had at least a little regard for him” you tell him with disappointment in your voice.

“It’s not that I want him to die either!! It’s that if we keep trying to save him, he’s going to keep dying and dying, hurting him more and more!! Don’t you get it we changed something that was supposed to happen and now it’s like fate itself is getting back at us for it! We disrupted the order, even with you we-“ He suddenly kept quiet and you looked up at him, frowning, “What about me?”

....

“Akira! What about me?!” You shake him in your grasp, trying to the answer out of him, “You were never supposed to meet him either. Before what you thought was the first reset, well it was already the second. Lavenza showed me what happened the first time.. and there beside him there was no one” your eyes widened and you slowly let go of him stiffly. He tentatively continued, “The first reset was because of me, I took the shot for him and even though I didn’t die I had already changed something. That time, no one noticed that we went back in time, not even Akechi. But for some odd reason, you appeared on his way home and stumbled upon him, and for another more weird reason you became involved in his life and work, not even Lavenza can really explain but she says she has a wild guess.” Either way, the truth of the matter is, that we have to let everything run its course, y/n, even if none of us want it, I prefer letting him go than having Akechi suffer thousands of deaths. If you care for him, please you’ll know what you have to do that day, for everyone and him” he hesitantly put a hand on your shoulder and silently retreated back to Leblanc, leaving you dumbfounded and lost.

What was right? Letting the person you cared about more than anyone die in front of your eyes one last time and ending up alone? Or keep trying to find a solution while making him feel pain countless times? With those thoughts going rampage, tears started to flow freely to the ground and tiny sobs bubbled up in your throat.

You knew the answer, and yet you kept imagining a reality in where both of you could actually exist.

——————————————————————

It happened in the blink of an eye, the last thing from him a simple message that made you cry uncontrollably in the couch. This time you didn’t get to follow, he left without warning. Of course, he had found out as well, what he needed to do, he certainly wasn’t dumb. Wether it was your longing stares, your sad tone after a day with him without work in the way, or the words “this time we’ll make it right” by Akira and the far away looks he gave whenever Goro went for a cup of coffee, you even dared think there was also a hint of longing in his eyes just like yours.

You kept wailing and sobbing, your mind full of memories, of feelings, of words you can never say now, hand tightly clutching your phone. The screen was still brightly showing his message, and it was the only comfort you had that he didn’t feel pain anymore.

From Goro:

Thank you for being the best living pain in the ass in my life.

Because I care too much, I want you to live as if everything started all over again and you took another route from mine that day.

Goodbye, y/n, and thank you for the last months of letting me forget the pain and put a tiny smile in my face.

—————————————————————

December 24, a supposedly jolly day. But as you unusual rain pouring down and bones protruding form the ground, you couldn’t help but say to yourself with a resigned smile, “What a shitty and unfair world we happened to live in huh, Goro”

[nolanhollogay]

you’ve unlocked nate’s tragic backstory congrats!! @juliesdahlias @richitozier @witchofinterest

cw: talk of sex in the beginning (nothing explicit and nothing happens but u know i dont want anyone to be uncomfy), talk of and descriptions of child abuse, blood and stabbing

-

"No," Dick grumbled, glaring down at him. He was sitting on Nate's thighs, his legs tucked underneath himself as he frowned in playful displeasure.

Nate whined. "Why not?" he asked, walking his fingers up the inseam of Dick's jeans. His nails were painted a pretty purple color at Rachel's request and they looked exceptionally lovely against the dark blue denim.

Dick grabbed his hand to stop it's wandering. His palm was warm around Nate’s cold fingers. "It's 3pm." 

"Time isn't real. It's a man made construct," Nate countered, tangling their fingers together. He didn't even really care all that much about having sex anymore, he just liked to argue.

"That doesn't mean we don't have to follow it," Dick said, rolling his eyes. 

"So what? We can only have sex after 8pm? We're not straight people, Richard."

Dick laughed, face lighting up in surprise and Nate's heart sang.

"No, we’re not, but like, calm down. Wait a bit. You're like a rabbit," he said, kissing Nate's forehead. Nate smiled and pulled him into a kiss with a hand on the back of his neck.

"I have a pair of bunny ears, if you're into the kind of thing," he joked against his mouth, just to hear him laugh again. 

Dick tried to keep the kiss calm and sweet but Nate didn't really have the patience for that. He slid his tongue between Dick's teeth, pulling him closer by his hair. Dick, for all of his protesting before, didn't seem too upset about it.

-

Nate had just gotten Dick's shirt off, throwing it to the floor, when his bedroom door opened.

He let out a loud annoyed groan at being interrupted. He couldn't handle any more robbers or people who wanted to beat him up. He really needed to invest in a better lock

He looked over Dick's shoulder and groaned again when he saw his father standing there. He was wearing a god awful trench-coat that was the color of olives and an unimpressed look. He looked older then when Nate had seen him last, around ten months ago over a Skype call. His hair was more gray than black and there were more wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. 

What was he even doing here?

Nate pushed Dick out of his lap causing him to grunt in surprise. "Hi Dad," he said, forcing a smile. It probably looked as fake as it felt.

"I guess I know why you weren't answering my text messages," Nate's father said with a hint of a smile. Dick went pink in the face and grabbed his shirt from the ground, pulling it back on.

Nate shrugged. He'd been ignoring his father's texts for months for a variety of reasons. He'd seen the texts about him visiting that morning but assumed it meant some time in the near future, not that day.

Nate's father cleared his throat, looking between him and Dick with a raised eyebrow. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

Nate made a noise of annoyance in the back of his throat. He didn't want to introduce them. He wanted them to stay so far away from each other that they didn't know the other existed.

"Dick, this is my father. Dad, this is my boyfriend, Dick," he said, gesturing between them with his hand.

Dick smiled, charming but nervous and Nate’s heart turned into liquid despite his growing anger.

"Uh, nice to meet you sir," he said, reaching out to shake his hand. Nate's dad took it, looking less than enthusiastic. When they dropped hands, he looked Dick up and down, taking in his muscle and his messed up hair.

"I don't like him," he said in Mandarin, sending Nate a disapproving look.

Nate rolled his eyes. "I didn't think you would," he replied in English, just to piss him off.

"You could have at least told me you were seeing someone, Minjun," he said, once again in Mandarin.

Nate let out a humorless laugh. There was something dark and sad crawling inside his chest. He felt twitchy and ready to snap, like a caged animal. "Yeah, but then you would have gotten mad at me," he all but growled.

"Why would I be mad at you for dating someone?" his father asked, looking genuinely puzzled. Nate watched the realization hit him and he was given a look so pitying that it made rage dance under his skin. He wanted to bite someone.

"Minjun, I'm not your mother. I'm not going to hurt you or be mad at you for every little thing. You're an adult who's free to make his own decisions," he said. Then he quickly added, "Within reason." Nate scoffed. Of course he decided to switch back to English to say that. 

Nate rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Dick sent him a confused looked, mouth twisted down in a frown.

"Is there anything you needed?" Nate asked, trying not to curl his fists at his sides. Or did he just come over to ruin Nate's day and unearth his trauma for no reason?

His dad shook his head. "No, not right now. But we'll make dinner together tomorrow and talk. I'll call you."

"Okay," Nate replied briskly.

Nate watched him go, seething silently. Dick watched him, eyes locked on the clench of his jaw.

"What just happened?" he asked, voice flooded with concern.

Nate didn’t want to talk about it. "That was my dad," he said vaguely.

Dick rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it. "I gathered that, yeah. What was he saying? That stuff about your mom.. And what was he calling you?"

"Minjun. It's my name. My other name. And I don't want to talk about it. Not right now," Nate explained. He still felt caged. He was hit with the urge to break something, like the lamp on his desk.

"Okay. Fine with me," Dick said with a nod and a small smile. Then he asked, "Can I give you a hug?"

Nate laughed despite his rage. "Why are you asking? Freak."

Dick made an annoyed noise. "Because you're all tense. I don't want to touch you if it don't want to be touched."

"You're so soft. It's disgusting,” Nate said, sending him a smile. “Give me a stupid hug."

Dick wrapped his arms around his Nate’s waist, pulling him close. Nate buried his face in his neck, sighing. This was the one place he felt truly comfortable, wrapped in Dick’s strong arms.

-

It wasn’t until much later that Nate brought up his family again. They were lying in his bed, with Nate turned away from Dick, looking out of his window. The moon was full and bright, and he locked his stare onto it to give himself something to focus on as he told Dick his story.

"My mom is shitty,” Nate explained, unprompted. He knew Dick wouldn’t have brought it up again because he said he didn’t want to talk about it, but he needed to get it off his chest. it had been eating at him all day, like a parasite in his stomach. “She used to hit me and burn me with her cigarettes and she hated me. She's the reason I have the scar on my back." 

Dick ran his fingers over it, the raised pink skin that interrupted the smooth expanse of his back. It was a line that was just off center and it would have been perfectly straight if not for the jagged curve at the end.

"What happened?" Dick asked, voice soft. Something cracked in Nate’s chest, but he ignored it.

Nate cleared his throat as the vivid memories hit him. He just had to focus on the moon and ignore the phantom pains. Ignore the feeling of blood trickling down his back and the blade under his skin.

"She, uh, got mad at me for something. I don't remember what, but she pinned me to the kitchen floor and tried to kill me. Said she was gonna rip my heart out from the back so I didn't have to see it,” he said. He remembered the sweetness in her voice as she said. He’d never heard it before that moment and he didn’t like it all. ”She would've gotten farther than she did if my dad hadn't come home from work early. That's why it's crooked at the bottom. Because he yanked her away from me from the side."

Dick mumbled, "Jesus Christ," which made him laugh.

"After that he shipped me out here to the States to live with my uncle when I was like sixteen. To get me away from her and so he didn't have to deal with all my bullshit and trauma. It's why he was trying to be nice earlier. He feels guilty."

Dick kissed his shoulder, wrapping his arm around his waist. "That's so terrible. I'm sorry you had to live through that."

Nate shrugged. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. It doesn't really matter."

"Of course it matters," Dick argued. "That's something that you have to carry with you every day." 

Nate turned around to face him and Dick saw something on his face that made him kiss him, gentle and slow.

“Don’t get all soft on me,” Nate grumbled. “I’m not broken or something. I’m just traumatized and that’s my burden to live with.”

Dick’s eyebrows wrinkled as he thought of how to reply. Nate smoothed the lines out with his pointer finger.

“I love you,” he settled on. “I know we’re both weird about saying it cause we’re our own kinds of emotionally fucked up, but I do. Not just cause you told me about your family or cause you’re a good kisser. And I want you to know that someone loves you unconditionally.”

Nate’s face twisted as his eyes filled with tears. He huffed in anger and embarrassment at his body’s reaction. He wasn’t going to cry over this.

He buried his face in Dick’s chest as he tried to collect himself. “I hate you. You gross me out,” he croaked out.

Dick laughed, Nate feeling it from where his face was pressed against his bare skin. Dick ran his fingers through his hair making him sigh.

“Love you too,” he finally replied as he felt himself starting to drift into sleep.

There was a smile in Dick’s voice as he responded, “I know you do.”

[darks-ink]

Living So Dangerous

Phantom had tried to kill her. It was undeniable. Now she just had to end him before he could finish the job.

Prompt: Val thought Danny tried to kill her, when Technus was possessing her suit.  After a bitter and brutal fight, they actually get a chance to hash some things out. Prompt by: @hpwot Word count: 5,048

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

Content warning: serious injuries, serious misunderstandings. Happy ending!

---

Valerie’s new suit buzzed angrily in the back of her head. Like a rush of static, like the clicking of tiny plates of metal, like the fury she’d been holding in her chest since Phantom first ruined her life.

It was… bizarre. She wasn’t sure where she got it from. It was definitely no normal tech, but… but not using it was no option. Leaving the town in Phantom’s hands? Absolutely not.

Humming. An internal alarm. Another ghost near Casper High.

She sighed, raising her hand. Asked if she could please leave to go to the toilet. Her feet carried her outside, to a hidden nook, before she knew it.

Valerie clicked her heels together, remembered that this suit didn’t do that, and then startled when it did it anyway. It was… controlled by her thoughts, possibly. That was her running theory, anyway.

Metal pooled from… somewhere. Someplace she didn’t want to think about. It coated her, shifting into sturdy plates of black and red.

She called for her hoverboard, mentally, and watched more of the liquid metal pour of the soles of her feet. It formed something like her old hoverboard, but not quite, split almost entirely in two huge prongs.

Her hands felt out the helmet, so different from the soft mask she’d worn before. It was hard to tell that she was really wearing it; her vision was almost unhindered. She had spent quite some time in front of the mirror, carefully running over the new suit. Checking the inventory, checking the strongest and weakest parts. Checking that the helmet really did hide her face.

Valerie Gray was no fool. Wherever this suit had come from, she didn’t trust it.

Still, there was a ghost out there. And only one ghost hunter she trusted to deal with it.

The hoverboard lifted off of the ground before she’d even finished the thought. Thankfully, the ghost was easy enough to spot.

Both of them were.

One was some sort of animal ghost, something cat-like but with a reptilian tail. It ran over the street, claws tearing up the asphalt, people screaming and forced to jump out of its way.

Behind it was Phantom, because of course. The ghost was chasing the cat, barely catching up on it.

And Valerie knew that he could go far faster than that cat was going.

She could feel her heart pounding, the rush of blood in her ears. How dare that ghost. After he’d ruined her life, after that violent attempt at murdering her. Still he pretended to be a hero?

Wind whistled past her, careening past the sharp edges of her suit. She pressed lower against her hoverboard. Diving, diving, diving.

The board flattened out just above the street, losing none of its momentum. In front of her, the two ghosts took a bend. Shit.

A twist so sharp it led her into a spiral—losing her precious speed—carried her around the bend, too. Phantom had put on a burst of speed, finally catching up to the other ghost. He hit it with a blast of green, the cat stumbling into the street, down.

Valerie hit the brakes, stopping on one side of the cat. Phantom hovered on the other, his Thermos already in his hands.

“Phantom!” she snapped at him.

“One moment!” he yelled back, like they were here just to have some sort of casual conversation. He uncapped the Thermos, quickly snapping up the other ghost. “Okay, got it. What’s up?”

What’s up? What’s up?

She felt her anger roil, and her suit responded in kind. The plates on her shoulder shifted, clicking apart to reveal a gun. Aimed straight at Phantom, of course.

“Woah, hold on,” the ghost stammered, clicking the Thermos onto his belt with one hand and raising the other. “Come on, Red, there’s no need for that.”

“No need for it?” She clenched her hands, the edges of the metal pressing into her flesh despite the armor. “No need for it?! Says the ghost who tried to kill me!”

“Kill you?” he echoed, blankly, before yelping and ducking just under a shot of pink ectoplasm. “Red, I never—”

“I’m not listening to your lies for another second.” She fired another shot at him, Phantom barely evading it by dodging upwards. “Get back here!”

“No thanks!” Phantom sped higher, grimacing when he saw her following him. “Can we do this some other time? I kind of have something to get back to!”

She growled wordlessly. The next shot hit him in the arm.

Phantom yelped, dropping a few feet before catching his flight again. “Red! Can’t we just talk about this?”

“I know what I saw!” She exchanged her gun for a bigger one, a more powerful one. It felt comfortably heavy in her hands, the buzz of it charging resounding in her chest. “And I’m not letting my guard down just so you can finish what you started!”

“I didn’t—” He swore, a shield barely blocking the shot. “Valerie!”

“How do you know my name, Phantom?” Her heartbeat sped up even further. She’s pretty sure he had used her name in the past, but it never really stood out to her.

But he tried to kill her, mere days ago. He knew who she was outside the suit, and he was prepared to kill her. What was stopping him from going after her father to lure her out? From attacking her in a situation where she can’t suit up?

He shielded another blast. “What’s gotten into you?” he yelled over the sound of the ectoplasm splattering apart. “Why are you so angry today?”

“You tried to kill me!” she snapped back, trying to command the panels on her gauntlets to open for more guns to shoot at him. “And you’re pretending it never happened!”

“What are talking about?” he dropped his shield, trying to give her some kind of earnest look, eyes big and watery. “Valerie, I never even wanted you hurt!”

“Tell that to my old suit and the hole you punched in its chest!” She fired all three guns, just out of sync from each other. Phantom dodged the ecto-gun, but hadn’t seen the two guns on her gauntlets.

He dropped another few feet, his jumpsuit seared on the arm and leg, exposing reddened skin. “You weren’t even in that!”

“Guess I got lucky.” The smaller guns weren’t doing it; she needed the big one to really lay the hurt into Phantom. “But you won’t.”

She managed to summon the smaller cubes, now. The three of them hovered over her shoulders. Locked onto Phantom.

Fired.

The ghost dodged all three blasts again, releasing a relieved sigh.

Didn’t see the fourth blast coming.

Phantom crashed down onto the roof of a nearby building. The pained noise he produced almost sounded real.

Valerie dove after him, quickly. Didn’t want him to get away.

It didn’t seem like he had any intention of doing so, however, because Phantom was flattened onto the roof. The blast has burned off a large portion of the jumpsuit on his chest, and damaged the false skin underneath. Damaged it so badly, in fact, that green ectoplasm bubbled up from it.

Bingo.

She hovered just over the roof as Phantom pushed himself into a seated position. “Stay down, Phantom, or I’m putting you down.”

“What is wrong with you today?” His glow flickered brighter for a moment, swirling violently. “I didn’t even do anything!”

“I’m not falling for that!” She charged another shot into the gun, felt the energy pulse throughout her entire body. “Now smile for the little birdie.”

He grunted, suddenly dropping backwards. Gone.

Fuck, he’d phased through the roof.

Valerie dragged her ghost scanner to the front of her mind again. Come on, she really needed its help right now.

Or… maybe not. Phantom hovered at the side of the building, tangible again. Pressed against the wall like she could somehow miss his glowing ass.

It was just so… so enraging. This stupid little ghost, and his stupid little trick, and his stupid dumbassery. It made her wish she could strangle him.

But she’d settle for absolutely wrecking his shit.

Her suit pulsed with energy, and it felt like a light bulb turning on in Valerie’s head. Now there’s an idea.

She was in full control of the suit. Could control it mentally. And anger… anger was entirely mental. So what was stopping her from pouring her anger into an ecto-blast fit to obliterate Phantom?

Valerie dove after Phantom, trying to bunch up all her anger into a little ball of fury in her chest. The ghost spotted her too soon, however, pushing off of the wall.

Another chase. No matter; his injury slowed him down. She could keep up, now.

But, god. Was it infuriating to see him dance like that, twirling through the sky like he hadn’t done anything wrong. Like he was just having a jaunt through the city.

Her anger felt electric, red-hot and boiling. She was right on his tail.

Valerie fired.

Phantom must’ve heard the noise, somehow, because he twisted to look. A stupid mistake, but one she’d gladly take.

The enormous pink ecto-blast hit him right in the stomach. Right below where she’d already injured him.

He screamed, flung into the ground with enough force to leave a crater. Didn’t dissipate, though.

She lowered herself to the ground as well, her hoverboard sliding back into her feet. Landed on the edge of the crater, stumbling a little. That blast had taken all of her anger, all of her energy.

God, she just felt tired now.

Phantom groaned, lying in his crater. His entire front was covered in ectoplasm, splattered all over his arms and legs and even his face.

She…

She didn’t feel as good as she thought she would’ve. As she should’ve.

This ghost tried to kill her. The only reason why he hadn’t succeeded was because she’d gotten lucky. Because some other ghost had hijacked her suit.

So why did she feel so bad about it now? Yes, he looked like a mess, but ghosts didn’t even feel pain! All his pathetic groaning was just a show!

But her anger had stilled to just a little cinder. A spark with no real heat behind it.

“How are you still kicking?” she grumbled, just loud enough that Phantom could hear. A quick glance confirmed that the park was empty. That, at least, was good news.

Phantom groaned, hands pressed to his torso. Stained his white gloves green with his own ectoplasm.

Not much of a victory, was it?

Valerie stepped over the edge of the crater, carefully. Slid down until she stood crouched over Phantom’s downed body. “Can’t you just give up? Or am I going to have to drive a fist through your chest like you tried with me?”

“I— I didn’t.” His voice was drawn taught with pain. It wasn’t real, Valerie knew, but it sure felt like it. “Wasn’t you.”

“Yeah, no shit.” She lowered herself even further, eyes roving over Phantom’s body. That last ecto-blast had certainly done some damage; his jumpsuit had burnt off to the point where most of his front was exposed. The skin was clearly burned, even if it bled in green instead of red. “I was lucky I wasn’t in that.”

“Knew you weren’t,” he said, voice soft and faltering. “Saw you.”

She felt her breath hitch at that. “So, what? Was it just for intimidation? Did you hope that destroying my suit would stop me from going after you?”

“No. Yes. I—” He coughed, the sound sudden and harsh. Rattled his entire body.

Phantom hissed through his teeth, eyes clenching with imagined pain. “Wanted the suit gone. Both of us safe.”

“What?” Was he… was he really pretending he was keeping her safe? “Ghosts would’ve come after me, whether I’m armed or not!”

“Armed or actively hunting… different.” He shifted slightly, one hand feeling out the edges of his injuries. “They wouldn’t have, anyway. I think.”

“No?” She scoffed. “Why? Because you would’ve stopped them? Big words for the ghost three seconds away from destabilizing.”

He groaned again. “Won’t,” he said, like he could just will it into being. Maybe he could. Ghosts were strange things. “They’re… looking for amusement. No fun if the target won’t fight back.”

“Amusement?” she echoed, despite herself. Was that all they were, to ghosts? A fun toy? “Is that what you are doing? Fighting others, destroying this town, destroying people’s lives, for fun?”

“No.” He shook his head, shifting rubble with the movement. “They do. I protect.”

“Didn’t look like protection when you buried a fist in my chest, pal.” She prodded him in the upper arm with a finger. “You gonna destabilize or do I need to hit you again?”

“It wasn’t you,” he insisted. The hand he’d been moving came to a halt on his chest.

It started glowing blue.

“What are you doing?!” she snapped at him.

He flinched. The glowing didn’t stop.

“Cooling,” he hissed through his teeth, forced.

Cooling. He was cooling his injuries, with her standing right over him. For fuck’s sake, what was wrong with ghosts?

“You really think that ‘it wasn’t you’ is good enough, Phantom?” It wasn’t as heated as she wanted it to be. She wasn’t as heated as she wanted to be. She just felt burnt out and tired. Wanted this day to be over.

“What else do you want?” His hand was moving, slowly. Left ice coated over his injuries. Finally, he opened one eye to peer at her. It was blue, now. No longer that vivid green but an equally vivid shade of blue, literally glowing.

Since when do ghosts change eye-color like that?

“I want you to just tell me what the fuck you want from me! That stupid dog of yours ruined my life, and then I finally got some control back by hunting ghosts, and you’re constantly in my way! You destroyed my equipment, in a way that could’ve killed me if I’d been in it! And you have the nerve to tell me that you’re keeping me safe!”

“I am, Val.” His free arm shifted, and Phantom pushed himself up slightly. He was curled up on himself, still, the icy hand pressed against his injuries. His face twisted in pain.

It didn’t feel nearly as fake as it had, before.

“Ghost hunting is dangerous, Valerie. Your suit can’t protect you from everything.” He was looking at her with both eyes narrowed, now. Two slits of icy blue. “Your employer won’t care if something happens to you. He’ll just move on to the next opportunity.”

“What do you know about my employer?” she snapped back, ignoring the way she felt like he’d dumped a bucket of ice over her. She barely knew her employer. He was Vlad Masters, yes, but what did anyone really know about the man? No one even knew he was still interested in ghosts, in ghost hunting.

Phantom snorted. “More than I’d like to. He’s not a good man. What kind of person gives ghost hunting equipment to a fourteen-year-old?”

“I— He trusted me!”

“More than he trusts any of his employees? Any of the professionals he can hire?” Phantom angled his head slightly. His eyes felt like they were staring right through her. “Or are you just a good pick because he’s got power over you? Who would ever believe you?”

“Vlad Masters is a good man!” Her anger flickered, but did not ignite again. Damn her, why hadn’t she just gone for the weaker shots, instead of burning through everything in one go! “He tries to keep us all safe!”

“He’s brought more ghosts into this town than I have, even if I count myself!” Phantom shifted, but stilled immediately with a hiss of pain. “Ignoring the animal ghosts that he’s made himself, he’s responsible for all kinds of shit. Skulker, you remember him? He’s one of Vlad’s hires.”

She hadn’t used his name. Phantom shouldn’t have known Vlad Masters was the one who’d given her the equipment.

“So just the one ghost, who seems fixated on you anyway?” The attempt felt feeble, but she pushed through anyway. “Not exactly convincing evidence, Phantom.”

“What about the ghost king? Pariah Dark, who dragged this town into the Ghost Zone?” Almost his entire front was covered in ice, now. His glow seemed weaker than it had before. “Why do you think he was here? Hunting for a priceless ghost artifact?”

A priceless ghost artifact which Mr. Masters had had. Which he’d just passed onto her, because he trusted her. Or because he wanted her to take the fall for him?

Phantom must’ve sensed her hesitation, because he continued, despite the wavering in his voice, despite the way he shook. “And Plasmius, the vampire ghost. You don’t see him often, but you’re feeling his impact, I can guarantee it. There might be more— I would bet that there’s more.”

“You— You don’t have any proof of this. Can’t have any proof of it.” She stood up, straightened herself to her full height to loom over him. He was just a despicable ghost. He didn’t get to do this.

“Yeah, because Vlad isn’t stupid enough to leave that stuff out and about.” Phantom rolled his eyes, lifting his hand off of his torso. Its blue glow faded, and in sync, his eyes shifted back to green. “You can ask some of the humans, if you don’t trust my word. All of the Fentons, bar Jack, dislike Vlad for a variety of reasons. I know that Danny and Jazz know about Vlad’s connection with ghosts.”

“So you want me to let you escape, to let you live another day, just so I can follow up on those lies?” She scoffed. “Fat chance.”

“You asked for proof.” Phantom had to twist his head to stare up at her, eyes still narrowed. “Come on, what will it take to convince you? I’m trying, Red. Throw me a bone!”

“I just want someone to be honest with me for once!” she snapped before flinching. She hadn’t meant to say that. Well, fuck. Truck over it, Valerie! “Nothing is ever fucking real. It’s all false relationships and lies, through and through! And the few honest things I get to have get ruined because of ghosts! Because of you!”

Phantom stared up at her, wide-eyed. “Valerie, I—”

“No, shut up! I’m not done!” She balled her fists. The metal plates dug into her hand through the gloves, but she didn’t care. Not anymore. “I had everything I could’ve wanted! But then that stupid dog of yours lost my dad his job, destroyed our stuff, and now we’re broke as shit! All my friends abandoned me, and I had to get a job just to help support my family! Goodbye, spare time!”

She breathed out, noisily. “But I got ghost hunting gear from some anonymous source! And yeah, it was a little sketchy, but it let me make a difference! I got to help! Even if it was hard, at least it made me feel like I was doing something! And I— I made friends! Or… A friend, at least! It was nice!”

Her shoulders shook with tension. “Until I watched you plunge a fist through the chest of my suit.” She stared down at Phantom, but he’d turned his face away. She couldn’t read his expression anymore. “And that’s when I realized I couldn’t have any of that anymore. Because you—and other ghosts, but mostly you—were gunning for me. Because you would kill me if you got the chance.”

“Valerie—” he started, feebly, not even turning his head to face her again.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped back. “I… You took away the one thing I had control over. You destroyed my suit, and now you’re telling me that the guy who gave it to me was just using me as a tool? That I’d never been in full control of what was going on?”

Her next exhale was wet. Shaky. “You really… You really can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“Valerie,” he said again. Turned those big wet eyes up to her. “God, I… I mean, obviously I can’t empathize with all of that, but… You think I never went through any of that? I mean—” He laughed. It was quaky and humorless. “I died, Valerie. How much else can you lose, right? And now I’m just trying to help my hometown, and what do I get as thanks?”

He waved a hand over his torso. The sprawling injury—the combined surface area of both shots—was covered entirely in ice, but that couldn’t hide the vicious green underneath. She’d really done a number on him.

“Ghost hunters are after me all the time. The town changes its mind on whether I’m good or bad on a whim, like everything I did before that moment didn’t matter! Like I’m not constantly trying to save everyone, like I’m not doing my constant best!”

Phantom laughed again, leading it into a hacking cough. “And yeah, sometimes I mess up. Sometimes a ghost slips past, or I don’t stop them until they ravage a factory. But, fuck. Doesn’t everybody screw up sometimes? Isn’t that just part of being human? Or was that supposed to leave when we die, when we become a ghost? Because, ooh boy, I think I might’ve missed that step.”

“You are a mess,” she countered, but it didn’t feel as heated as she’d intended. She let herself slump down, until she sat next to him. “If this is all so terrible, why don’t you just… leave. You’re a ghost. Go back to the Ghost Zone, or whatever.”

“The ghosts won’t stop coming just because I’m not here, you know?” He sighed, pulling up his knees and resting his arms on them. The ice on his stomach creaked. “They’ll keep attacking, constantly. Do you know how many ghosts invade this town on a daily basis? How many people could get hurt if I’m not watching, 24/7?”

He huffed out something that was almost a laugh. “The Fentons sure don’t. I thought about it, y’know? Taking a break, at least, see how the town would fare without me. But there are so many ghost attacks that they don’t know about. That you don’t know about.”

“Because you stop them before we can. So if you did leave, we’d learn about all those attacks, too.”

“You’d all run yourselves ragged.” He shook his head. His hair was stiffer than usual, stained with his own ectoplasm. “Even if you and the Fentons coordinated, you would all have to deal with almost constant attacks. At all times. How many ghosts do you think attack at night, when you guys are all asleep?” He laughed, bitterly. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“So why didn’t you take that break?” She turned to narrow her eyes at him, not that he could tell with the helmet. “Show us why we were wrong?”

“Because that’d hurt people.” He moved to run a hand through his hair but stopped almost immediately, grimacing at the ectoplasm on his glove. Instead he turned to unleash his big green eyes on her once more. “It’d hurt you, and it’d hurt the Fentons, and it would hurt everyone else in the town. I couldn’t… I can’t let that happen. Hurt so many people, just because a few of them sucked.”

“Sounds like catharsis to me.” She shrugged. “It’d be an eye-opener.”

“It would hurt countless people. People like you. People like my friends, like my family.”

It felt like her heart stilled in her chest.

His family?

“You have family living in this city?” She squinted at him. He looked like a teenager, yeah, but everyone knew ghosts didn’t age worth shit. He could be decades old, centuries old. “Friends?”

Phantom froze. His glow flickered, like it kicked up a notch. “Um,” he said, and she realized that he hadn’t even meant to say that.

Wow.

What a heart to heart they were having.

“Well, that explains why you’re trying so hard.” She forced herself into a more casual sitting position, draped a hand over her leg, like she wasn’t coated head to toe in ghost-proof armor. “I bet way more people would be open to your help if they knew the real reason, Phantom.”

“I do want to help everyone,” he snipped back. His glow softened again. “It’s just… Yeah, my family and my friends are the reason why I keep fighting, even when everyone else shits on me. When my own family rants about how despicable I am.”

“They don’t know?” She ran her eyes over him. He didn’t look… all that strange, for a ghost. Pretty human. Yeah, she didn’t recognize him either, but… “How can they not?”

He shrugged. “Might be willful ignorance. Would you want your kid to be me?”

“I guess that that explains why you knew it wasn’t me in the suit,” she begrudgingly allowed. “You would’ve recognized me outside it, too.”

“That, and I spent plenty of time hanging around Casper High to recognize the bigger players.” He raised his hand, but then paused to stare at it. Seemed to think better of whatever automated motion he’d been going for, because he dropped it again. “That place is a ghost magnet like you wouldn’t believe.”

Well, now there was a reminder of all the class she was accidentally skipping out on.

“Yeah,” she said instead of lingering on that thought. “I guess that that’s fair.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the ghost hunter and the ghost.

“Look, Val. Ghost hunting is rough business.” He gestured at his iced-over injury. “Trust me, I’d know. I just… didn’t want you to get involved if you didn’t have to. You’ll get hurt. You have gotten hurt. But… But it was wrong of me to try and take that choice away from you. To try and take that little bit of control out of your hands.”

Now there was an apology she hadn’t expected to get. Almost destroy a ghost, and he apologizes to her? Phantom had issues, man.

“Well, uh. Thanks, I guess? For the apology.” She felt awkward, now. Thrown off of her footing. “Sorry for shooting you. And… all the blaming and stuff.”

“It’s not the worst injury I’ve gotten.” He shifted, hissed in pain. “But it’s up there. Yeesh, Val, how’d you even get that much punch into a single shot?”

“I, uh.” She rubbed her hand in her neck, the plates clicking against each other. “The suit kind of… works on a mental link? So I figured I would try and pour all my anger and frustration into it.”

Phantom blinked at her, stunned. “Well, damn. That’s one way of doing it.”

“It felt… relieving, in a way, I guess. But now I just feel bad about shooting you down.” She nudged his leg with her own, gently. “Can I… Is there anything I can do?”

“Honestly? Can you take patrol duty this night?” He laughed, uncertainly, playing with the hem of his gloves. “I’m gonna need some proper medical care for this one, I think.”

“Ghosts do medical care?”

He raised an unimpressed brow. “We get injured, why wouldn’t we do medical care?”

“Fair enough.” She sighed, pushed herself upright. A moment of hesitation, then she held out a hand for Phantom. “Deal. You need more time for that injury?”

“I’ll manage.” He took her hand, let her pull him up. He was startlingly light, which surprised her until he remained floating in the air after she let go. “Thanks. And, uh. Thanks for the talk. I’m glad we finally got through all this shit, even if I had to get shot down for it to happen.”

She let out a startled laugh. “Yeah, well. Thank you for the talk, too, even though I just shot you down.” After a beat of hesitation, she held out her hand. “Truce?”

“Truces are only temporary.” He made a face. “And I’m not too big on those anymore because everyone always breaks them by suddenly shooting me.”

Phantom held out his own hand, just away from hers. “Allies?”

“Semantics,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes. She took the hand and shook it. “Fine. Allies.”

He floated around her, slowly. “So, um. Before I leave… You said that this suit works with a mental link?”

“Yeah?” she turned to match his rotation, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

“It’s just…” He blew out a noisy breath. “Technus made it, and I don’t trust him to make human-safe material. I know your identity is a big deal, but you might want to consider getting it checked out, just to be safe. Ectoplasm poisoning is a terrible way to die.”

Now that was an awful thing to drop on someone like that. “Phantom, what the hell! Who am I even supposed to ask for help with this?!” She balled her fists, feeling the flame of anger rear its head once more. “The only ghost experts are the Fentons, and they’ll go crazy over something like this!”

“The parents, yeah, but the kids are way better with this sort of stuff.” He gestured at the Thermos on his belt—it had gotten dented at some point during their fight. “Where do you think I get this stuff?”

“Oh. I guess I just… assumed you’d stolen it, like the Fentons keep claiming.”

He rolled his eyes. “Typical. But really, ask the Fenton kids. I think the son is about your age, right? Not sure how well you know each other, but… he’s reliable. He won’t tell anyone if you don’t want him to.”

Reliable, Danny Fenton? Now that was something you didn’t hear very often. At least it would give her an opportunity to explain why she broke up with him.

“I’ll… keep it in mind,” she told Phantom. “Anyway, I promise I’ll do patrol tonight. Go take care of that injury.”

Phantom grinned down at her, saluting playfully. “Gotcha. Bye, Val!”

“Yeah. Bye, Phantom.”

She watched him leave. Confirmed that there was no one watching, and let the armor retreat back under her skin.

Maybe she would take up his advice.

[lenalikesboots]

Bootleg Review n°1

So I watched this bootleg video yesterday and I must say...I’m impressed,

From what I know, this is the oldest video out there of the West End production of Love Never Dies. It’s completely pre-changes - it uses the soundtrack from the original album.

The leads are played by  Ramin Karimloo (as Erik), Sierra Boggess (as Christine), Joseph Millson (as Raoul), Summer Strallen (as Meg), Liz Robertson (As Mme. Giry), Richard Linnell (as Gustav)

What really bothered me at first is that it’s missing about 25 minutes from Act 1. Everything in between Till I Hear You Sing and Mother Please I’m Scared is missing. The bootleg is otherwise complete. There is some washout in bright lights and the camera strays at times from the action, and there’s a  bar that blocks some of the actors, but otherwise, this is a very a decent bootleg. 

I liked seeing the scenes that they cut off in the Australian production. I thought it was interesting. 

The Coney Island Walz is instrumental only, and it serves as kind of an Overture thing, in which, just like in Phantom, they take you back in time and set the whole setting of the show.

It goes all the way back to opening night of Phantasma. 

In the beginning, there are people chattering about the new amusement park, wanting to go in. 

After that, we get to see the whole only-for-him; only-for-you thing, which I thought was cool.

Also- Although I do think that it’s possible Meg has developed the hots for Erik,this Meg seems to just want a promotion. She’s in love with her career, not with her boss. I genuinely like that!

In Summer’s portrayal, Meg seems to be giving 110%, and wants nothing more than to be noticed and have her work appreciated. Of course it’s a blow for her when her mother told her that her boss didn’t care enough to show up. It’d be a blow for anyone, really, because it means your work is alright, but still not outstanding. What’s next, he doesn’t even know her name? Calls her Meghan, instead of Meg? 

Anyways- it’s safe to say, I like Summer’s portrayal of Meg a lot!

Next we move on to Till I Hear You Sing! I absolutely loved the way Ramin sang it for this performance!

It was absolutely breathtaking!

I’ve had chills so many times listening to him sing it, like damn!

Unfortunately, the recording stops right after that and picks back up at Mother Please I’m Scared, where it’s really mostly audio and you can’t really see a thing. 

I must say, I liked this Dear Old Friend! I liked how this time, Meg didn’t sound judgemental of the fact that Christine stopped singing to become a full-time wife and mother.

And I liked how instead of sounding bitter, Meg sounds rather confused when Christine said she was going to sing. 

Moving on- in the middle of Dear Old Friend, Gustav runs off. 

Obviously, he goes to see Erik. 

And here we come to the first thing I didn[’t like about the show: Ramin’s Erik is really cold and mean towards Gustav in this performance particularly. I know that it’s only because he believes him to be Raoul’s son but come on- even if Raoul were Gustav’s father, it’s not the child’s fault! You can’t choose your own parents goddamn it!

I liked Beauty Underneath...kind of...idk,. I generally don’t like the vibe this song gives me. 

I liked the whole “wow! You and I think the same!” idea, but the way they carried it out was bordering on genuinely creepy.

Next up! Erik takes his mask off and...fucks everything up. Kid runs away. 

I liked Christine’s reaction to all of this. I liked how she asks Madame Giry to take him away and how she apologises to Erik for her child’s reaction. 

And here we come to another of the things I didn’t like about Ramin’s portrayal of the character...Repeat after me: You do NOT strangle the woman you thought could possibly have bore your child. You. Do. NOT. 

And you do not tighten your grip when she accuses you of abandoning her- especially if you DID abandon her! Dammit Ramin! Why so angry?

Good thing that he releases her- HOWEVER...

Why so angry Ramin??? Damn!!!

Then she tries to kiss him (which I must admit- was out of nowhere) and he pulls away, still looking super angry.

 I get it-he feels awful that not even his own son can accept him the way he is. I get it. 

BUT...why take it all out on Christine?

Poor girl already had to go through enough because of him. 

Moving on: there are a few other things I didn’t like...but this time, I won’t put the blame just on Ramin.

Number one: when he uncovers his face, Christine turns away. Isn’t that kind of contradicting the whole idea behind “This haunted face holds no horror for me now”?

I understand that his face may not be the prettiest sight, and I understand that she was kinda shocked-after all she hasn’t seen it in 10,almost 11 years. Buuuut she didn’t have to full on turn away.. I thought that directing/acting choice was a little over the top. 

And number two: after Christine leaves, Erik is left all alone to think about what just happens. He seems to be a really proud dad at first...but then there is one line that really threw me off, considering what happens in the next act. “If it’s true, I’ve no reason to live” 

Uhm...dude?? If you’re planning to kill yourself, why the hell would you make a bet, which would be forcing your baby-mama and your kid to stay in America if you’d win it (and you already know you will) ?

And if he suddenly had a change of heart before that, why didn’t we get to see any of that happen? What motivated him? What made him change his mind?

Did Christine maybe ask him to make that bet? It wouldn’t be a surprise if she did....

And I am not saying this to hate on Raoul! I absolutely love Raoul and pity him greatly in Love Never Dies. He’s not an abusive monster. He’s sick! Not only is he suffering from an addiction, but he also seems to be suffering from depression.

He blames himself for all of Christine’s suffering- although, he had nothing to do with it. It all goes back to Erik leaving her, creating a vicious cycle. Christine then marries Raoul just so she wouldn’t be shunned for having a child out of wedlock. She’s obviously unhappy in her marriage, which ends up making Raoul unhappy, so he ends up drinking his sorrows away. In the end, he blames himself for the fact that Christine is unhappy. 

This is what I got from Why Does She Love Me?

Quite obviously, she doesn’t. 

He thinks she does, because she says so, but she is obviously unhappy in her marriage because she doesn’t. However, Raoul takes her sadness to mean that he is the one who is not good enough. He is the one making her unhappy. He is the one unworthy of love.

It breaks my heart that after everything he’s done for her, he ended up feeling so damn bad about himself. None of this is his fault.

 Then, in walks our second unappreciated character: Meg. There are a lot of parallels in between these two. I feel like they’re both going through the same pain, although in very different ways. 

When I watched LND for the first time, I thought this would be the start of a brand new love story, one that would steal the show, and inevitably, our hearts.

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. 

When Meg leaves, Raoul starts talking shit about Erik, only for him to end up showing up behind the bar. Talk of the devil, they say...

Over all, I think this scene is a really funny one- probably a fun one to rehearse and perform as well. 

But the whole idea behind it...Guys, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but...Christine is a human being..She’s not property...Let her make her own damn choices for once, she never ever got to do that in her life. 

I hate how Erik starts objectifying Christine in Love Never Dies. He didn’t do it in the original, why start now?

Moving on to the next day:

Bathing Beauty is so damn catchy! Like damn!!

I love how Meg arrives in a hot air balloon. 

I liked this randition of Summer’s Bathing Beauty. I couldn’t see much of it and I couldn’t see the bathing suits either, but the whole scene was really nice. 

I felt so bad for Meg in the next scene though!

Madame Giry was waaay too harsh with her. 

Next scene is Christine’s dressing room scene.

I love how conflicted and anguished Sierra portrays her to be. And I love the contrast between the way she acts around Raoul and the way she acts around Erik. Around Raoul, she’s really sweet, like a good wife should be and she is also quite affectionate. 

But around Erik...

I think this picture speaks for itself...

By the way: The way she doesn’t question why Raoul asked her not to sing, and the way she gets all conflicted later, makes me think that she knows about the bet, but is starting to have second thoughts about it. Which is completely understandable. As a wife, her first priority is her marriage, which they could, possibly work out.

And as a mother, she has to put her son and what would be best for him first too. She can’t just force him to accept a new guy as his father- even if he is indeed his biological father. So all that anguish she’s feeling? Completely understandable. 

You can see from her body language, even when she’s singing, that she is having second thoughts. That this is really hard for her and that she doesn’t know what to do. There is so much pressure on her, the poor girl is close to breaking down on stage, in front of thousands of people.

But then Raoul leaves...And everything in her body language changes. She becomes more confident, more content with her decision. For once, she put herself first. She realizes that she will finally get to be happy. 

She, Erik and their child...

I love how happy and hopeful she looks in the next scene as well!

It’s sad that they don’t kiss in this scene, but oh well...We move...

Another thing that made me believe that Christine knew about the bet was how unbothered she seemed by the fact that Raoul left. She wasn’t shocked. She knew this was going to happen. She didn’t want it to happen like that, but it did. 

And then when she realizes that Gustav is missing, she nearly gets a heart attack, 

I absolutely LOVE Erik’s reaction to the whole thing! I love how worried and angry he got! See, this is one of those times I do appreciate his anger. 

Moving on to the next scene:

One thing I didn’t like about it was how close Erik got to Meg when he told her “We can’t all be like Christine”.

That line is such a bad thing to say when trying to comfort someone who’s having a mental breakdown...

Meg has been working for him for ten years. She has helped him so damn much, and she doesn’t even get a thank you, or a decent. No, she only ever gets all these dumb vaudeville numbers, making her a showgirl, not a respected performer. 

While Christine, who has only been in town for two days, and hasn’t been performing for a couple of years, immediately gets the aria, the nice dress and the beautiful jewelry. 

And then, he has to point out how perfect she is, in front of Meg, who then, when she just wants to talk back to him, ends up accidentally pulling the trigger. And you can tell this was clearly an accident in this performance. She even runs off to get help, only to later return, probably with a doctor on the way, when Christine is already gone (maybe. nobody checked her pulse or her breathing, and the bullet didn’t hit an important artery. She might still be alive)

I loved Erik and Christine’s last kiss. It was so sweet, so passionate. I love how he kept kissing her even after she let go.

However...I didn’t like the way Ramin portrayed his reaction to her death. I understand that the feeling he was going for was numbness, but it literally ended up looking like he didn’t even care that much. For someone who’s never seen Phantom before (maybe just read the book) , who ends up watching this recording, this is the vibe you would get from it. 

I love the fact that Meg came back and that she is holding Christine’s body. You can tell just how sorry she is. 

I loved the whole unmasking scene. I loved how Erik slowly started opening up to Gustav, when he was finally ready to accept him. And I loved the hug in the end.

And I must say: Erik is getting better at hugging. That’s good!

All in all: I really liked this recording of the show. 

If I were to grade it, I’d give it a 7,5/10.

 Before I end this post, can we please appreciate just how gorgeous that dress is? Like damn!!!

Sierra looks absolutely stunning in it as well!

(When does she not look stunning though?)

[bombshellsandbluebells]

Deadheading (The 100 WIP)

Have an unfinished Murphy & Monty centric fic following the season 5 finale that I can’t figure out how to finish but don’t want it to go to waste. Partially inspired by @boomheda‘s post about Murphy choosing to live because Monty gave his life for him, but honestly it never even really got to that part.

Deadheading

Deadheading (v.) the act of cutting spent flowers off a plant, encouraging the plant to bloom again and extending the bloom period

--

When Murphy wakes up, Bellamy tells him that Monty and Harper are dead. 

“No,” he says, angry and sore and aching from more places than just the holes in his shoulder. “No, I just saw them. They made it on the ship.” It feels like it’s been five minutes. Bellamy says it’s been decades.

“No,” Murphy says.

“Fuck you,” Murphy says, because anger is always the easiest emotion and he’s worn it so long and so often it fits like a second skin.

Bellamy shows them a video. 

He shows them a kid that looks so much like Monty Murphy squeezes his eyes shut to avoid looking at him, who has the same quirk to his lips that Harper did when she smiled. His eyes light up when he sees Murphy, excited in a way Murphy doesn’t know how to accept, and he wants to cry so he punches the wall instead. He doesn’t even flinch when he feels his bones break, just pushes past Emori and Echo and Bellamy and Raven when they reach for him in turns and past the kid that fills the space where the other two should be, looking so much like the perfect mix of them, a sad, cheap replacement with a hand-me-down name.

The others want to hold a memorial. It’s only right, they say. It’s what they deserve, they say. What else can we do, they say.

Murphy curls tighter in his anger, tending the flames until they’re hot enough to burn the grief away. He holds it around himself like a shield when he tells them he won’t come, that if Harper and Monty wanted to kill themselves so badly he wasn’t going to waste time feeling sorry for them, and he can see it hurts but he doesn’t care. If Harper and Monty wanted out, then good riddance. The people they left behind didn’t need them, and they didn’t need to stand around speaking kind words and sad stories into the spaces they left behind.

So when the others have their memorial, Murphy hides in a deserted hallway of an alien ship, feeling the buzz of machinery under his skin and the fluorescent light on his face. He’s gained two bullet holes and lost two people and maybe that’s an even trade because it’s like nothing’s fucking changed since he was on the Ring two weeks ago, feeding on anger like it was algae and the only thing still keeping him running.

Maybe Monty should have left him behind after all. Surely burning alive is better than rotting away from within, scooped out and hallowed into nothing but an empty shell.

Maybe if Monty left him behind he’d still be here. Maybe that’s the even trade, then – a life for a life, and the universe or Monty or just dumb, shitty luck choose Murphy, and the truth of the matter is an ugly thing lurking in his thoughts: it was the wrong choice.

--

He haunts hallways.

He yells at Emori when she tries to follow, chipping away at the peace they’d started to build with every angry word, knowing somewhere deep inside of him that doing so hurts so badly he can hardly stand it, but doing so anyways. Maybe he’s the one scraping his insides raw, hollowing himself, and maybe if he doesn’t stop there will be nothing but anger left. And maybe he can live with that. 

The anger numbs everything else.

Emori leaves with tear stains on her face and doesn’t come back. Neither do the others. Murphy feels so alone his very bones ache with it. He hates Monty and Harper for it; he hates them with a ferocity he can barely contain.

He wants to keep hating them forever so he never misses them.

--

There’s an algae farm on the ship. 

It should be less of a surprise than it is because Monty was nothing if not an expert in algae and while they hadn’t needed food in cryosleep, the ones who stayed awake certainly had. Still, when he stumbles upon it one day, it steals his breath away.

He stops walking and stays where he stopped for a very long time. Eventually, he wades between the glowing tanks and finds a place on the far wall to sit down. Strange, ethereal reflections dance across the floor as the algae drifts gently in the water. The lighting is dim, and the whole place has a soft, green, and almost peaceful, glow.

He sits there for hours watching the algae sway.

His feet carry him back the next day, though if asked he wouldn’t be able to say why. He hates algae. He hates the way it tastes. He hates the slimy texture. He hates that there is nothing you can do to make it taste any differently than the last hundred times you’ve eaten it, and he hates that it makes him think about the Ark.

And yet, he returns.

He wouldn’t say that it makes him feel any better; it doesn’t. The hollow, rubbed-raw feeling still sits in his chest where his lungs should be.

Maybe duller is the word for it, everything inside him just a little less sharp, muted by the soft green glow and the gentle lights.

It’s a kinder ghost than Jordan was, at least.

--

“Oh, I didn’t know you were here,” the kid says when he enters the algae farm and sees Murphy sitting there. He’s a mess of awkwardness, hovering at the entrance, averting his eyes like he’s caught Murphy doing something he shouldn’t.

The kid hasn’t approached him since Murphy threw a shoe at him, nearly taking his head off with the force of it.

He can’t quite muster up the anger this time, even if the kid’s face does make him want to drive his fist into it until it rearranges itself into something different. The effort required to do so just isn’t there, though; somehow the algae farm has dulled that too.

Murphy closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall. He could almost sleep here just like this, the soft, green light of the farm flickering behind his eyelids. “I can leave,” he offers, voice hoarse from days of disuse.

“No, that’s ok,” comes the answer. “I’m just going to check the algae really quickly.”

Murphy can still remember Monty’s words from the video, when he’d told them they’d raised Jordan on stories of their family and Murphy was his favorite. He doesn’t think he’s ever been anyone’s favorite before; it’s a title he’s unsure how to wear, and it feels uncomfortable and itchy and tight.

Murphy opens his eyes. In the dim light, he can see Jordan moving confidentially from tank to tank, studying each one with a careful eye. He looks so much like his father that Murphy feels like he’s been struck, and the words are out before he even realizes he’s opened his mouth. “Your dad teach you how to do this?”

Jordan startles. He eyes Murphy like a skittish animal prepared to flee at the first sign of trouble. The shoe must have done a great job of changing his opinion of him.

“Yeah. Mom always helped too, but Dad was the best with plants. Mom said that’s why his name was Green.” A grin teases at his lips.

Murphy snorts. He directs his gaze to the algae because looking at Jordan too long makes his eyes burn. “Him and this fucking algae.” He doesn’t mean to say more, but his mouth carries on without him. “He had this stupid apron that said ‘make algae –“

“Not war,” Jordan finishes for him, then tenses as if expecting another shoe. “Sorry, just, he said that a lot.”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “It’s stupid.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s cheesy,” Jordan admits in a fragile voice. “But that was Dad.”

He looks too much like both of them right then, Monty in the shape of his face, Harper in the curl of his smile, and the space behind Murphy’s ribs aches dull and hollow. It’s not a quick pain like the bullets had been; it’s slow and creeping and clawing like hunger is.

Murphy flees.

Maybe Monty was right; maybe he is a coward.

----

It’s been over a year in space, nearly a month longer than the entire time he’d spent on Earth. Already, his skin has forgotten the heat of the sun beating against it, his lungs the cool touch of fresh air. His muscles are growing weaker, his body whittling away with lack of nutrients. With each passing day, the Ring feels less and less like salvation and more like a coffin.

The algae taunts him, both a perfect phantom of his childhood and a pale imitation of Earth. He wants to rip it out at its roots, shred it until there’s nothing left. But he doesn’t. He won’t. He still fears death more than memories.

“I like plants,” Monty says once when it’s only the two of them in the algae farm. “But I really hate algae.”

“What’s the difference?” Murphy asks, more to fill the silence than out of true curiosity.

“There were different plants in Farm Station than just algae. I miss having a variety. And on Earth –“ Monty stops. His voice is awash with wistfulness. When Murphy glances up at him, it’s in his eyes too. “There were so many plants on Earth. It was amazing. So many I’d never seen before. I helped with the gardens in Arkadia, and we planted so many different kinds. I wish we could have brought more with us.”

Murphy shrugs, at a loss for what to say. “It’s not like it would have helped all that much. So we’d only eat algae every few days then instead of every meal, so what. We’d still all miss eating meat.” Earth had spoiled them for space, he thinks, even those of them that grew up here.

“I guess. It would have been nice to have more plants to tend, though. I think it would have just helped give me more to do.”

“It’s not fun.”

“Algae isn’t. Gardens are different though. You start with a patch of rough dirt and then over time you actually have something impressive. I like the work. And it’s,” Monty pauses, eyes caught on the algae. “It’s rewarding. It made me feel important, I guess. I was helping something grow. The garden wouldn’t have existed without me.”

Murphy doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing.

Monty brushes off the memory and straightens. “Nevermind. I think space is just getting to me.”

He never mentions gardening again, never voices that gnawing need that Murphy knows so well. Not even years later when he calls Murphy useless and strikes at something in his very core, shoving his fingers into Murphy’s chest like he did with the dirt of his garden and shoving that word in, over and over again, like it wasn’t there already, a vital part of him that’s rooted so deeply he’ll never be able to fully rip it out.

Murphy doesn’t know why, years later, he still hasn’t forgotten that conversation, but he thinks maybe it’s because it’s the only time he’d looked at Monty and seen something familiar. Maybe rescuing Murphy in the end had been like tending a garden, something to prove his worth to the world.

Or maybe, he considers, Monty just is and always has been a better person than him.

---

And that’s it. I’ve been trying to add more to this fic for ages and just nothing has really worked out, but I really love what I’d written so far. There’s so much more to explore with Murphy and Monty’s relationship and I’m still so disappointed the show hardly ever touched on it.

And I’m still upset it never touched on Murphy’s grief over losing Monty - and Harper of course! But I think they built up an interesting and significant enough relationship with Murphy and Monty onscreen that it was a shame we never saw how he dealt with that loss.

[shiavanzin]

💀  * [ timothee chalamet + cis male + he/him ] —— have you met zigmund ‘shia’ ivan vanzin? they are a twenty  year old junior currently studying political science. they live on decker house, and word around campus is that this gemini is witty + charming, as well as manipulative + self destructive. i wonder if they’ll make it out alive. snorting lines off a priceless mirror, writing ancient runes in cigarette ash, the thrill of victory that accompanies a low ‘checkmate’. 

hello all, my name is pepper and i have never been on time for anything, ever, in my life so this is very on brand for me! that said, i am very excited to be here. shia is one of my favourite muses but because of his background it’s kind of hard for me to find places to play him, so i really jumped at the chance to be a part of this rp. that said, he is heathen so sdkjdsjk you’ve been warned, i suppose.

ABOUT THE MUN. fuck this *unfocuses my eyes*

fun fact about me, i’ve been working every day for the last ten days so i love that for me dkjdkj which is literally why me getting myself here was so chaotic honestly but i’m here i made it and we love to see it. honestly i am just a humble fergie enthusiast (patiently waiting for my girl to come back from her hiatus. any day now). i would die for a good aesthetic like pinterest owns my ass. i am big fan of the bachelor and specifically demi from the bachelor (demi from the bachelor if you are reading this i would like to hang out with you friday when i am free. please contact me if you’re able to hang out (on friday when i am free)). i am a huge superhero nerd. the first fanfic i ever wrote was a teen titans/danny phantom crossover and honestly? most ambitious crossover of all time, sorry endgame. i’ve never seen star wars or lord of the rings, and i’m okay with that. oh, and funnily enough i have never played chess which is about to be very ironic and i think that’s the perfect transition into shia’s bio.

BIO. child abuse tw, addiction tw, drug tw, and i think that’s it rip. 

(tldr literally just click the link in the second bullet point for a summary because that’s how shia grew up, with psychologist parents determined to make him a prodigy. he is technically a prodigy now as the youngest grandmaster in history. his family is weird and fucked up and cold blah blah blah takes a lot of drugs, drinks a lot of alcohol to cope with his messed up childhood blah blah blah went to boarding school for high school. oh, and there’s a meme of him. and that’s pretty much it.)

okay first of all here is shia’s pinterest board and here is his playlist, which is honestly just??? really messy and just filled with songs that remind me of him (like it doesn’t flow at all i’m pretty sure yk) so! yeah!

second of all, shia’s backstory is thoroughly inspired by a true story. like I legitimately found this (look at the early life portion to see what i’m talking about if you want but i’m about to explain it all below anyways) and was like !!!???? so yes, that’s how this mess was born (although i highkey think that gerard way got inspo from that family for the umbrella academy like??? that’s my little conspiracy theory. WHERE ARE THEIR ROYALTIES GERARD!)

Shia doesn’t remember life before he was adopted. Before he was Zigmund Ivan Vanzin, the fourth child of the carefully selected Vanzin 6. Honestly he’s not quite sure his life prior is of much importance, because things didn’t truly get crazy until after he was officially taken in by the Vanzin family at the tender age of two.

Shia and his five siblings were all part of an educational experiment carried out by their parents, Moira and Yakov Vanzin, in an attempt to prove that children could be trained to be prodigies if immersed in a specialist subject from a very early age. ‘Geniuses are made, not born’, was the tagline of their parents thesis, and the foundation on which Shia and his siblings’ entire childhood was based on. They would all be molded into prodigies, and they would be living, breathing proof of their parents achievements.

Because of the magnitude of their experiment, and Shia’s parents reputation (both of Shia’s parents was a very famous educational psychologists in their own right, and due to their fame, their experiment and their children were covered in magazines and newspapers worldwide. To this day a quick google search will lead you pictures of the Vanzin 6 growing up slowly on the covers of publications such as Times Magazine, Forbes, People, and of course a myriad of academic magazines as well.) they received heavy criticism at the time from some western media for ‘depriving the siblings of a normal childhood.’ But since all of the Vanzin children were born and raised in Russia, that criticism didn’t do much in the way of stopping them. Shia’s parents coolly ignored it all. They wanted to leave a mark. To change the future. And they both truly believed that their research would do that. They believed their work would completely revolutionize the way that children were educated, and that therefore, they would revolutionize the future.

And so the children were affectionately dubbed The Vanzin 6 by the media that wasn’t completely against the experiment. A cute little nickname smacked on what would normally be considered a child endangerment lawsuit. Sure, there were still those that protested, but their cries were quiet in comparison to the roars of the intrigued, of the curious, of the fans, because of course there were fans. So it goes without saying that Shia’s first photo op was when he was still in diapers. He smiled cheekily through the whole thing, in striking contrast to his siblings all staring empty eyed into the camera. Their lives were pretty much put on constant display from that point on, and honestly, at least in terms of Shia’s approach to photo ops, not much has changed on that front.

Shia’s parents educated their six children at home, each with their own specific subject to focus on. From the age of four, Shia, or Zigmund, as his birth certificate so lovingly displayed, (it should be noted that Moira and Yakov named all of their children after psychologists, and that Shia was simply unlucky enough to get Freud. So perhaps lovingly wasn’t the right word.) showed a talent for chess, and therefore that talent was ‘nurtured’. In other words, Shia was only allowed to live and breathe chess from the cursed day his chubby little fingers picked up a chess piece to, presumably, the day he died. If he wasn’t eating, sleeping, or doing his school work, Shia was playing chess. First he played against his father, and mother, and siblings and when that stopped posing a challenge, he got involved in official competitions. Those were somehow even less of a challenge, but granted, his siblings were being trained into geniuses. At first he played children his age, and then slightly older, and then much older, which Shia will admit, was the most fun. Even as a child there was just something about seeing a grown man go red in the face with frustration as he lost to a child. Something amusing. Something powerful. Admittedly, chess got old. But that specific red faced look never did.

Shia rose up the ranks slowly and steadily from then on, already creating quite a stir in the world of chess by the age of six. And considering this was what they wanted, you would think his parents would be proud. Thrilled even. However that was not completely the case.

For as long as Shia can remember his relationship with his parents had been more ‘professional’ than affectionate. To start, he and his siblings all called them both by their first names. Considering he was adopted, Shia would never know what his first word was, that memory was lost to him and kept only by the parents who didn’t want him enough to keep him in the first place. But even if he was born to Moira and Yakov, if the two were his flesh and blood, he knows with absolute surety that the first words to come out of his mouth wouldn’t have been ‘Mama’ or ‘Papa’. The two never referred to themselves that way, and they didn’t expect their children to either. Shia remembers with painful clarity first and only time he tried. Or rather, he remembers the stomach turning look of both confusion and contempt from Moira that followed the one time he tried. He never tried again.

His parents didn’t offer much when it came to what normal parents did he supposed. He didn’t receive much physical affection from them, or sugar coated words. They were their parents, yes, but they were also their handlers, and being raised with that emotional distance definitely had an impact on Shia’s psyche. All Shia wanted to do was impress his parents. Maybe get a good job, or a hug, or a smile. The kind of things he’d seen other kids get just for breathing, or using a toilet. But he knew his parents expected more. He knew they expected the best. So the only way he knew how to achieve his goal of attaining his parents affection was to work harder. To be the best he could at chess, the best anyone could at chess, and once he did that he knew his parents would reward him. He knew they would love him for taking the first step to make their dreams come true. When he was young he used to have dreams of that reward. Of how good it would feel to know they were proud of him. He imagined it feeling warm. And light, like he’d read in books. He imagined it feeling worth it.

Shia and his siblings were never the children that got asked that question, you know, the question that all children can relate to answering with bubbling wide eyed excitement. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ The answer was laid out for them. It was decided before they even had a chance to think about it, and any time someone made the mistake of asking them the question, their parents  answered for them. She will be the world’s youngest prima ballerina. She will be a legend in the musical field. He will be grandmaster. No, dreams weren’t for the Vanzin children, so Shia’s kept his quiet. Kept it close to his heart where his parents couldn’t admonish him for being sentimental or fickle or any of the other large words they used that Shia was only instructed to look up in the dictionary. His dream of gaining their favour was his, and his alone. Shia learned very quickly in life to keep your cards close, and your heart buried.

And after years of hard work and dedication, and a lot of blood sweat and tears, Shia did it. He won. He finally beat everyone there was to beat, and at the youngest recorded age of ten to boot. Shia was officially the world’s youngest grandmaster. His record has still yet to be beat to this day. And that day, he looked to his parents, ready for them to run to him and shower him with the affection and praise he longed for. It didn’t take long for the ecstatic expression on his young face to fall.

The most Shia got was an approving nod from his mother from across the room. His father, for his part, was on a phone call. That was it. The crowd roared around him, and the audience clapped with the enthusiasm usually reserved for sports games and concerts. The reporters at the event stumbled over their words trying to communicate the record breaking event that they had just witnessed, from one of the lionized Vanzin 6. It was chaos, beautiful, celebratory chaos, all for Shia, but it was all a blur around him. He couldn’t see it. All he could see was Moira and Yakov, turning away from him and towards each other, whispering god knows what. He had their full attention for maybe all of a minute. They didn’t even smile.

(There is live video of Shia having his dream crushed right before his eyes. Recordings of it on youtube. How many people can say that, aye? The true power of celebrity. The gif of Shia’s shocked and empty expression amidst a crowd of ballistic celebration even became a meme at one point, a meme that Shia later bitterly used on occasion, because what was more powerful than using a meme of yourself? Than using your own pain for humour? Nothing, in Shia’s opinion.)

After Shia became grandmaster everything stopped. After all, there was nothing more to train him for. He had achieved his goal. He had won. And with his parents no longer focusing on training him and leaving him completely to his own devices, well, they stopped paying attention to him completely. Shia was all at once almost completely emancipated. The freedom of it all was freeing for all of a week. Then, Shia started to feel painfully invisible.

Prior to becoming grandmaster, Shia was quiet. Polite. Very calm, very observant, a bit distant and reserved for a kid, but no real red flags. Afterwards, however? After he felt like his parents no longer had any use for him, no longer had any anything for him, well Shia lashed out. Rebelled. Became louder, sharper tongued, more mischievous. He started acting out in hopes that they would give him some of the attention he so desperately craved, and while they did, none of it was positive. Shia quickly became the problem child of the Vanzin 6, somehow both his parents pride and joy as the first of their children to reach their goal, but also their greatest disappointment as the first one to turn against them.

Without chess to focus on, Shia turned to his siblings for entertainment. However Shia’s version of entertainment was never completely harmless. From a young age he had a habit of using people like chess pieces, of manipulating them and turning them against each other or towards each other for his own cheap entertainment. Shia could singlehandedly trick his siblings out of an argument when he was younger (or into an argument, when he was feeling particularly chaotic). He could trick the few peers he came across into simply giving him their toys or snacks, and trick bullies into leaving him alone a good amount of time too. It was both a gift and a curse, because people were never quite happy when they caught on. Most didn’t but the few that did were memorable in the violence of their anger. And besides, his parents never liked it. Shia would come home with an armful of toys that other kids ‘gave’ him and his parents would always force him to go bring them back, despite the fact that the Vanzin children were never really allowed toys of their own. The fact was, Shia’s moral compass was faulty. He never quite understood why what he was doing was wrong no matter how many times his parents tried to explain to him that people were not to be used as tools. Shia didn’t get how what he was doing was that much different from what they were. After all, weren’t Shia and his siblings nothing more than tools in his parents experiment? He asked them the question once. All he got for his efforts was a stinging cheek and a cold reminder from Moira not to be cheeky.

As Shia got older his rebellion got worse. In his defense, he was left unsupervised. While his siblings were busy with their training, Shia would be sneaking out to parties or bars or clubs. It was in those places that he was introduced to his first great loves. Drugs and alcohol. Moira and Yakov kept the Vanzin mansion dry as a monastery, so Shia had never even had a sip of beer before the age of thirteen. But the moment he did, he was a goner. Or rather the moment he got drunk he was a goner. There was something so beautiful to him about intoxication. So addicting, for lack of better word. When he was high, or drunk, or preferably, both, he felt happy. He didn’t remember his parents, or his responsibilities, or his failures, or even his successes. He was warm. And light. And content. Turns out he didn’t need his parents to make his dreams come true. Just a bottle of vodka and a line or two of coke.

After about a year of Shia coming home drunk or high or a combination of the two, eventually his parents couldn’t take it anymore (in the sharp words of Moira Vanzin, ‘Zigmund your behaviour is distracting your siblings from their training’) and sent him off to boarding school. Honestly, it hurt. His parents were basically getting rid of him because he was inconvenient, and he could never forget their out of sight out of mind approach to the whole thing.

Boarding school flew by in a mess of Riot Club like antics during which Shia did things like discover his bisexuality and somehow, against all odds, graduate. (TBH I wanna leave this pretty open in case there is any other boarding school kids who could have perhaps gone to the same school Shia did, so hmu if you have a boarding school kiddo.) He definitely attributes his acceptance to Holloway on his name completely, because honestly Shia was completely high when he wrote his college application, so high that he can’t even remember why he did it. He had no plans of going to college before that, but he figured... why not party in america and waste his parents money? What was stopping him?

So here he is, a whole mess in another country, and honestly he’s having the time of his life. Well, you know. Until people started dying. That isn’t ideal.

PERSONALITY. emotionally damaged, but make it sexy.

manipulative (we been knew) sometimes without really trying to be though. will manipulate people to get what he wants, but sometimes he just thinks of it like a nudge in the right direction. like he’ll manipulate a friend into talking to that girl they’ve had a crush on for half the year just because he wants them to be happy (and also he’s tired of hearing them talk about her)

selfish/self centered cause it’s just not?? his first instinct to think about other people’s feelings?? and it’s also kind of hard for him to empathize sometimes, especially if he’s never been in that situation or he doesn’t like KNOW and CARE about the person.

charming and charismatic, he’s got a great smile and he knows how to use it. also just very endearing if you don’t know him well, and even sometimes when you do. this is mostly a facet of him being very manipulative because he usually uses his charm to get what he wants, but still.

witty oof, this boy’s humour is inspired by klaus hargreeves and villanelle (what a duo,,, when will they meet) and he’s very rarely serious. always telling jokes, always pretty nudge nudge wink wink, even in very serious situations when he shouldn’t be. uses humour as a coping mechanism 100%, whether that’s at his own expense or someone else’s. honestly, can be kind of mean with it? like if anyone can go for the jugular with a joke it’s shia.

a big flirt honestly. will flirt with anyone he’s interested in, and will sometimes flirt without really noticing it? sometimes will flirt just for sport, or for fun, or to bug someone, or throw someone off. the type to flirt with his professor as a joke (why has he not been kicked out of here already) and has probably slept with a professor as a result. not really a player, but he enjoys physical intimacy and he knows how to get it. has been in more than a few relationships in the past, but is never very good at it because he’s almost constantly looking out for number one, aka himself. so? a mess basically.

vengeful, petty, spiteful, vindictive, all when angry or jealous or feeling as if he’s been wronged in some way but we been knew,,, we been knew.

rebellious !! still the type to suggest skipping town and partying instead of sticking around for exams. not really invested in school tbh. he has no idea what he’s going to do with his future.

a big superiority complex! cocky as hell! kind of acts like he’s the best thing since sliced bread because he was over praised as a child by like everyone but his parents. the type to think he ain’t shit deep down so he acts like he’s The Shit yk

craves love and intimacy but thinks romance is a sham. a big pessimist like ‘we’re all just floating on this rock life is meaningless we’re all gonna die anyways’ pessimist but kind of a realist tbh, he just doesn’t see the reason to sugar coat things unless ofc he’s manipulating someone then he’ll say whatever he needs to

trust issues, after his parents tbh. the only people he trusts 100% are his siblings and maybe a few close friends. i honestly may put in a wanted connection for his siblings at one point, but that’s for later.

HEADCANNONS. running for your life (from shia labeouf) he’s brandishing a knife (it’s shia labeouf)

a thick russian accent. speaks pretty impeccable english though because his parents tutored him in the english as a child. He also speaks a bit of french, german, and latin, and is currently taking mandrin chinese.

Is taking political science because he figures being a politician is just manipulating people on a larger scale, and he’d be right. However he’s not sure if that’s what he’ll actually end up going into. Honestly, Shia isn’t the slightest bit sure what he actually wants to do with his life.

His eldest sibling Jean was the one to give Shia the nickname ‘Shia’ after he confided in her that he’s always hated his name, and he’s gone by it ever since. His parents still call him Zigmund, and some of his siblings probably still call him Zig or Ziggy but like i said sdkdsk he has always hated the name (he does not want to be associated with the guy who invented the concept of the Oedipus complex). The only nickname he can stomach sometimes is Z, but other than that he’ll only accept Shia (or Shy to a select few).

was never raised with a television?? didn’t even go to a MOVIE THEATER until he was like fourteen??? so he has absolutely NO idea who Shia Laboeuf really is. People keep making jokes about it to him and he’s like ???? Honestly he googled him once and just gave up after thirty seconds, convinced people were fucking with him because this person couldn’t be real dlksdskld anyways yeah, knows next to nothing about a lot of pop culture, especially anything like before 2010, but has learnt a bit since coming out of his families little bubble. But there are still times where Shia’s like ??? what tf is that and someone’s got to explain what rolly polly olly is to him yk

Shia has a photographic memory, but honestly he doesn’t really care about it. In his eyes having a photographic memory doesn’t make you a genius, it just makes tests easier. Like to him it just means he doesn’t have to flip through his source material for quotes sdkjsdjk. It’s nothing exciting to him sdkdsk he skipped a grade because of it though but honestly?? All he really uses it for now is receipts like a little shit. Shia will legit be in an argument like “oh that wasn’t what you said in that text you sent to me at 4:45 on monday june 3rd 2017???” sdkjsdj. Occasionally he also uses it as a party trick, like if you give him a specific date he could probably tell you the newspaper headline on that day.

Has zero athletic skill. Absolutely none. Would one hundred percent lose in a fight, which is funny because he talks SO MUCH SHIT. He talks constant shit, and yet if you were to throw a punch at Shia he would go down like a rock. He doesn’t particularly care if he gets his ass beat though, so he continues to talk large amounts of shit, occasionally from a safe distance but usually not.

Honestly if you were to see him and his parents interact today it’d be wild, like you wouldn’t even know they were related. They literally act like strangers or acquaintances. Like it’s all like ‘Moira, Yakov, good to see you.’ and ‘You too Zigmund. I trust you’ve been well?’ and that goes on for like five minutes and then Shia has to hyperventilate in a corner for a bit. Like it’s so weird but it’s just been like that all his life. Normal healthy affection??? He doesn’t know her

Has a tattoo of a queen piece on the index finger of his left hand, as a little nod to what used to be his passion. Is also left handed.

Has a scar through his eyebrow that he got on a wild night out when he was thirteen. He got drunk and like passed out, and hit his head hit the edge of a table in the process. There was a lot of blood and a lot of panic, but in the end Shia only had to get a few stitches and he was very quickly back on his bullshit the moment he left the hospital. Literally, he went straight from the hospital to a house party (after all, it’s not like his parents even came to visit him and make sure he got home, so Shia simply did whatever he wanted to.)

Has a helix piercing in his right ear. It’s just a very basic silver hoop though.

His parents never really let the siblings have hobbies, but I imagine one of Shia’s siblings is a horse riding prodigy so he has some experience in that. One of them is a language prodigy, hence why Shia is conversational in so many. Jean, the eldest, is a musical prodigy and has lovingly taught Shia a bit of piano and violin. He is nowhere near as good at those things as he was at chess, but doing any of them reminds him of his siblings, so he tends to actually turn to them more often than chess. If I’m being honest I don’t think that Shia has played a game of chess since he became grandmaster unless forced to by his parents?

Mentally Shia knows he’s an adult now and that his parents technically have no control over him, but emotionally whenever they look at him he just… feels like that empty little kid again.

Tends to always have one of those travel sized bottles of vodka on him so if you’re feeling stressed hit your boy up.

Has honestly been rich since the day he was adopted, like literally has no idea how to function without copious amounts of money?

Shia is staying in the Decker dorms because he thrives on the chaos.

Definitely an addict, definitely high functioning though but also like? It isn’t a secret? I contemplated making it a secret but once again Shia has always got a travel sized bottle of vodka on him sdkjsd you can see him casually spiking his drinks if you’re ever out with him, he pops whatever pills he can find in his pockets in the morning. So yeah it is not a secret that Shia is an addict, he is rarely sober and that’s the way he likes it. Doesn’t consider himself an addict though, funnily enough.

WANTED CONNECTIONS. god we finally got here sjsdj if you got this far you’re the real mvp.

okay to start here is my wc tag for shia so i would absolutely love anything inspired by anything in that tag.

FRIENDS FROM BOARDING SCHOOL. i already talked about this a bit but i would absolutely love it so i’m mentioning it again sdjds i am really flexible about where shia went to boarding school, so literally wherever your muse went works for me. all i want is some dead poets society antics you feel me.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND. listen to me. i love childhood friend connections so much give it to me please and i will give you my first born child in exchange. again, shia grew up in russia, but it could be a long distance friendship if need be. we can make it work, i will literally change stuff around to make it work.

PREVIOUS ONE NIGHT STANDS. honestly shia would have multiple of these cause he’s a hoe. did he ghost your muse? did they mutually ghost each other? was it a one night stand gone wrong?

ENEMY. it’s so easy to hate him man. anyone who wants to hate him please feel free. did shia screw your muse over? did he manipulate them? did he i don’t know throw up on their shoes while particularly drunk? maybe shia was high when he did the thing they hate him for, maybe he doesn’t even remember but he just hates them cause they hate him. it’s the principle of the thing really. (me in my head: *junie b jones vc* princiPAL cause he’s your PAL). unreasonable completely baseless hate for no reason at all? 

FLIRTATIONSHIP. a fun ‘will they, won’t they’ kind of situation because why not. what’s stopping us. just fun banter on both ends. 

EXES. shia doesn’t date so he wouldn’t have too many of these but it would be fun. maybe their relationship was toxic because of shia’s toxic ass traits skjdsj maybe things were getting real and shia dipped like the coward he is. maybe it’s was a the colonel x sarah esque relationship where no one got it because they both seemed to hate each other the whole time and they very much did hate each other but were dating anyways. maybe it’s maybeline. 

FWB/EWB. honestly this is more shia’s speed, so he’d probably have more of these as well as ex-fwbs/ewbs, which is such a fun concept. did it stop because someone caught feelings? or did they just get bored of each other? some other reason? but okay, back to the point, yes sexy enemies. sexy friends. we love to see it. 

HIGH SOCIETY. someone he gets fucked up with! multiple people he gets fucked up with! they party together, drink together, do lines together. it’s a beautiful relationship of them all enabling each other. 

GOOD INFLUENCE. counter actively. someone who tries to get shia away from his self destructive tendencies. someone who’s door he comes knocking at when he’s black out drunk because he knows they’ll give him a place to sleep. Someone he calls when he ends up in butt fuck nowhere with no shoes after a crazy night. Also, as wild as it is, flip it, where Shia’s hypocritical ass cares about your muse enough to try and take care of them. High off his ass but still trying to stick his fingers down their throat so they don’t get alcohol poisoning. They text him when they’re ‘going home’ when they were pre-gaming at their house in the first place. Shia is very ‘you would die without me’ about this person.

BAD INFLUENCE. shia is the devil kronk on their shoulder. he tempts them to the dark side with promises of a good time, and he delivers thank you very much. 

A DRUG DEALER. i mean??? i’m ngl shia i very dependent on drugs, so he would probably keep this person close and do his best to keep them happy.

SOMEONE SHIA CHEATS FOR OR CHEATED FOR. maybe shia did their homework or took a test for them, all for an ominous ‘you owe me’?

SOMEONE SHIA SCREWED OVER. he does this all the time so yeah there can be multiples of this skjsdj shia is honestly like genuinely loyal to only a few people, so there are probably more than few people he left in the dust to save his own skin. maybe he saw the cops closing in on a party and left your muse for dead! or whatever else yk.

ANNOYANCE. it’s shia he’s the annoyance. 

okay i think that’s all i’ve got, and if you made it all the way down here you’re??? an icon??? wow, i really can’t believe. please like this if you want to plot and i will come running!

[outerjjbx]

Jiara July Jubilee

Day 7, 1st of August- genre day

words: 2.8k

This is loosely based off Something in the Way by Nirvana. It isn’t crucial, but I recommend giving it a listen

“You’re not costin’ me any more money. You’re out.”

JJ moved his arms, which were covering his head, to look up at Luke. For a moment, he completely forgot about the blood running down his face, or the throbbing on his stomach and cheeks. He felt his breath hitch as he processed the words, ran over them and realised what they meant.

“What?”

“You’re out,” his father repeated. “If I see you near here again, I’ll kill you myself. You fuckin’ stole from me, and I’m givin’ you a pass ‘cause you’re unfortunately my kid. Consider yourself lucky, you little shit.”

JJ froze. He didn’t like living there, but it was still his house. He spent a lot of time at other peoples’ places, sure, but he still needed a permanent stay. He needed his room, and all his stuff, and a place to go to when everyone else got sick of him. His chest began to tighten as a realisation loomed over him.

He didn’t have anywhere to go.

John B was missing, Kiara’s parents hated him, and he couldn’t bother Pope, who was studying feverishly to make up for his lost scholarship. He knew Heyward would offer to let him stay, but it was general politeness, and he would just add more strain to their already struggling finances.

He moved shakily, packing a bag with anything important he could find. He had some money from working at the hotel, so he figured he could use that for food. He still had the restitution to pay off, but that was a worry for another day. He packed the gun, just in case, and tried to ignore the pain of simply moving as he swung his backpack on and exited his room.

Luke was sitting on the couch, beer in hand. He barely looked at his son, just stared ahead and pretended he wasn’t there, like he usually did. JJ gathered all of his mental strength when he spoke.

“Good luck paying the bills without me. We both know you can’t hold a job. No one wants to hire a junkie.”

His father turned towards him. “What did you just say to me?”

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” JJ practically spat. “You drove Mom away, and now your kid, too. You fuck everything up.”

Luke stood. “You’re tryin’ to pin this on me?” he scoffed. “You made your mama leave, ‘cause she saw what you were. And now you got yourself kicked out for stealin’ from me. You fucked this up, JJ. You fucked everything up. I’m sick o’ you bein’ my problem.”

JJ swallowed the lump in his throat, hating how much those words affected him. He slammed the door as he left, his face turning red and his fists clenched as he tried to calm himself down. Everything was crashing, all at once, and he had no idea how to stop it.

At first, he thought he could just stay at the Chateau. It was a crime scene, though, and there were a group of egotistical cops just waiting to tell him to go away. “Go home,” they’d ironically said. He didn’t bother telling them he no longer had one.

That left JJ wandering the streets, carrying all he had on his back. He’d been kicked out before, but he could usually just stay at John B’s and go back home after a couple of days. There was no John B anymore, and no going home. There was nothing.

—

Kiara wasn’t dealing with losing John and Sarah well at all.

She was practically canatonic, spending her time sitting in her bed and staring out the window. Both John B and Sarah had climbed through that window, sneaking into her house when her parents didn’t want them around. There was no sign of them, and it was a constant reminder that they were gone.

Kiara liked to believe she had hope. Truthfully, she lost any hope of their survival the second she saw Shoupe’s face, and she knew that deep down. She kept her thoughts positive, though, hiding the heavy truth behind a strict belief that they were somehow okay.

Pope had texted her a couple of times, just asking if she was okay. They’d talked through the kiss, both agreeing that it was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. She was glad they were friends again, because he was all she really had. JJ wasn’t replying to anyone, and she figured he was holed up at the Chateau, wallowing in his own misery.

Kiara didn’t like the thought of him alone, but she has barely been able to move for the past couple of weeks. She had hardly left her room, just moving in and out for trips to the bathroom or for snacks at 3am. She looked at her phone, eyeing the unread message she’d sent JJ a few minutes ago, and sighed. It was probably good for her to go out anyway.

Getting showered and dressed was harder than she expected. She kept wanting to collapse back onto her bed, tuck herself into the sheets and never emerge. She pushed on, though, her protective instincts of JJ motivating her. As soon as she knew he was okay, she could head straight back home and get back into bed.

Driving the Jeep was difficult, too. She kept thinking if that day, of hiding John B in the reclined seat and looking for an answer. She thought he and Sarah could make it, that they could get away safely and everything would be okay. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Kiara’s breath hitched as she caught sight of the Chateau, seeing the mess it was. She pushed past the police tape, feeling her heart stutter as she looked at all of John B’s belongings, scattered around like they meant nothing. What was even more concerning was the apparent lack of JJ, and the fact that it didn’t even seem like he’d been there at all.

“Shit,” she muttered as she made her way back to the Jeep. She knew he wasn’t at Pope’s, and that left her with only one viable solution; his house. His real one.

She’d met Luke Maybank once before, after JJ had gotten suspended for fighting. It was common knowledge that he was mean -back then, they didn’t know to what extent- so the mere sight of him was terrifying. Yet JJ contantly craved his approval, and Kiara could never decipher why.

She’d never driven to JJ’s house before, so she took a few wrong turns before she figured out the route John B used to take. The thought of him still clenched her heart until she was sure it was dust, but her determination to find JJ overpowered it. She couldn’t imagine what he went through with his dad after losing the Phantom- she didn’t want to, either.

Kiara knocked on the door, keeping her fists closed in an effort to stop their shaking. Luke answered after a moment, looking her up and down as she struggled to find words. JJ had his eyes, but the comfort she found in her friend’s was replaced with a glazed over, icy cold stare.

“Is JJ here?” she finally managed to get out.

Luke scoffed. “He doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Where does he live?” she pushed.

Luke shrugged. “Not my problem. You ‘is friend? Figured he’d run to one o’ y’all or somethin’. Guess not.”

“Wait, so he’s missing?” she exclaimed. “You don’t know where he is?”

Luke sighed. “Look, I dunno where he went. I told ‘im to get out, he did. I’m not dealin’ with his shit anymore. You know how much he fuckin’ owes me?” he paused, narrowing his eyes. “Did you help ‘im steal my boat? God knows he can’t do shit on his own.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kiara lied. “I’m- I’m going to look for him.”

“Good luck,” Luke snorted as she made her way back to the Jeep.

Kiara had no idea where he could be. She was driving around, growing more distressed by the second. Every place she could think of was hopeless; JJ was nowhere to be found. The boneyard, even the lighthouse. She checked absolutely everywhere, but it was like he hadn’t even existed.

She pulled up at Heyward’s with a sigh, figuring she could stop for a snack and continue afterwards. She’d been driving around for hours, and her motivation was slipping. All she wanted to do was head back home and go straight to her room.

Kiara slipped into the shop, hoping to maybe see Pope and tell him about the JJ situation. She froze when a mop of messy, uncharacteristically long blonde hair came into sight, accompanied by an unusual amount of layers of clothes and a heavy looking backpack. He was talking to Heyward, probably annoying the man.

“JJ?” she exclaimed, making her way towards him.

He turned and flashed her a grin. “Oh, hey, Kie.”

“Where have you been?”

“Around.”

“Around where?”

JJ shrugged. “My house, the Chateau.”

“The Chateau is an unliveable mess and I went to your house,” she deadpanned.

He shot up at that. “Wait, you went to my house? To my dad? Are you crazy?”

“He said you haven’t been home.”

“Yeah, I’ve been at the Chateau.”

Kiara shook her head. “Don’t bullshit me, JJ! Where have you been?”

JJ shook his head and pushed past her. “You’re overthinking this. I’ve been staying at the Chateau, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

She grabbed his arm, stopping him from leaving the shop. “I want you to tell me the truth. I know you haven’t been at the Chateau, okay? It’s way too messy for someone to have been living there, even for you.”

“Don’t underestimate me, I could live in a chicken coop.”

Kiara was beginning to grow frustrated. Her grip tightened around JJ’s wrist, immediately loosening when a hint of alarm flashed across his face. Kiara stepped back, exhaling sharply as guilt stilled in her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed.

He shrugged and smiled crookedly. “Look, Kie, you don’t gotta worry. I’m fine, okay?”

Kiara shook her head. “I know you’re not. I just want to help, JJ. Please let me help.”

He glanced towards Heyward, who was watching the pair interact with a furrowed brow. He hesitated for a moment, looking to Kie almost apologetically before stepping away and walking out of the shop. Kiara swore under her breath and followed him, reaching him before he could turn the corner,

“JJ, please!” she called, getting desperate. Why couldn’t he understand that she just wanted what was best for him?

“Just drop it, Kie,” he muttered. “Please.”

“I’ll drop it when i’m tell me the truth!”

“You don’t want to know the truth!”

Kiara froze, watching JJ practically fall apart in front of her. He was breathing heavily, clenching his fists and staring at the ground, avoiding her eyes. Kie reached forward, her fingers grazing against the fading bruises on his cheek before he flinched away and she retracted her hand. She’d never seen him so fragile, his all-smiles and sarcastic comments exterior crumbling before her very eyes.

“Where have you been staying?” she asked, gently.

His shoulders slumped and he wiped his eyes. “The old bridge.”

She knew exactly what he was talking about. There was a rundown bridge on the outskirts of the Cut, above a dried up river. She knew it was one of the homeless hotspots, and she could barely believe JJ was living there. Kiara inhaled sharply, her heart aching.

“The old bridge?” she repeated. “You’re living there?”

“It’s really not that bad,” he started, only to be cut off by Kie.

“It is that bad,” she said. “JJ, why wouldn’t you tell me? I could have helped you, I could have-”

“No,” he interrupted. “No, I don’t want your help. I don’t want your pity. It’s fine, alright? I’m fine.”

Kiara shook her head. “How long?”

“It’s not-”

“How long?” she demanded.

JJ ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the overgrown strands. “It’s only been a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks?” she exclaimed. “JJ, you have been living under a bridge for weeks and you didn’t tell me? You didn’t tell Pope? Why the fuck would you just let yourself suffer for so long?”

“I don’t know what else to do, Kiara!” he yelled. “My dad kicked me out, your parents hate me, and the Heywards can’t afford having another mouth to feed! What did you expect me to do, Kie? Come crawling to you, break down like I did in the hot tub? No, I’m dealing with this myself. I am taking care of myself. I’m doing everything myself!”

“You don’t have to!” Kiara cried. “Why don’t you understand that the people that love you want to help? I love you, I want to help! Just let me- just let me help.” She felt herself growing more quiet as tears brimmed her eyes. “Please.”

JJ was on the verge of tears, too, but he was hiding it behind anger. “I’m not your fucking charity case.”

Kiara felt her mouth go dry as he turned to leave. He didn’t even have his bike with him; he’d probably forgotten it at his dad’s house and didn’t want to go back. The severity of the situation hit Kiara felt like a truck, and she nearly collapsed as she imagined how much had JJ gone through.

“I want to help you because you’re my best friend and I love you.”

He paused and turned. “I can’t put that on you, Kie.”

“What do you mean?”

JJ sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t- I can’t be your problem.”

“Problem?” she repeated. “Hey, you’re not my problem. You’re my friend.”

“Dad told me he was sick of me being his problem.”

Kiara felt shoulders drop. “Oh, JJ. No, you’re- you’re not a problem. God, I’m so sorry. He shouldn’t have said that, okay? Everything he’s said, everything he’s done... it’s not true. I swear. You’re worth protecting.”

She opened her arms, letting him fall into them. Their hug was parallel to the one in the hot tub, but it somehow held more weight. JJ was more broken than ever; his physical wounds were faded, but there were fresh scars affecting his every thought. Kiara hated what Luke had done to him.

“I love you,” she told him. “And I want to help you, okay? So let me help you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered into her shoulder.

“No, it’s okay,” she returned, her voice strained. “It’s okay.”

They stayed like that for a while, JJ calming down eventually. She took him back to the Jeep, pretending not to be alarmed when he nearly fell asleep in their five minute drive to the Wreck. She wasn’t sure if he’d been eating, so she wanted to get a real meal into him before she took him back to her house.

He ate like he hadn’t seen real food in weeks, which he probably hadn’t. She assumed he’d been living off of stolen snacks from shops along the Cut; she knew he couldn’t afford anything else.

JJ still seemed reluctant to let her bring him home, and was uncharacteristically quiet as she pulled into her driveway. Her parents weren’t home, meaning she could bring him in without question. She could deal with them later.

Kiara did a load of laundry, washing JJ’s clothes while he showered. She had some oversized clothes he could borrow in the meantime.

He looked kind of ridiculous in a pair of tight sweatpants and a massive Metallica t-shirt, and Kiara would have laughed if they were in any other situation. There was something about the sadness in his eyes, though; that hollow look that seemed to be set in stone; that kept her serious.

She let him cuddle up next to her in her bed and carded her fingers through his damp hair, not minding the chill. She thought he was already sleeping when he spoke up.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” he mumbled, sounding tired.

“You shouldn’t be,” Kiara replied. “This is what best friends are for, right?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I guess.”

“I love you,” she said.

“You’ve said that a few times,” JJ chuckled dryly.

She knew he was avoiding saying it back. It made sense that he had a hard time saying it. He jokingly told everyone all the time, but being serious and letting people in was probably terrifying. Most of the people that were meant to love him back had either hurt or left him.

“I love you too,” he mumbled after a while.

Kiara smiled gently and kissed the top of his head. “I know.”

[twilightbimbo]

Solstice pt. 4: Twilight AU

Solstice is a Twilight AU with my own OC characters. 

Nathalia

I crouched down on a small cluster of boulders. I felt my lips curl back as I narrowed in on my target. A herd of deer, five of them, grazed the forest greenery. I had hoped that I would get over it by now. I hate killing those deer, I feel bad. There. I said it. Also, they taste kinda gross. It’s just not the same. 

With just a  quick leap off the boulder, I launched myself in the direction of the biggest one. My mom used to yell at me so much for how much of a messy eater I was. I guess some things never change. Gross, I know. 

“Oh fucking hell,” I exclaimed. “I just bought this shirt!” I moaned, hitting the palm of my hand against my forehead in frustration. Blood soaked the upper third of the front of my top and splatters dotted my sleeves. I sat on top of the poor dead animal, dabbing the front of my shirt in vain. I finally gave up and rested my head in my hands, my elbows firmly planted on my knees. 

I felt exhausted. Mentally, of course. Physically? I felt like I could demolish a tank. I had talked to more people in the past thirty six hours than I had in months. 

Suddenly, I heard the soft crunch of a leaf being stepped on in the distance. I stood silently, appraising my early morning breakfast. If my heavy-footed friend was a human, maybe a fisher or hunter, they couldn’t find this deer and get suspicious. I kneeled quickly and made the wound look more animalistic, more feral. It wasn’t hard to do since my messiness helped me in the beginning. 

Curiosity got the best of me, I wanted to see who intruded on my introspective wallowing. I climbed up the nearest fir, finding the best branch with a view that also allowed me coverage. I became still as a statue. 

While the sounds of the footsteps sounded closer, they also sounded lighter. Maybe my friend slipped earlier? I listened carefully as faint grey-green light began to leak through the crowded forest ceiling as I waited. 

Rigor mortis started to set in on the poor animal when the footsteps became loud enough for a human to hear. I craned my neck a bit further to the west, the direction the person was coming from. In one lithe and dramatic jump over the boulders, my guest was directly under the tree I perched on. This was no human. 

The vampire was definitely a woman, she was short but I couldn’t see much else as she wore a long and black hooded cloak. She hesitated by my kill, briefly analyzing it before moving on. I could tell it distracted her, she must be curious about what, or who did that. 

My chest tightened and a phantom feeling of my heart pounding ached deeply. Her vampire scent wasn’t familiar to me, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t recognize mine. There was no way I was followed all the way out to Brookings, much less this deep into the forest. My mind raced as I replayed all my movements over the course of the late night into the early morning. I was certain that I was alone the whole time. 

So who was this visitor? This area of the woods was too far away for humans to be wandering into, so it wasn’t ideal hunting grounds. Maybe they are hiding a body. I’ve stumbled across quite a few discarded meals with the iconic two point bite mark. 

I waited patiently for a long time before even considering relaxing my posture. The sunlight faded as the cloud cover settled deeply into the sky. When the stranger’s scent finally dissipated and I was positive that only the scattering of birds was my only company, I made my way down the fir tree and started to make my way back to town. 

The brief encounter with the other vampire never quite left my mind but I focused on making my new apartment my own as the days of the weekend slowly melted together and passed me by. 

My animal based diet gave me golden eyes when my thirst was down. They looked a bit unusual but allowed me to blend in with the humans. Thanks to my gift, the local coffee shop was hiring. I didn’t need a job but I thought having a job gave me a better chance at blending in. And, it gave me something to do. When I was in high school, and a human, I was a barista. I saved up quite a bit and put it in a bank, my parents prided themselves in teaching me finical responsibility. It gave me a bit of comfort that they had inherited my pocket change when I went missing and eventually declared dead. 

I missed my little sister the most. She’s only fourteen months younger than me and everyone would mistake us for twins. We had the same green-blue eyes and messy dirty blonde hair, but she kept hers way nicer than mine. She was driven, determined, and was wildly competitive. She thought she was stuck in my shadow. I always knew that Margot would do a million times better than me in life. I was right. It’s probably the hardest thing to do every day to not check in on her. 

I wasn’t too close to my mom. She’s too much like me. We’re stubborn, opinionated. We would argue all day and night, but I knew she loved me fiercely. Fierce is a good word to describe Josie. She was the CEO of a record label, climbing her way to the top and taking about every man down along her way, my father one of them. My dad liked that she was in charge and bossed him around. My mom was lean and slender, with a mildly obnoxious boob job. Margot and I got our hair from her, but my mom chemically treated it to be straight. Vanity is a deadly disease in Southern California. 

My parent’s marriage is rocky, to say the least. They took “breaks” often. When I was thirteen I thought they were about to actually divorce but after sticking my sister and me with an au pair for a nearly two months long trip to some private island off of the coast of Mexico things settled down for a couple of years. I never asked what they did down there. 

Beau, my dad, was about twenty one years my mom’s senior. “Spineless bastard,” My mom often muttered behind his back. My dad was quiet and an avid believer in red wine. He spent more time in his cellar and vineyards than he ever did with us, which I didn’t mind. It was pretty obvious that it bothered Margot but she wasn’t one to talk about her feelings. It was a family trait. It’s not like my dad didn’t love my sister and me or anything, in fact in some ways I felt more loved by him than my mom. He just did it in his own way, like making sure my favorite snacks were always stocked or carrying my sister to bed when she stayed up too late studying. 

I wouldn’t call us a happy family, but we were family. I miss them. It made me sad to think about what they about me since my disappearance was framed as drug-related. I try not to fixate on that, though.

I was weirdly excited to go back to school. But, I was also scared. What if I couldn’t control my thirst? What would they say happened on the news? “Crazed teen ruthlessly murders entire class, more at eleven”?

I want to stay. I want a home. I decided I was going to feed as much as possible before my first class. I wanted to be so full that the smell of humans would be overwhelmed. But that could never happen, not for a vampire.  Satisfying our thirst was our number one priority, always. I’ve heard that some very, very old vampires don’t have the same obsession anymore but I find that unlikely.   

My thirst was the first thing I noticed when I came to. My transformation was painful. It felt like I was set on fire and every pore on my skin had a sharp needle stuck through it. I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone. It didn’t help that I didn't know where I was when I woke up. 

I shook my head rapidly, almost like I was trying to physically get those thoughts out of my head. I was nearly done re-furnishing and decorating my apartment. The large windows were shielded by blackout curtains with delicate lace accents weaved into it. I kept things minimal as possible, light, and beach-y. I updated the furniture to the twenty-first century and hung the one personal item I owned, a photo of my family. The one thing that I probably had too much of was plants. Something had to be alive around here. 

Samson 

“Are you sure it’s one of us?” I asked again, two days later after Stella announced her discovery. 

“I’m not a dumbass, Sam” Stella snapped. Stella hates when vampires roll into town. We all do. They usually fuck things up and leave us to clean up the bloody mess. Literally. “Also, shouldn’t you be able to tell?” She pointed out. 

It was true, if she was lying I would know it. But, it’s still shocking. We haven’t encountered a nomad in the three years we have lived in this town. When we lived east of Seattle it wasn’t surprising to get four or five nomads a year.

Suddenly, a wave of calm washed over the room. I could see my siblings relax, Esther’s eyes drooped, the new trashy book she was way too invested in relaxing slightly in her hands. If she was a human, she would pass out on the spot. 

“No fair, Sun,” Stella rolled her eyes. 

“This was supposed to be a nice family game night, you kids are ruining it by getting worked up,” Sunny said sternly.  

“You shouldn’t forcibly quiet us,” Stella retorted. Stella hated being told what to do. Sometimes I’m shocked she even chooses to live with us. 

“I didn’t shut you up, I wish I could!” Sun said, chuckling to herself and patting me on my head. “I just calmed you down, you all are children,” 

We sat around the “dinner” table, Sunny at the head with me sitting on her right. The mahogany table was oval shaped with an ornate red and tablecloth runner. Stella sat facing Sunny on the other side of the table glaring at Sunny with hands folded neatly in front of her and her hair braided and resting on her shoulder. Everett sat on Stella’s left staring intensely at her, most likely talking to her in his own complicated gift’s language. Chip and Esther sat together, Esther perched on his lap, engrossed in her book and Chip absentmindedly played with her hair. 

The stars shined brightly tonight and despite the thick coverage from the forest encasing our home, the moonlight lit up the dining room. Our entire south facing wall was a glass with a view of the Rogue River snaking around our home. I paid little attention to Sunny and Stella’s bickering, focusing on the light bouncing off the crystals of the chandelier which reflected rainbows on the walls, reminding me of my skin in the sunlight.  

“Sam, what do you think?” Sunny asked, nudging my elbow. I cocked my head to the side and gave her a funny look. 

“Huh?” I said quickly and then went over the conversation the family carried on that I barely processed while I was zoning out. “Oh, I don’t know about hunting this vampire down,” I shrugged. “I don’t really see the point in doing that, they might just be passing through,” I continued. 

“If they were just passing through Sam,” Stella said sharply, she hated when I challenged her gift. “I wouldn’t feel their presence anymore,” She finished bitterly. 

I rolled my eyes at her and started to fiddle with the dice that came with the game. “Give them a chance Stells,” I mumbled under my breath, knowing that would just piss her off more. She narrowed her eyes and chucked her phone at me which bounced off my head and landed on the hardwood floor, surprisingly not breaking. 

“I do think it would be best if we got the upper hand on our visitor,” Chip said quietly without interrupting his focus on Esther and her hair. 

“What if they are cool?” I asked jokingly. 

“When are nomads ever not a pain in the ass?” Esther teased, poking fun at Chip who is our newest addition to the family. Chip was a nomad for roughly a hundred years. 

“That is a good point, Esther,” Sunny said, her face soft and thoughtful. “It’s worth looking into who this nomad is,” 

“I’ll round up the search party!” I exclaimed, standing up and slapping the table in excitement. 

“We are the search party, dumbass,” Stella huffed in exasperation. 

Esther

My family decided to waste their evening arguing about the newcomer and then later doing a run around the perimeter of the town, coming up empty-handed. Stella, Everett, and Sunny returned solemnly, a bit defeated early in the morning. Sam was oddly excited to plan another search. 

“Should we go again tonight?” Sam asked, about bouncing on his feet. 

“Let’s wait until their scent leaves a trail,” Sun said, her decision final. While they were chasing down a ghost, I got ready for my first day of school. My seventy-sixth first day of school. 

Thanks to an old friend in Seattle, all of us had forged official documents so no one questioned us enrolling. In my human life, I was Esther Rosenburg. After joining the coven, all of us took the surname King, except for Stella and Everett who kept Stella’s last name Hayes. Samson, Chip, and I typically went to high school while Stella and Everett did community college. This time around, I switched it up and did community college with Chip while the rest abandoned education. 

“Let’s take a first day of school picture of y’all,” Sam said chortling, slapping Chip on the back. 

“Yay!” I exclaimed gleefully. Stella rolled her eyes, yet again, at us but still helped set up the camera to take a tasteful photo of Chip and I standing in front of the spiral staircase. Chip wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close and kissed the top of my head. I looked up at him smiling and I heard the lens of the camera shutter. 

“Beautiful,” Sunny said, looking over Stella’s shoulder at the digital screen of the camera. 

“Thanks, Mom,” I grinned at her. Chip laughed quietly and squeezed me tighter. 

“Shall we?” He said, taking my hand lightly. I stood up on the tips of my toes, kissing his cheek. 

“We shall,” I whispered. In the human blink of an eye, I flashed to the side table by the door and grabbed the keys of my black Volvo. 

“Be careful,” Sun warned, both of blending in and the possible threat of the vampire in town. 

Our home was on the outskirts of town, tucked deeply in the forest. Chip drove us to school, following the winding road. Trees crowded the sides of the road with fog clinging to the asphalt. Chip and I listened half-heartedly to the morning news by the local public that droned on quietly from the car radio in the background, but nothing disturbing happened to indicate that the nomad vampire was active. 

Chip kissed the back of my hand that he was holding as we pulled into the parking lot of Brookings Community College. I looked into Chip’s red eyes and kissed him. When I pulled away, his eyes were brown and I knew mine would be the same color, even though I could pass with my golden eyes. 

“Master illusionist,” I smirked. 

“You know it, baby,” He winked in response. He got out of the car and walked leisurely around to my door, opening it for me. 

We only had two classes today, Introduction to Marine Biology and World History. History is one of my favorite courses, it’s fun to see how wrong textbooks get it. Chip grabbed my hand and we walked to the light blue science building, weaving between the humans hurrying to their classes. 

As we walked into the classroom, Chip immediately stiffened and pushed me back half a step as he let out a low snarl that only I could hear. My jaw dropped as my eyes landed on a girl with dirty blonde hair and golden eyes whipped around to stare at us, her mouth shaped in a small “o” of surprise. 

Previous Chapter

[leah-halliwell92]

Too Much Love Can Kill You

Summary: Soul marks are found through touch and song, one must sing to find their half and touch completes their connection. To reject your mark is to sentence them to death. You have been on tour with Brian, Roger and Rufus for a year and have known them for nearly four. What happens you find out along the way that you are the mark of one Brian May?

Previously:

“I…I can feel her,” the older man gasped with a breathy laugh.

“And you hadn’t before?” Rufus asked carefully.

“No, I had felt something before but not since we completed our bond,” Brian admitted.

“She’d closed her end,” Rufus said now understanding what had happened to you.

Brian’s eyes widened at that fear now a prominent emotion, “Why did she…?”

“I don’t know. But whatever reason she had for closing the bond, it could be the reason for why she was in the state she was in when da went to her,” Rufus said almost to himself, “She went into shock…from withdrawal.”

Prologue – Chapter 1 – Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Roger felt her small gasp of surprise and couldn’t help give a breath of relief recognizing the action as a sign that both marks’ bond had met. He saw a soft smile start to form your lips and couldn't help the small sad grin that appeared on his.

"He's there...I can feel him," she whispered tiredly her smile growing despite the wince of the phantom pain.

You felt your mark warm and heart thrum as Brian's end of the bond seemed to embrace you. You basked in the feel of your bond meeting his as if you’d been doing it all your lives. This feeling of completion, love and hope...it is borderline euphoric. If it weren't for the fact that their bond and are hanging onto whether or not he accepts them the moment would have been perfect.

In the living room, Rufus sat with a quietly sobbing Brian a supportive hand on the older man’s shoulder.

“She...she knew,” Brian gasped between sobs as the realization of what he had been about to do fell on his shoulders.

Rufus furrowed his brow in wonder at what Brian could mean with that.

“She knew what Bri?” He asked reluctantly.

“That I would reject her, us our bond and she knew why,” Brian said as a fresh wave of tears hit him.

Rufus’ eyes widened at the revelation. He should have known, and taken you warnings to heart, the reasons you’d told him from the moment he found out whose mark you carry and all the reasons you gave him were not out of spite or you being a bitch because of the age gap. It couldn’t be further from the truth, and now is when he realizes that you had taken the time to get to know Brian deeper without doing much in hopes that it would be enough. That this friendship would be enough.

Silence surrounded them as Brian’s sobs subsided.

“She loves you you know,” Rufus said quietly.

Brian looked at the younger man in shock.

“Has for awhile now, since–”

“Since we sang our song,” Brian cut in voice soft and broken.

Rufus nodded silently.

Brian remembered that day… and to this day he couldn’t remember a day you hadn’t looked so happy and yet so sad at the same time. He fell back against the backrest of the sofa and let his head fall back against it. He closed his eyes letting the memory take over.

In the bedroom, you snuggled into the bed and manage to doze off into sleep with the memory of when their bond flared to life for the first time in her mind’s eye.   _________________________________________________________________

You took a deep breath in a an attempt to keep your nerves in check…the concert starts soon after all. But you couldn’t help it! This is your first tour with your new found family and friends, who happen to be Queen, and who were you kidding you’re a nervous wreck. You don’t want to embarrass them, especially not Roger who had been more of a father to you than your own had been. And abso-fucking-lutely not Brian.

If you were to have a best friend then he fits the mold. He’s more than understanding, kind and doesn’t mind listening to you ramble about your classes or help out when you’re taking a physics class. He jams with you on his legendary Red Special and gives you tips and tricks to improve your own playing. It’s an amazing friendship no matter what people said about him being older than you or vise versa.

Today proved to be more than just nerves about this being your first tour with Queen but there’s been a song stuck in your head for the past month that is driving you up a wall more often than not. You sat the dressing room you share with the Queens on your own as they did whatever it is rockstars do to before a show, allowing you to put a lyric to the tune. You hear the door open and a familiar poof of hair as Brian walks in a grin on his kind face.

“Hey Bri,” you say putting down the pencil.

“Hey yourself, you doing alright?” He asked taking a seat on the other side of the couch you were sitting on.

You nod with a grin of your own before you give the half written song an unsure look and with a deep breath then asking, “Can you read over this for me?”

Brian shifted closer to you teasingly saying, “And what do we have here hmm?”

As he read the lyrics, you plucked the chords of your guitar here and there playing the basic tune of the song.

Brian looked up at you a bright grin on his face after reading.

“So...what do you think?” You asked curiously.

He hummed thoughtfully and with a small smirk said, “I think I need to listen to the music with the lyric to decide.”

You returned his grin and began to play...

“Woke up sweating from a dream With a different kind of feeling All day long my heart was beating Searching for the meaning Hazel eyes I was so color-blind We were just wasting time For my whole life We never crossed the line Only friends in my mind But now I realize It was always you Can't believe I could not see it all this time, all this time It was always you Now I know why my heart wasn't satisfied, satisfied It was always you, you No more guessing who Looking back now I know it was always you, always you”

You sang the first verse happy and proud at how well the music and lyrics go together. You nearly outwardly gasp when Brian picks up where the second verse starts.

Your world shifted at that moment. Your mark warmed and darkened as your voices mingled and fit… like puzzle pieces you and Bri fit together perfectly. The both of you sang on until the end of the lyrics.

He looked, dare you say it, proud. He looked at you with a bright smile on his face and said, “Quite the song my dear, I certainly can’t wait for you to finish it.”

You nodded forcing a bright smile as you pushed down the urge and itch to reach for his hand. The feeling is excruciating but necessary…

“Five minutes to show time (Y/N),” he said as he stood and made his way out of the room.

“Ok, tell Rog I’ll be there soon yeah?” You say as you put the paper away in your guitar case.

He nods and leaves you alone again.

You feel yourself sag as he leaves, as if he’s taking a part of you with him and in a way he is. You take your time making your way to the main stage. Taking this time to come to terms with the fact that he cannot for any reason know what he means to you and you to him. You hummed your song committing to memory the sound of his voice as he sang along with you. You grinned sadly to yourself as you resigned yourself to living a half life...a life where you and Bri are the other’s marks and he will never know...  _________________________________________________________________

Roger slips out of the bed tucking the blanket around you snuggly before leaving the room and letting you rest.

Out in the living room, Roger looked on at the state his closest and oldest friend is in and sighed knowing the feeling of having a young love and feelings that came with it. He’d been in the emotional position of feeling too old to be with the unbelievable woman’s mark and having those feelings of inadequacy due to the age gap between them. As angry as he was with Brian, Roger couldn’t blame the man for wanting the very best under the sun for his mark.

He nodded to Rufus who had stood up when he spotted his da coming out of the room.

Rufus went to go into your room but was stopped by Rog who said, “Let her rest a bit for now.”

He pulled his boy into the farthest room leaving a very clearly distraught Bri sitting on the couch.

“When the time comes, Brian will start going haywire emotionally. I mean...do you remember how I got when Sarina and I met?” Roger asked.

Rufus nodded as the realization of what Roger is telling him dawned. When his da and stepmother met, their bond was instantaneous. Not like yours or Bri’s but near on faster than the speed of light. He remembered how it had taken most if not all the family to sit Roger down and convince him to at least have lunch with her at all! The man looked about ready to jump off a cliff instead of doing it. And it took Sarina even longer to break through the old drummer’s shell before she could convince him that she wanted him fully bond or no bond age gap be damned.

They have all known you for close to five years now, and throughout that time they have learned that you love person based on their personality not based on their age. Age does play a factor but not a major one unless it did bring cause for concern.

“Will it be him going in then?” Rufus asked seriously.

“I think it might be for the best,” Roger said thoughtfully, “Their bond, being newly forged, will be flaring violently now due to their current emotional state…it’s going to be a long night.”

The Taylor men stood in silence for a moment before Rufus asked, “Should we just be as supportive as we can?”

Roger nodded running and hand over his face as he sighed exhaustedly before going for his phone.

Rufus left the room at the sound of him talking to Sarina. His da needs some time with his mark right now.

Entering the living room again Rufus was met with an empty sofa and the door to your room ajar.  _________________________________________________________________ 

If you wanna be tagged shoot me an ask!!! Thanks for reading don’t forget to like and reblog!!!! Feedback is always appreciated!! _____________________________________________

Tag list: @pansexualqueendarling, @queenattheopera, @brianandthemays, @theborhapboysawakenedmywhatever, @ramibaby, @captain–americanna, @awkwardangelshezza, @avengerraven1023, @danamaleksworld, @pastywhiteperson, @readinghorn, @i-was-born-like-this, @redspecialstardust​, @reedusteinrambles, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @readinghorn, @subbysharkbabe, @capan-devereaux, @bowieandqueen11, @bellamy1998, @reedusteinrambles

[superiordragonlorde]

After Effects

April 3: AU | Red Poppy | Ain’t No Sunshine by Bill Withers (The song I listened to while writing this)

Alright, day 3 for @kiridekuweek2k19 . I hope you all enjoy!

Warning: implied death

     Izuku stood on the subway, sandwiched into place by a crowd of people. He tugged down his baseball cap, keeping the bill low and covering his eyes. The last thing he wanted or needed today was for an eager fan to recognize him. He’d never make it out of the train car in one piece then.

     The person trapped in front of him shifted back and Izuku tucked the bouquet of poppies in his hand closer to his chest in a vain attempt to protect them. They were a bright, cheerful red that seemed to stick out in the dull subway. Izuku watched them, mind trailing off to spiked red hair and sparkling red eyes that always looked like they were shining with an inner light that never seemed to fade, no matter what horrors they might have seen.

     The subway slowed to a stop and the doors opened with a mechanical voice blaring the destination. Izuku slipped out, murmuring soft apologies as he bumped into civilians that streamed out of the car with him. He followed the river of people up to the city’s surface, which was colored the same dreary gray as the subway station below.

     Izuku glanced up at the sky, noting the low hanging clouds. The worry of being rained on wriggled in the back of his mind, but he gave it a gentle push away and continued down the sidewalk. His eyes drifted back down to the red poppies in his grasp, the brightest color in the dull city.

     His mind slipped back into memories of a bright smile that seemed to light up every dark corner of the world and warm the hearts of any person who caught sight of it. The corner of Izuku’s mouth twitched in a pathetic attempt at a grin. That smile had been perfect for rescuing terrified civilians and easing their fears. It had always helped lift Izuku’s heavy heart, especially after difficult days at work.

     Though, no one had ever claimed hero work was easy.

     Izuku trudged down the street, feet following a familiar path as he kept his head down and shoulders hunched. Hopefully everyone else was too busy getting through their own lives to bother with his large, slightly suspicious figure.

      There was only one close call, when a small child standing at a crosswalk, waiting to cross with her father, happened to look up and catch his gaze. Izuku felt his stomach sink as her brown eyes widened and her mouth opened in silent awe. He quickly raised a finger to his lips and winked, hoping she would understand the hint. Her gaping mouth morphed into a smile just as the crosswalk’s light turned green, allowing the group to tramp across the street. Izuku made sure to lose sight of the child and picked up his pace, muscles tense in anticipation for yelling and cheering.

     They never came.

     He only started to relax when he’d made it down three more blocks, earning a slightly concerned look from an older man when he released a whooshing sigh that took every ounce of air out of his lungs.

     He used to jump at the chance to interact with kids. He would crouch down next to them on the sidewalk, reveling in their beaming smiles, excited squeals, and endless chatters. They never failed to make his day with their tangible joy and innocence, and he lived for filling their small hearts with hope and security.

     His partner would always crouch next to him too, his laughter warmer than the sun and able to fill Izuku’s heart until he was sure it would explode. His eyes would be brimming with ecstasy and adoration, and his lips would be stuck in a wide, blinding grin for hours afterward.

     Izuku’s lips quirked up at a fond memory that crept forward from a few months ago. The two off-duty heroes had just finished talking to three kids who were giving them monstrous waves and cries of farewell as they toddled along beside their mother and father. Izuku had been waving back, laughing lightly, when his partner had leaned closer, breath warm against his ear. “Do you... do you ever think of having your own someday?”

     Izuku had frozen and looked up at uncertain red eyes and mouth pursed with worry. His stomach had flipped and sat weightless inside of himself. He’d swallowed and hesitated to answer before replying, “I... I have, yeah. I think I’d really like to have kids someday.”

     The smile that had tugged up the corners of his partner’s mouth had overflowed with jittery relief and timid excitement. “Really? Me too.”

     Izuku shook his head, dispelling the warmth in his chest and shooing away the lingering trails of the memory. He lifted his gaze from the sidewalk, taking in his destination. There were only a few people milling around the open area, heads bowed and steps slow and measured. Izuku tilted his head back down and continued down the invisible trail his feet had memorized. He stopped at the temple near the entrance, grabbing the items he needed, and trudged past pristine rows of cement, granite, and marble pillars. His feet grew  heavier with each step.

     He slowed to a halt and steeled himself before tearing his gaze away from the ground. A name carved into stone glared back at him, crisp and new.

     Eijirou Kirishima

     Izuku set the bouquet of poppies into the flower vase at the base of the tombstone with a shaky hand. With trembling fingers and a tight throat, Izuku slowly brushed off the leaves sitting atop the stone and pulled out the weeds sprouting around its base. When he’d finished, he grabbed the incense sticks and the bucket filled with water he’d gotten earlier from the temple. It took him a couple tries to light the incense and he had to take a steadying breath before pouring some of the water over the tombstone.

     His knees seemed to give out beneath him after he finished and Izuku hurriedly wiped away the tears forming in his eyes. He cleared his throat and placed his hands together in prayer. He was supposed to silently pray, but Izuku found his brain hardly cooperated anymore. It constantly bounced between either running in endless circles, unable to slow down enough to form a complete, coherent thought, or being trapped in a dull, empty space of existence that seemed impossible to escape from. He found it was easier to process his thoughts when he picked up his old habit of mumbling, much to his friends and colleagues’ chagrins.

     “Hi, Eiji,” he murmured, mindful of the other people nearby. “Sorry I haven’t visited you in the past few days. I, uh, I’ve kind of been swamped with work a bit.” He could practically hear Eijirou scold him about taking proper care of himself and not getting carried away in his work. It would be firmer than Ochako’s worries, but softer than Katsuki’s barking orders and demands.

     “Kacchan, Sero, Iida, and I just busted a group of sex traffickers though. That was... really hard. There were— Oh, fuck, Eijirou— there were kids there, and I know we’ve seen that kind of stuff before but—” He inhaled shakily, cheeks growing wet from his tears. “I just couldn’t help but think about how you’d pick up all of those kids and talk to them and soothe their fears. You always gave the best hugs and they were all so scared, and I— I just—” He squeezed his eyes shut, a sob crawling up his throat. “I wanted you there. I wanted you there with me because you make things so much better. I know that sounds horrible, but I just— I want you here still. I want you with me, but you... you’re not a-and—” A sob cut him off and he bit his lip to smother the howling creature tearing his chest apart.

     He slowly inhaled, blinking away some of his tears, and sniffled. “A-anyway, I, uh, I’ve been getting out of the apartment, so... don’t worry, ok?” A tight chuckle spilled out of his mouth. “I’m not moping around in our home.

     “I, uh, still haven’t been able to make myself move any of your stuff around,” he quietly admitted. “I’ve barely cleaned the apartment. If it wasn’t for Kacchan and his brutish self, there would probably be five inches of dust everywhere. I just... I didn’t want to erase your presence. I-I didn’t want to make it seem like you had never existed in our home or in my life. But you know Kacchan, he came barrelling in and wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He shook his head, a wet giggle bubbling out of him like lead balloons. “It was... kind of relieving though, knowing that I couldn’t erase you just from cleaning the house. That sounds pretty dumb though, I guess.” He sighed, closing his eyes again as a phantom hand reached into his chest and crushed his heart in its cold, iron grip.

      “I, um, I got another letter from the agency,” he started, the tears falling faster. “Apparently, they’re automatically sent out, and they haven’t been able to stop them yet for some reason, but it was asking for us... for me to... to finish the—” He swallowed. “The, uh... the adoption application form. I, um, I actually haven’t even been able to look at those, since...” He trailed off, sucking in a shuddering breath. “I just—” A pained laugh slithered out of his mouth. “I-I can’t do it. That was— We were supposed to do this together. We were going to be... I-I...” He rested his forehead on his clasped hands, shoulders trembling and tears soaking into his pants.

     “I hate this,” he whispered. “I hate all of this. I hate that you’re not here. I hate that the world keeps moving and I’m stuck. I can’t move fast enough to keep up and the city is paying for it. Our friends are paying for it! I-I want to get better so I can help people again, but I’m... I’m scared that if I do I might forget you and... and I don’t ever want to forget you. Never. A-and everyone says I won’t and that you’d want me to keep going— and I know you’d say that, too— b-but... I want you to tell me that. I want you to be here and tell me that yourself.” He raised his head, gaze boring into the sharp, carved name on the tombstone. “I want you with me because not having you here is the worst thing I’ve ever felt in my life, and... I want it to go away. I want you here because then it’ll stop hurting a-and— Damn, I sound so selfish right now,” he chuckled, voice ladened with self-deprecation. He rubbed his face, smearing his tears.

     He pulled his hands away and sighed, shoulders slumping. “I guess what I’m really trying to say is... I... I miss you. I miss you so much, Eiji. And I love you. Even if it hurts right now, all of the stuff before this was worth it.” He tilted his head and aimed a wobbly, wet smile at the tombstone. “I wouldn’t trade any of this for the world if it meant I lost you.” He stroked a hand over the stone’s smooth face, fingers tracing and dipping into the words carved into it.

     With a heavy, quivering inhale, Izuku grabbed the burnt incense sticks and stood on half-asleep legs. He rested a hand atop the tombstone and smiled softly down at it. “I’ll try not to take as long coming back, Eiji,” he promised. The stone didn’t offer a reply.

     With a weary sigh, Izuku grabbed the bucket and trudged back to the temple to return it. His feet dragged from emotional exhaustion and reluctance. Leaving Eijirou’s grave never got any easier.

     As he stepped out of the cemetery, fat drops of rain pattered down on the sidewalk, filling the quiet area with its soft drone. Izuku turned his face up, staring at the darkened clouds. A corner of his lip twitched as drops of water fell onto his cheeks.

     His mind slipped back into a memory of standing on the balcony outside of their apartment, listening to the sound of rain drumming across the city and enjoying the cooling breeze that passed over him. A pair of thick, toned arms had wrapped around him and a cheek had nuzzled against his, flattened red hair tickling his nose. Izuku had turned his head to meet a soft, sharp-toothed smile and gentle red eyes. He’d tilted his head, capturing Eijirou’s lips with his own and earning a warm, rumbling chuckle.

     Izuku felt a grin stretch across his lips as the rain soaked through his clothes and coated his face in a thin sheen. He had always loved the rain. His heart skipped a little faster as he wondered if, maybe, this was Eijirou’s way of letting him know he was still there and watching over him.

     The thought left Izuku lighter than he had felt in weeks.

[macbetha]

hi all! i’m so excited to share the playlist for chasing the dragon, the sequel to my first free! fanfic, eyes wide open all the time. as usual, these songs are what i use when writing each specific character / couple and i’ve highlighted some lyrics that might give you some pre-insight to the state of certain characters / gangs. you’ll notice there’s still a continuing theme of eyes and seeing that can change for each character given the context of their song. please let me know whatever theories you come up with, i’m very interested! 

G E N E R A L   T H E M E S

the prologue by halsey from ancient grudge break to new mutiny  our toil shall strive to mend

way down we go by kaleo oh, father tell me do we get what we deserve? and way down we go do you dare to look them right in the eye? ‘cause they will run you down, down to the dark yeah, son they will run you down down til you fall and they will run you down down to your core til you can’t crawl no more and way down we go

again by flyleaf i love the way that your heart breaks with every injustice and deadly fate praying it all will be new living like it all depends on you here you are down on your knees again trying to find air to breathe again right where i want you to be again

everybody wants to rule world by lorde welcome to your life there’s no turning back help me make the most of freedom and of pleasure nothing ever lasts forever

this is america by wunderworld

F R E E B I R D

we carry on by the phantoms this fire won’t go out though just a flicker it may be shifting through the shadows to a vision we can’t see clinging to this dying breath holding on for a fighting chance hold fast to one another we will stand to one another we will stand stranger to brother we are one we carry on

fools by emi all this money won’t make me switch up on crew we all dying, til then i’m riding with you

D I A M O N D  B A C K

copycat by billie eilish you got your finger on the trigger but your trigger finger’s mine silver dollar, golden flame dirty water, poison rings perfect murder, take your aim everybody knows my name

H O N E Y B L A D E

sixteen shots by stefflon don  they gon' put hands on a chick? eyes watchin' when I comin' through the door what i'mma do, they ain't prepared for no boy can tell me 'bout my mother round here and safe everybody need ammo if you hear that da-da-da-don bullets gon' hit you wherever you are

R O U G H  R A B B I T

railroad track by willy moon come along with me i’ll take you to a place you never did see yeah said i’mma go down to the railroad track and we ain’t comin’ back, no i ain’t comin’ back no more

B L O O D H O U N D 

wolf by skott please do not give up on us i’m a wolf howlin’ on your door step callin’ out

?????????

ready aim fire by imagine dragons off in the distance there is resistance  bubbling up and festering blood in the writing, stuck in the fighting look through the rifle’s sight how come i never seen your face ‘round here? i know every single face round here here in the heckle, holding the shackle  i was never welcome here

heaven knows by the pretty reckless won’t be pretty, won’t be sweet, just sitting there on their feet if you listen close you can hear them cry oh lord, heaven knows we belong way down below

haru tachibana

my sweet prince by placebo me and the dragon  can take all the pain away my sweet prince you are the one

popular by emi fuck surveillance please just close your cases i’m about to make it and rub it in yall faces they know i got birdies they want me in cages stay off my line baby, you know that shit’s tapped on the move, yeah i always got a pack serve it, i still know my purpose trust me i ain’t worth it you don’t got my prints, oh i got my hands so dirty

makoto tachibana

devil’s backbone by the civil wars oh lord, oh lord what do i do i’ve fallen for someone who’s nothing like you he’s raised on the edge of the devil’s backbone i just want to take him home oh lord, oh lord what have i done i’ve fallen in love with a man on the run there wasn’t a right or wrong he could choose he did what he had to do don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not he’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that i got oh lord, oh lord i’m begging you please don’t take that sinner from me 

solider, poet, king by the oh hellos there will come a solider who carries a mighty sword he will tear this city down oh lay, oh lie, oh lord there will come a poet whose weapon is his word he will slay you with his tongue oh lay, oh lie, oh lord

rin yamazaki

promises by jhene aiko i been comin’ home late night i been sleepin’ past day light baby, that ain’t right i don’t think i can make it then i hear you say that i better not do nothing crazy nami really needs you and i would never leave you  everything i do is for you and i really do adore you everything is all right, everything is in your mind if anything should happen, cause anything could know that you’ll be all right  promise i’ll be, promise you’ll be, promise we’ll be all right

better by banks why are you so afraid?  i can see you waiting, waiting, waiting withering away i can see you dying, dying, dead, dying how couldn’t you see? all the water’s cold, cold, cold and why, don’t you see? baby, try try to see me

sousuke yamazaki

fire by barns country  lonely shadows following me lonely voices talking to me a thousand times i’ve fallen my mother told me, “son let it be.” sold my soul to a sweet melody

soldier by fleurie soldier, keep on marching on head down til the work is done head in the dust, feet in the fire labor on that midnight wire listening for that angel choir you got nowhere to run you wanna take a drink of that promised land? you gotta wipe the dirt off of your hands careful son, you got dreamer’s plans but it gets hard to stand

gou matsuoka

love club by lorde i’m in a clique but now i want out i was in but i want out there are fights for being my best friend and the girls get their claws out there’s something about hanging out with the wicked kids i’m sitting pretty on the throne there’s nothing more i want except to be alone the love is choking me what about the kid? it’s time the kid got free

stay by zedd and alessia cara (acoustic) make it on your own but we don’t have to grow up we can stay forever young

isuzu mikoshiba

bad friends by emi lil aries with an attitude men always put her in a bad mood bad libra with the gold tan she like an angel with the snow man yeah i got some bad friends no you cannot have them they wanna doubt her, let her show them if you wanna talk to them you talk to me, yeah we don’t keep no company we do not need, yeah we don’t fuck around with just anybody, yeah

hiyori tono

you should see me in a crown by billie eilish bite my tongue, bide my time wearing a warning sign wait til the world is mine visions are vandalized cold on my kingdom side fell for these ocean eyes  count my cards, watch them fall blood on a marble wall you should see me in a crown i’m gonna run this nothing town

ikuya kirishima

waiting game by banks baby, i’m thinking it over what if the way we started made it something cursed from the start what if it only gets colder would you still wrap me up and tell me that you think this was smart? cause lately i been scared of even thinking ‘bout what we are i was in love but i don’t wanna cause any pain and if i’m feeling like we’re evil we got nothing to gain

asahi shiina

smile by mikky ekko we’re trying so hard to get it all right i wanna be somewhere somewhere just a little closer to grace when i’m quiet i can nearly hear him say: smile, the worst is yet to come we’ll be lucky if we ever see the sun got nowhere to go, we could be here for a while but the future is forgiven, so smile

miho amakata

i want to be evil by eartha kitt i’m tired of being pure and chaste  i want to be evil i want to spit tacks and cheat at jacks i wanna be nasty and tell lies i wanna be mean and i wanna be bad

nii satomi

the lament of eustace scrubb by the oh hellos brother, forgive me we both know i’m the one to blame cause when i saw my demons i knew them well and welcomed them father, have mercy i know that i have gone astray  cause when i saw my reflection it was a stranger beneath my face when i touched the water they tell me i could be set free

yazaki aki-mikoshiba

i got you by ciara  hush little baby, don’t you cry momma’s gonna love you all your life and if you ever need a friend momma’s right there til the very end if you’re feeling down or weak momma’s got the strength you need there’s nothing in the world that i wouldn’t do cause i love you

natsuya + nao

the golden floor by snow patrol tell me that you want to dance i wanna feel your pulse on mine just treat me like a stolen glance dark shape on a golden floor a sleeping planet with a molten core i’m a peasant in your princess arms penniless with only charm

kinjou

game of survival by ruelle who’s in the shadows who’s ready to play are we the hunters or are we the prey this is a wild game of survival

ayumu: breakaway by kelly clarkson

shizuru: generation why by conan grey

romio: jordan belfort by weswalker

haru + makoto

compass by zella day if we make it out alive compass point you anywhere closer to me where you are, i will be anywhere in between miles high in the sea

the good side by troye sivan i’ve got the good side of things left you with both of the rings i’ve got the good side of you sent it out into the blue the people danced, the sound of your heart the world sang along to it falling apart

i found by amber fun and i’ll use you as a warning sign i’ll use you as a focal point so i don’t lose sight of what i want  i’ll lose you as a makeshift gate of how much to give and how much to take and i’ve fell farther than i thought i could but i missed you more than i thought you would i found love where it wasn’t supposed to be right in front of me talk some sense to me

sousuke + rin

if it hadn’t been for love by the steeldrivers never would have run through the blinding rain  without one dollar to my name if it hadn’t been for love never would have seen the trouble that i’m in i wouldn’t be free if it hadn’t been for love four cold walls without parole lord have mercy on my soul

↳ namiko: boats & birds by gregory and the hawk if you’ll be my star, i’ll be your sky you can hide underneath me and come out at night when i turn jet black and you show off your light i live to let you shine ebbing and flowing and pushed by the breeze i live to make you free but you can sky rocket away from me and never come back if you find another galaxy far from here, with more room to fly just leave me your stardust to remember you by

hiyori + ikuya

loyal by 6lack i been studying you ever since we locked eyes even knew your favorite pie, said that it was key lime i don’t want this kind of life, so can you please get it right why you keep lyin’ why the fuck you keep lyin? i know i been loyal, baby showed you how to ball like a hoya, baby see them talkin’ i’m like so what have you walkin’ through the fucking party with your nose up i treat you like you royal, royal, royal tell the truth, don’t you soil, soil, soil i can tell cause i know you, know you

sunflower by swae lee thinking in a bad way, loosing your grip screaming at my face, baby don’t trip some things you just can’t refuse ride my like a cruise and i’m not trying to lose you’re the sunflower i think your love would be too much

isuzu + gou

crush by tessa violet  you make it difficult to not overthink and when i’m with you i turn all shades of pink i wanna touch you but don’t wanna be weird but i could be your crush throw you for a rush 

[loubabykitten]

FICS OF THE WEEK

What really matters (116k, chaptered) - uni au, bad boy!louis

After finishing school, Harry Styles starts studying at Manchester University. Harry is a nice, innocent boy who has his heart in the right place. In contrary, Louis Tomlinson doesn't have anything in common with Harry. He likes parties, alcohol, sex, takes drugs, smokes and works in his father's dirty business. Their worlds are so different and for sure, they would have never met if it wasn't for that coincidence that slowly brings them closer to each other and changes both of their lifes completely.

I give my heart for you to heal (57k, chaptered) 

"I can't believe I ever listened to Kaitlyn into agreeing on this stupid not date." He grunts loudly, making sure that Louis The Fucking Tommo listens.

"Just go back inside and read a book or something!" Louis yells back as he jumps onto his bike, angrily putting on his helmet.

"Fuck you."

Louis throws a finger at him, and then he's off.

or

the one where Louis' best mate gets married to Harry's best friend, and they can't really stand each other, so what do they do when something tragic is set to change their lives?

The bachelor (53k, chaptered) - bachelor!harry, assistant!louis

"Don't tell me, you're Lola," Louis pointed at the little girl and she crowded her father's leg shyly, sticking her thumb in her mouth.

Harry chuckled lightly and cupped the back of her head with a large palm, his calloused hands catching the fine strands of her hair.

"She's shy," Harry told him. "Plus you swore mighty loud...M'Harry by the way," he stuck his free hand forward, his diction belying his way of life- slow and casual.

The somewhat dainty-looking loud-mouth flicked a look to his hand, then back to his face. Harry waited patiently for him to take it.

"Louis," he finally shared, clasping Harry's hand with his smaller one and giving it a gentle squeeze, placing his other over the top of both of theirs. "Tomlinson," he added. "I'm your personal assistant," he added.

Or the one where Harry dates six other guys and still falls in love with Louis Tomlinson ;)

I'd still dance with you (59k, chaptered) 

“Liam, if you met someone that you really liked, would age matter?” Louis asked. “I suppose so; to a point, anyway.” “Like, how young would you go?” Liam thought it over. “Uh… I don’t know. Like, 24?” Louis groaned and dropped his head in his hands. “Why? How old is this guy you like?” “Twenty-one,” Louis muttered. “Hang on. He’s 21, and you’re… what? Twenty-eight?” “Yeah.” “Wow. Um… well, OK. That’s a, uh, that’s a gap.” --- Or, the 21/28 age difference fic where Harry is younger than Louis thought he was, and even though Louis’ head is telling him not to pursue anything, his heart doesn’t seem to agree.

Own the scars (144k, chaptered) 

“But I don’t belong here,” Louis insists.    “Why do you say that?” James asks.    “These people are all drug addicts and alcoholics,” Louis shrugs.    Something sparks in James’ eyes.    “And you’re not?”

 Louis has never felt like he was good enough: for his stepdad, for his life-long best friend, for the life he's supposed to want. After an accident that nearly costs him his life, Louis' parents send him to rehab where he’s forced to face his demons. On the long and difficult road to recovery, Louis must confront the truths he’s been avoiding about his future, his relationships, and his sense of self-worth. Because before he can love anyone else, he’s got to learn how to love himself first.

If fate is kind (23k, one shot) 

Harry, helping out his coworker by taking her daughter to the library on a particularly busy day, runs into the funniest children's librarian that he's ever met in his life. He runs into Louis again a few days later, in a kebab shop after a night out, and then again at a wedding at work.

At that point, dating - and, by extension, seeing each other on purpose - makes sense. Harry's only qualm is that he worries what Louis will say when he finds out that Harry, at 27, still isn't out to his parents.

Staring across the room (26k, one shot) - library au, librarian!harry, installation coordinator!louis

Harry Styles has a great life. He’s a children’s librarian at the New York Public Library, he’s got wonderful friends, and he loves cooking, green tea, yoga, and his collection of bow ties. He doesn’t mind that his life seems a little structured, maybe even a little boring. But when Louis Tomlinson joins the library staff as the new Installation Coordinator, things become a lot less predictable. Louis gets under his skin right from the start, bossing Harry around, making noise during story time, and eating the last cupcake in the staff lounge. Louis may be almost offensively attractive, but Harry will not be succumbing to Louis Tomlinson’s charms, even if the rest of the library staff have.

Teacups (25k, one shot) - Disneyland au, peter pan!louis, mad hatter!harry

"Looks like your attraction is not any body's cup of tea today," he puns cheekily. Harry rolls his eyes and lifts the box onto the counter easily, dusting his hands off without a blink of an eye to Louis. "I think it might be your costume."

 "Alright, babe, you listen here." Harry comes forward and makes sure he's close to Louis' ear. Louis swallows carefully when Harry speaks. "Cut this shit out, you're no Peter Pan in my eyes. You're a fucking twit. I know what you're like, and that's all you need to worry about."   or the au where louis works as peter pan at paris' eurodisney while harry's the mad-hatter who works at the teacup ride, and just so happens to be the annoyingly gorgeous man louis is in love with.

Smoke & mirrors (59k, chaptered) - grey’s anatomy au, doctor!louis, doctor!harry

“What are we drinking then?” He asks Harry, claiming his place sitting on the stool by his side.

“Tequila.” Harry replies.

“Is this a good idea?”

“Neither is sleeping with you, probably, but I’m going to do it anyways, so…” He hands Louis a glass. “Bottoms up!”

Or: the one in which Harry hates Louis, but doesn’t know him. And then… He does.

The dead things we carry (25k, one shot) - historical au, teacher!louis, doctor!harry

September ‘49     He hasn’t seen him since that day in France, that horrible muddy day where for one terrifyingly long second, Louis really thought he was going to die. He winces with the phantom pain, the hand not holding his cane going to his stomach automatically, remembering the franticness, the tenderness, of Harry’s hands while Louis was bleeding out.

This is the man who saved Louis’ life.

For one second, Louis fears Harry won’t recognise him, but his eyes widen when he turns to his left and they meet Louis’. He takes a step forward, reaching for him with a shaky hand before stopping himself.

“Louis,’ Harry says with a shudder and Louis doesn’t think his name has ever carried more weight.

This is the only man Louis ever thought about kissing for real.

“Oh,” Mrs. Padley says, clearly taken aback. “You two know each other?”

There are some things people never fully come home from. Until, one day, if they’re lucky, home comes to them.