#Four Phantoms in Concert

[markbbrooklyn]

LATER IN AUGUST (not showing on my NYC Spectrum schedule yet, so probably late August) ...

Local PBS stations will broadcast "The Four Phantoms in Concert" (Franc D'Ambrosio, John Cudia, Ciaran Sheehan, Brent Barrett)

Kaley Voorhees is their special guest.

It was taped in March 2024.

I saw their show years ago (with Davis Gaines instead of John Cudia), and it was terrific. Kaley, in a sadly limited role, added an excellent touch to the performance.

Keep checking your local PBS schedule.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Meat Loaf - I'd Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That) 1993

"I'd Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That)" is a song written by Jim Steinman, and recorded by American rock singer Meat Loaf. The song was released in August 1993 as the first single from the singer's sixth album, Bat Out of Hell II: Back into Hell (1993). The last six verses features English singer Lorraine Crosby, who was credited only as "Mrs. Loud" in the album notes. While visiting the label's recording studios on Sunset Boulevard, Crosby was asked by her manager Steinman to provide guide vocals for Meat Loaf, who was recording the song "I'd Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That)". Cher, Melissa Etheridge and Bonnie Tyler were considered for the role. The song was a commercial success, however as Crosby had recorded her part as guide vocals, she did not receive any payment for the recording but she receives royalties from PRS. Crosby did not appear in the Michael Bay-directed music video, where model Dana Patrick mimed her vocals. Meat Loaf promoted the single with American vocalist Patti Russo performing the live female vocals of this song at his promotional appearances and concerts.

The power ballad was a commercial success, reaching number one in 28 countries. The single was certified platinum in the US and became Meat Loaf's first and only number one and top ten single on the Billboard Hot 100 and Cash Box Top 100. It also became Meat Loaf's first and only number one single on the UK Singles Chart, and was the best-selling single of 1993 in the UK. The song earned Meat Loaf a Grammy Award for Best Rock Vocal Performance, Solo.

American film director and producer Michael Bay directed the accompanying music video for "I'd Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That)". The cinematographer was Daniel Pearl, particularly known for filming The Texas Chain Saw Massacre in 1973. Pearl says that this video "is one of my personal all-time favorite projects… I think the cinematography is pure, and it tells a story about the song." The video is based on Beauty and the Beast and The Phantom of the Opera. Bob Keane did Meat Loaf's make-up, which took up to two hours to apply. The make-up was designed to be simple and scary, yet "with the ability to make him sympathetic." The shoot went over budget, and was filmed in 90 °F (32 °C) heat, across four days. The video, which was the abridged seven-minute version of the song rather than the twelve-minute album version, was put into heavy rotation on MTV.

Meat Loaf appeared in over 50 films and television shows, sometimes as himself or as characters resembling his stage persona. His film roles included Eddie in The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) and Robert Paulson in Fight Club (1999).

"I'd Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That)" received a total of 77,7% yes votes!

[lskisms]

You asked for ghost requests?

I got an idea for Phantom cause from the clips I've seen. He's like a high-energy puppy.

Relaxing with his partner after a concert, and he's sleepy as he comes down from the high of performing or he still has unspent energy leftover. So two options: soft sleepy smexy times or doing it to release the rest of his energy. Feel free to choose either one.

can attest to the puppy energy !! he was all over the stage in austin and it was the cutest thing i’ve ever seen actually i was giggling at the barricade like a little schoolgirl

anyways bc phantom is SOOOO my baby why not both

sleepy and soft.

say he comes back to the hotel room and once he’s freshly showered, he’s got you in his arms, relaxed in bed and chatting about anything that comes to mind. the adrenaline, all that octane, has burned through him and smothered itself out, but still, he has this urgent need to feel you entirely. he kisses you soft and slow, pressing you back into the plush pillows. when he moves to kiss you neck, little fangs dragging lightning across your skin, you try to tell him he just showered, so he shouldn’t work up another sweat. he doesn’t listen to you, of course, just nips at the junction between your shoulder and neck, the soft skin pricking hotly, and whispers that he needs you.

and because you’ve always been weak to him, you let him shimmy you out of your pajamas and take you as he pleases. his hips roll against yours deliciously, agonizingly slow, but each press of his cock against that spot inside you that only he knows how to get to makes it worth it. his mouth is everywhere, muttering praises into your skin and swallowing up each noise of yours that dares to rise abovea soft moan. he makes sure you come first, as he always does, and his release follows just seconds after. his body eases into yours, skin against skin, breaths mingling between you. he refuses to pull out of you for quite sometime, but you don't complain (you never complain) because he fills you in ways undescribable, an otherworldly feeling of completion.

but he is thoroughly exhausted, sleepiness settling heavy into his very bones. he does get up eventually to clean you up and redress you, but each motion is slow-going, syrupy and languid and perfect. he takes you into his arms again the second he's back in bed, whispers of love confessions falling on deaf ears as you let the remnants of his warmth inside you lull you to sleep.

pent-up.

he doesn't bother to shed his clothes or shower first, doesn't even bother to kick off his shoes. the second he sees you in the hotel room, he's getting himself out of the offending mask and sealing you in a kiss that is all teeth and tongue and spit. it's a way you have him often, messy and fumbling, but that always drives the experience of letting him have you from perfect to life-altering.

he barely gets himself out of his boots, his pants, or even you out of your own clothes, soaked with the sweat of yourself and the people you'd been with in the pit that night, crushed against the barricade. he gets you on all fours on the bed and slips inside without much of a fight, his cock straining against the slick of your walls. the pace he sets is brutal and it has you keening loudly; you're certain you'll have a noise complaint before he's even halfway decided to be done using you tonight.

his hands press bruises into your skin, claws digging deep into the plush of everywhere he can reach. the bite of each pinprick has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, a delicious haze filling your head until all you can think of is his name and the earth-shattering way his hips drive into your ass. he pulls you up by the back of your neck, tongue sliding against the shell of your ear as he asks you who your body belongs to, who gets to use it as they please (it's yours, phantom. all yours, comes your reply, each syllable broken and stuttered). and when he's content with your answers, he pushes you down into the mattress, his hand pressing your back into a perfect arch just for him.

he overstimulates you, focused on nobody's pleasure, just on getting that livewire of energy out of himself. you're lucky he doesn't make you count how many times you come because you lose count after three. and when his rutting finally comes to an end, it's almost as agonizing to not have him inside of you as it is for him to keep fucking you. you're so limp and foggy that it makes him giggle hazily himself, proud to have been the progenitor of your undoing.

he'll do it again after the next concert too, he tells you, so don't worry your pretty little head. he knows how much you adore being brainless for him and it'd be awfully despicable of him to deny you that pleasure.

[nihildenial]

Beggin' On Your Knees by nihil-denial (wc: 4,725)

Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Dewdrop x Phantom (x Aether mentioned)

Tags: Smut, PWP, boot worship, light angst, Newly-summoned Phantom, Impera Tour

Summary: Phantom doesn't realize that Dewdrop has a 'punishment' for Ghouls who make fun of his height. Based on the ritual videos where Phantom gets on his knees during Kiss the Go-Goat.

There’s fifteen minutes until they’re required to be ready on stage, and most of the nameless Ghouls are already finished getting dressed. The five male-oriented Ghouls shared a sizeable greenroom in between Papa Copia and the Ghoulettes, only separated from the female Ghouls because of the way Dew and Swiss all hog mirrors.

Dew was taking his time plaiting his hair on top of his head, making sure the ash blonde strands wouldn’t be a complete rat’s nest under his hood.

“Hey look!” Phantom is crouched by the rack that held their Impera uniforms. Now with most of them dressed, the only thing left are Phantom’s and Dewdrop’s shiny, black boots.

He can tell Swiss’ eyebrows are furrowed under his mask. “Are you discovering boots for the first time?”

“No, I know what they are! I was pointing to the size difference between my boots and Dew’s. Mine are like, so much taller!” Phantom chirps.

He's right. Dewdrop may have long legs, but his short torso makes him stand 5 ft 2in and his wiry legs make his boots look like children’s’ shoes. Phantom’s lanky form is made of mile-long legs and his request for a small amount of extra heel makes his boots seem monstrous in comparison.

“You sayin’ something about my height?” Dewdrop crosses his arms.

“Well, yes, I think. But in a good way! Look at how silly our boots look together. They’re proportionate, just like our height.”

Mountain sits at the mirror behind Dewdrop, gesturing with a slash across his throat in the reflection that Phantom can see. “Guys, we have only twelve minutes until curtain.”

The Fire Ghoul cocks his head accusingly at Phantom. “Look, I understand you’re still getting used to being on tour with us and sharing a dressing space, but I don’t appreciate comments about my height.”

Phantom blinks, a little unsure at how the Ghoul was taking this the wrong way. In the four weeks since he was summoned he’s watched Swiss comment about their height difference all the time! Even Papa called Dewdrop ‘Little Man’ at the last ritual. “Sorry, I just thought it was a little funny…” He pouts.

Dewdrop snatches his boots and laces them up with an ease only gained through tying them thousands of times. “The difference isn’t even that big,” He sniffs. His helmet is on and latched as he walks out of the green room.

“Concert mode,” Rain shakes his head. “He always gets a little testy before a ritual. Don’t sweat it, Bug.”

“Yeah, needs to let off some steam. He’s worried about bossing you around because you’re new,” Swiss shrugs. “He’ll get his bossy kink sorted out by dragging one of us back to the bus by our tails after the ritual I’m sure.”

Phantom quietly ties up his boots. He knew the consequences of being Aether’s replacement would eventually show up.

-

Copia is glad his contract gives him a separate dressing room judging by the way Dewdrop is stomping down the hallway. “Save the stomps for the encore, per favore!” He calls as the Fire Ghoul passes by.

Dew flips him off and continues towards backstage.

“That means showtime, Papa,” Kevin pokes his head in the dressing room.

-

The last ritual before the end of the tour is nearing its end on a high note, despite Ghost’s lead guitarist’s earlier fuming. All of the Ghouls are doing their normal antics of chasing each other, Swiss shimmies with Papa, and dueling guitars.

Copia’s encore monologue begins, and Phantom takes his first deep breath in a couple hours. He takes note of his guitar and stretches each of his ankles discreetly. The mid-calf boots are great for support, but his legs get so sweaty under all the layers of pants, socks, and insoles.

Thinking of his boots reminds him of the greenroom incident. He glances over at Dewdrop and sees the Fire Ghoul posing for pictures with the fans at the barrier. He should be doing that—however, he’s still new to the fans and his mind is beginning to spin out of control with racing thoughts.

Phantom wants to be on Dewdrop’s good side. He wants to be a member of the pack and be an addition to Aether, not a replacement. They’ll return to the Abbey overnight and they’ll have time to relax and work things out.

His earpiece clicks with the recorded two-verse intro track of Kiss the Go-Goat and Phantom comes up with a plan to woo the Fire Ghoul—even in front of thousands of fans. Playing this song is easy, so Phantom uses it to keep an eye on the best opening for his plan.

“…You’ve been daddied, by all the dudes that were not dad…”

Copia swings his right hand through the open space of Dewdrop’s knees and nestles his head on the plane of the Ghoul’s thigh. The kneel and next quick movement away from Dewdrop is impressive for a man of Papa’s age.

Phantom can feel the satisfaction at the open display of affection.Well, if Dewdrop likes those who kneel…

The second chorus comes around and the Quintessence Ghoul summons all his courage to march to the center where Dew is riffing. Keeping time with muscle memory, Phantom easily slides to his knees at Dewdrop’s feet. Feeling the shock and surprise from the crowd makes him grin.

He takes it a step further when Dew doesn’t move away for the next riff and spreads his knees, arching his back until his helmet touches the stage. He locks eyes (goggle lenses really) with the shocked lead Guitarist and shoots his best smirk through his mask.

Dewdrop stands still while his fingers continue to dance over the frets. Phantom rocks his hips upwards and over his feet then stands up effortlessly. As he saunters back to stage left, he can feel the hidden amber gaze laser-focused on him.

Copia ends the ritual with heart-pumping Square Hammer. The opening riff is usually conducted by Phantom, Rain, and Dewdrop, gathering the crowd’s applause for one last song. There’s typically a lean involved in their riff between Rain and Dew, and Phantom decides instead his forward towards the barrier, he leans in time with the other two Ghouls.

Dewdrop’s gaze barely moves away from Phantom’s form as they break apart to their sections for Copia to take the spotlight. The song continues until the last repeat of “right here, right now,” and a final shower of sparkles from the overhead catwalk.

Phantom hands off his guitar to the stagehand and returns to the stage with a bag of marked picks to throw.

“Pulled a fast one on him,” Swiss bumps hips with Phantom as they stand around throwing picks to fans.

“I thought I would do something to show him that he has nothing to worry about us fighting,” He shrugs. “Kneeling is a sign of respect in some human countries.”

“It’s also kinky as fuck. He’s going to think you’re propositioning him.”

Phantom once again shrugs. In the few orgies he’s witnessed and been involved in, he steered clear of Aether and Dewdrop. Not only did they have closer moments, but Copia and Cumulus were all too happy to heard the new Quintessence Ghoul’s attention. Phantom totally would not mind being under either the Ghoul couple separately or simultaneously.

Dewdrop saunters past Phantom on the way to center stage for bows, the Fire Ghoul’s elegant hands trailing along Phantom’s lower back. He settles himself in line between Phantom and Papa, squeezing his hand harder than normal.

“Hey, my hand hurts when you squeeze like that,” He hisses when their head are bowed.

Dewdrop’s amber eyes are visible through the mesh of the goggles. They stare at him heatedly.

Phantom tries not to think the heat is anger. He breathes a sigh of relief when Dew lets go of his hand and strides off stage.

“You know, that was so incredibly hot,” Aurora is pressing herself into Phantom’s side as soon as they’re behind the heavy curtains. “Really gave me some ideas about testing how flexible you are.”

She knows he can’t resist her. They were summoned together and share a bond that goes deeper than normal lust and affection. He lets her pull them towards the Ghoulette’s dressing room.

Tonight’s the last ritual of the tour, and though many of them are eager to get back to the Ministry, they’re only a five-hour bus ride away. Copia is probably taking his own time to pack up his cluttered dressing room.

Cumulus and Cirrus are a little upset when they find they can’t access their room, but chat with Kevin, Ashley, and Papa while they wait for the soft moans inside to cease.

-

On the bus, everyone scatters to different areas. Mountain curls up in Copia’s bed at the back, quickly joined by the singer and Swiss for cuddles. Cumulus and Cirrus tangle themselves together on the living area couch, Aurora and Rain head for their bunks, and Phantom sits at the dining table to pull out his markers and coloring books.

Dew surprisingly is the last one to board and heads straight for the bathroom. His phone is already smushed to his right ear.

Cumulus calls out, “Say hi to Aether for us.”

Dew nods and disappears, voice too soft for any of them to eavesdrop.

Phantom watches him go with worried purple eyes.

“What’s got you concerned, Bug?” Cumulus picks up her knitting needles and unrolls the large blanket she’s been working on for the entire tour.

“Just Dew. I said something earlier that I think made him upset with me.”

Cirrus pokes her head out from the couch’s blanket. “Like what?”

“Well, our boots were together on the rack, and I was joking about how different their sizes are. He took that the wrong way I think.” Phantom sighs and colors in a cherry blossom tree.

“I’m sure he’s simply ready to be alone with Aether for a bit. He was a little more restless then usual on stage tonight and I think he’s had enough of being away from the Abbey. All of us are in that headspace. It typically hits Mountain hard as well,” Cirrus reassures him.

He nods. That seems likely. “I’m just so excited to be at all these different places. Staying at the Abbey doesn’t seem as fun to me.”

Cumulus smiles gently, “You’ll get there. You’re still full of raw power and young. Dewdrop’s an old man compared to us. Let the old man have his alone time and then we can all make a comfy pile in the den together. By next tour, you’ll be just as smooth as the two of us at this.”

Phantom begins to color the rainbow that arches over the picture. That sounds nice. The three of them sit quietly and listen to the radio station the Brother of Blasphemy is listening to up in the driving area.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opens, and Dewdrop shuffles out. His pale grey cheeks are flushed pink, and he doesn’t meet any of their gazes, hurrying off to his bunk. The swish of his curtain lets them all know he wants to be left alone.

“Damn I guess he really didn’t like what I said,” Phantom says quietly.

“Give him some time,” Cumulus repeats.

Phantom stares out the windows as they finally reach the highway back to the Ministry.

-

Being the last on, does mean that Dewdrop is the first Ghoul off the bus. He’s clamoring out of his bunk, backpack ready, and sits with the Brother driving for the last ten minutes of the drive.

Papa, Swiss, and Mountain all saunter out of the back bedroom and sit with Phantom at the table while munching on the last few packs of Oreos.

“I’m very proud of you, my dear Phantom,” Copia says warmly as they all stand to disembark from the bus. “I love the energy you’ve brought to the band.”

Phantom leans into the man’s embrace, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Papa. It was fun to explore the world like this.”

Just as Copia opens the bus door for himself to step out first, Dewdrop weaves under his arm to slip out ahead of him.

He simply sighs and puts back on his smile for the gathered Siblings and Clergy members on the Ministry’s front lawn. Lots of greetings, hugs, and kisses are shared between them all as Ghost is welcomed back home. Phantom is congratulated by everyone and even gets an approving look from Sister Imperator.

He goes down to the Ghoul den with a bounce in his step and guitar case in hand. He would go unpack his Fantomen, change the strings and clean it, then relax for the night.

The Ghouls’ practice room is across the hallway from their bedrooms, so he puts down his duffel bag on his bed. When he moves across the hall to the rehearsal room, he sees that the lights are already on; which is interesting because he’s the first Ghoul to come down here. The others stopped into the dining hall to eat first.

Phantom looks in but doesn’t see anyone on the stage. So, he opens the door carefully and hears the sound of someone restringing a guitar.

Dewdrop is standing off to the far side of the stage by equalizer setup. He doesn’t look up as the Quintessence Ghoul enters.

“I thought you’d be with Aether somewhere,” Phantom says apologetically and goes to back out of the room.

“Don’t leave.”

The Quintessence Ghoul freezes. “What?”

Dewdrop continues to turn the pegs of his guitar in-time with the plucking of strings. “Come here.”

“No, you’re going to flick my forehead like you do to Swiss.”

“I’m not gonna.”

Phantom eyes him warily.

Dewdrop glances up at him through his loose ash blonde hair. “Just c’mere. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s just weird to talk across the room.”

Phantom watches him for any sudden movements as he walks over. He sets down his guitar case by the rack and steps up beside him.

“I’m sorry about me exploding at you before the gig,” The Fire Ghoul says. It sounds genuine, even if he’s not making eye contact with him. “In talking to Aether, he made me realize that you didn’t deserve my anger because to you, it looks like everybody jokes on my height without consequences.”

He nods, “I understand. Thank you for your apology, and I’ll make sure not to do it again,” Phantom feels his whole body relax at the apology.

“So now, you’ll know what happens when you talk about my height.”

Phantom’s eyebrows furrow. “But you just said—”

“I said that to you, it looks like there are no consequences,” Dewdrop finally raises his head to meet the Quintessence Ghoul’s gaze. “Only naughty Ghouls disrespect my height and don’t expect a punishment.”

Phantom takes a startled step back at the heat that rushes through his body at the veiled threat. Usually, he’s cornered or wistfully swept off his feet in soft embraces. This feels like Dew wants him to posture back. Phantom takes the argument bait, “A punishment, I was just making a joke!”

“A hurtful one at that,” Dew goes back to tuning his guitar. “Kneel and apologize to me."

“What? No!” Phantom agrees getting down would be hot as hell, but his instincts are warring after he already has apologized.

Dewdrop shrugs. “Okay.”

“Okay?!” What the fuck does he want?

The Fire Ghoul turns and plucks another new guitar string from the open pack on the amp. “You can leave and live with the guilt that you hurt my feelings without making it up to me, or you can suffer through the punishment and we both leave here satisfied.”

Phantom can’t deny that his interest in how this mystery punishment will leave both of them satisfied. Isn’t that the opposite of a punishment? This Fire Ghoul is too confusing for him. “What kind of punishment?”

“Kneeling at my feet and not being allowed to cum for an hour.”

Phantom huffs. “Just kneeling? Sounds easy.”

Dewdrop nods, “Simply kneel right here, and I’ll be more than willing to forgive you.”

“Just kneeling,”’ He repeats dumbly.

“Just kneeling.”

Phantom shrugs off his hoodie and checks his phone. It’s midnight. His sweatpants are stretchy enough for this. Without another word, Phantom steps over until he’s directly in front of the Fire Ghoul just like on stage. He sinks to his knees, relaxing back onto his heels.

Dewdrop watches him with those constantly burning amber eyes. He stays silent and his gaze focuses back on restringing his C string. “Good boy; you’re kneeling so nicely for me.”

A shiver wracks through Phantom. Oh no. He suddenly understands how this is a punishment. He fights the immediate arousal that surges through him. Everything is made worse because he is now eye-level with Dew’s crotch, seeing how he’s not affected at all.

“Am I allowed to talk?” Phantom tries after a few minutes of quiet off-tune tuning plucks.

“No.”

“Oh,” He mumbles. His purple eyes look for anything else to focus on when he thinks too hard about this situation makes his…situation hard. Sitting here and purposefully allowing himself to be below the Fire Ghoul is hotter than he expected. He shifts from sitting on his heels to more of a W kneel. As he moves, his eyes catch a flash of his own reflection.

Dewdrop is wearing his stage boots. It looks silly when paired with his dark blue jeans, but seeing the cause of his punishment sends a searing blaze across Phantom’s pink cheeks.

Another few minutes go by without too much trouble.

“You’re doing so well for me,” Dewdrop says. “Swiss never stays still for this long.”

The competitive instinct in the Ghoul rears its head.

“Oh? You like me talking about how naughty the other Ghouls are?”

Phantom bites his lip and nods.

Dewdrop plays a scale riff to test out the newest string. “Swiss is the easiest to get on his knees for me. He’ll beg me wherever; no matter who could walk in on us. Sometimes he doesn’t even have something to make up to me for, he simply wants to show how much he likes being underneath me.”

Phantom’s mind spins with the thought of walking in on the two of them. Swiss, most likely half-dressed, kneeling and shifting constantly at Dewdrop’s feet. Would the Fire Ghoul be as bored with him as he is right now? Would Dew keep a locked gaze with Swiss’ pretty mauve eyes?

Phantom can’t help it and raises his gaze. He drags it up the shined boot leg, then thick denim to the edge of Aether’s black hoodie, then finally up to his face.

“You’re allowed to look.”

The Quintessence Ghoul smiles as Dewdrop gives him a softer look. It’s not a smile, but an expression that somehow conveys the same warmth.

“Swiss looks too much. He tries to goad me into breaking before he does, using those stupidly pretty eyes of his. You wouldn’t try to undermine your punishment, right?”

Phantom nods, body reacting to the image of a subservient Swiss Army Ghoul compared to the demon grinding on his stage microphone.

“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re such a good boy. I see how sweet and caring you are to our packmates.”

Phantom is very much losing the battle of not letting his arousal show. He has to shift back to sitting on his heels as an ache begins in lower legs. Doing so brings a thread of pleasure as his knees touch, involuntarily squeezing his thighs.

Dewdrop notices. “Remember that you can’t touch yourself.”

Phantom nods. He didn’t say anything about squeezing his thighs together. He does it more slowly, so the Fire Ghoul doesn’t notice.

Another new string is put on. More off-tune plucking until the string sings in harmony during a scale. The repeated scales and sounds of Dew taking care of his precious guitar work as hypnosis to make every part of Dew in Phantom’s visible range seem hotter, more beautiful and sinful.

“Forty minutes left.”

The way Phantom can see the flush on his cheeks in the reflection of Dewdrop’s boots. He looks debauched, and he’s done nothing kneel. Dewdrop has only called him two pet names and described how Swiss is a little shit even during punishments.

“One day I’d like to see you and Aether go at it. He likes to pull hair.”

A soft moan slips out of Phantom’s mouth at that. Cumulus always made sure to scratch his scalp when he went down on her. The grip of her claws sent pinpricks of pain/pleasure down his spine.

“I’m sure he would love to have you under him. We would watch you with Papa, how you were so eager to show your devotion to him. Like a puppy greeting his owner after a long day,” Dew says. He barely has any emotion except for how his lips quirk at the analogy.

Phantom whines in the back of his throat.

“Good boy for holding yourself back.”

Phantom shivers. It forces him closer to Dew’s feet. He’s practically straddling the Fire Ghoul’s right foot. He settles his knees wider, and his ass makes contact with the hard toe of the shiny boot.

“You’re going to ruin the shine of my ‘smaller’ boots,” Dewdrop says. “You better make sure they don’t get stained anything.”

“No, they won’t.”

The last guitar string is expertly threaded through the pegs and down the fingerboard. He doesn’t call out Phantom speaking. “Twenty minutes left.”

Phantom nods. He tenses his thighs to get another wave of pleasure when the pressure of sitting on the toe of Dew’s boot makes him moan again.

“Did someone find a loophole?” Dew questions boredly. “I don’t care as long as you don’t cum.”

The blanket permission has Phantom leaning his hands behind him and slowly starting to grind down on the steel-toe hidden under smooth black rubber.

Dewdrop coos, “So pretty. Papa summoned such a beautiful creature.”

Phantom’s head hangs forward at the praise. He doesn’t care that he’s beginning to openly rock against his feet. His hand slips and he shifts forward on the boot, the taut lacing creating nodes of friction through his sweatpants. It’s impossible not to chase the pleasure racing up his body. He can last twenty minutes! He just has to stop right before he cums.

What Phantom doesn’t expect is for Dewdrop to starting playing music. Circe's opening melody floats down to Phantom’s floaty and desperate mind. When did Dew hook up his guitar?

The amp next to them makes the melody seem all-encompassing, filling both ears until Phantom’s usual solo is haunting him with every thrust of his hips.

“Dew…” Phantom whispers in the noise of the music. His clammy hands keep slipping on the wood floor and he has to arch forward to wrap them around Dew’s leg. He feels the slight tensing of the Fire Ghoul’s thigh under his fingers but sees no other outward expression of arousal.

Phantom rucks his hips up against the vertical lacing. He lets himself grind without holding back as Dewdrop continues to riff different melodies. Each of the spicy shenanigans they pull on stage flashes behind Phantom’s eyelids.

Swiss pretending to jerk off Dew during Watcher in the Sky. Papa kneeling behind him and grasping Dew’s thigh during Kiss the Go-Goat. Aurora kissing Cirrus when she returns to her stage after her Mummy Dust solo. The way Swiss leaned over his stage and kissed him during Square Hammer.

Phantom grips Dew’s thigh tighter and uses it to pull himself harder against the lacing. The front of his sweatpants are damp now, and it only makes the slide of his cock easier and faster. The tip of his cock bumps the knot of his laces, and as he grinds, he lifts his hips to press the knot against the underside of his cock head.

“Seven minutes left.”

Oh fuck, he’s not going to make it at this rate. Phantom shudders and uses all will-power to pause his grinding.

“I like seeing you down there. You’ve been so good for me.”

Phantom whimpers at that. He’s tired from performing and though he knows he’s good at his instrument, praise on everything else makes his heart skip a beat.

Dewdrop begins the Cirice melody again, playing around with harmonies.

It’s like hypnosis; Phantom’s hips buck up without him telling them to. He can feel the pulsing of his heart in his dick, and he so hard that even just staying pressed against the boot laces shoots pleasure into his veins.

Suddenly in the haze of melodies and the smell of Dew’s cologne, there are footsteps.

Phantom presses his face into the meat of his thigh to hide his embarrassed flush as his hips refuse to stop humping Dew’s foot like a he’s in heat.

“I see you two are working this out.”

Aether.

Phantom’s breath hitches. He’s so close that tears are forming in his eyes. He has no idea how many more minutes are left at this point, but it better be soon or else he’s going to explode.

“Four minutes left. Tell him he has been doing good."

A large hand is raking through Phantom’s sweaty black and white hair. Blunt claws scratch at the base of his hairline. “You’re beautiful like this. Making our Dewdrop feel better by being such a good little Ghoul. Does grinding on his foot feel that good?”

Phantom’s head is pulled back until he’s staring hazily up at Aether. His exposed throat and face feel the coolness of the older Ghoul’s aura compared to the heat Dew is radiating against the rest of his body. “Please…I need to…”

“That’s an impressive wet spot. I’d say you were ready to burst, huh,” Aether crouches behind Phantom and kisses his lips. It’s awkward with them being opposites, but he swallows Phantom’s loudest whimper yet. He releases Phantom’s head and lets him grind to his heart’s content.

Phantom’s claws dig into Dew’s jeans, eliciting a hiss from the Fire Ghoul that forces a glob of pre-cum to smear through his sweatpants and onto the black boot laces. “Please…”

“Two minutes.”

“Please,” Phantom cries into his knee, “Please let me cum!”

“I said, two minutes,” Dew snaps. He lifts his foot, and the steel-toe presses up against Phantom’s balls.

Phantom jolts, a startled cry of frustration slipping out. Another wet drool of pre-cum leaks out onto the shiny black surface. “I’m gonna--!”

“No, you aren’t,” Aether takes a handful of Phantom’s white bangs. “If you cum before time is up, then you’ll have to sit here for another hour.”

That causes Phantom to pause his thrusts for a second; but the pleasure is too great and he’s so keyed up from everything. “Please, please…! You said I’ve been so good.”

Dew looks at the wall clock across the room. “One minute and then you can cum.”

Phantom nods and resumes his rhythm---sixty seconds is manageable.

Except it’s not.

Aether’s hand in his hair pulls his head back again. Phantom’s hips cant up against the lace’s knot and the combined pleasure of the friction, the wetness of his pre-cum and the pain of the hand on his head makes him shoot cum into the front of his sweatpants.

He keens loudly.

“That was dirty, Aeth. He still had thirty seconds,” Dewdrop chides.

Phantom pants openly in Aether’s grip. He whimpers when Dew moves his foot upwards again. It forces out another spurt of cum that leaks out onto the Fire Ghoul’s shoe.

Aether shrugs and lets go of the Quintessence Ghoul. “I’d say that’s close enough. Besides, I want to see what his mouth can do next.”

“How much longer do you think you can stay on your knees?” Aether asks. His hand gently lifts Phantom’s tear and spit-slicked jaw.

Phantom slowly slides back off the boot. By the time he’s turned his head, Aether’s already unzipped his fly. He hears the click of the amp turning off and the creak of the rack for their guitars.

“However long you want me to, Sir,” Phantom croaks.

Dew’s elegant fingers trace down the smaller Quintessence Ghoul’s nose. “Such a good boy.”

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 3 - The Morning After

Summary: Despite her better judgment, Valerie and Elvis are fast growing closer. He invites her for a late night dinner, where they share secrets and hamburgers.

Author's notes: This is my last rewritten chapter. Four and beyond are brand new. You'll love them. <3

My eyes snapped open, heart doing the cha-cha against my ribs. Have you ever woken from a dream so real you can still feel it clinging to your skin? That's what this was—except it wasn't a dream. The phantom sensation of his eyes on me, the ghost of almost-kisses, the memory of that voice wrapping around my name like honey dripping from a spoon.

I fumbled for my nightstand, nearly sending last night's untouched water crashing to the floor. There it was. The ticket. Glossy and real and solid proof that I hadn't imagined the whole thing. That I, Valerie Pedretti, professional nobody from Chicago, had somehow caught the eye of the most famous man in America.

"Christ," I said to the empty room. My voice sounded wrong. Everything was wrong. He was married. That was a fact, like death or gravity or the way my hands shook when I reached for the telephone. I groaned into my pillow, but the sound came out more like a strangled cat trying to sing opera. I needed to call Deena before my brain exploded all over these nice hotel sheets.

The phone rang twice before Deena picked up, her voice fuzzy with sleep and irritation. "Val, hon, it's ass o'clock in the morning. This better be good—"

"Trust me, Dee, it is." I took a deep breath, the words crowding in my throat like teenagers at a concert. "I'm not coming home just yet. I've decided to stay here a few more days."

That woke her up. I could practically hear her sitting bolt upright, the bedsprings creaking through the line like an old dog stretching. "Sinatra?"

"No." I pressed my head against the window glass. It was cool. The sun was already fierce in the desert. I chewed my lip, tasting yesterday's lipstick. "I maybe kind of sort of accidentally had a ‘moment’ with a celebrity last night."

Dead silence. The kind of silence that happens right before an atomic bomb goes off. Then—

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!" 

I yanked the receiver away from my ear, wincing. In Chicago, dogs were probably howling. "Yep. I'm in deep doo-doo, Dee."

"Deep doo-doo?! More like the motherlode! Valerie, you little minx!" Deena's voice climbed higher with each word, like a cat scaling a hot tin roof. "How'd you manage a thing like that? I want every lurid detail. Emphasis on lurid."

I flopped back against the pillows, laughing despite myself. Good old Deena, straight to the good stuff. "I can't give you all the details yet. But let's just say he's someone we've both heard of. I'll give you three clues. Very famous, very talented, and very, very handsome."

I left out 'very married.' Some truths are better swallowed with a chaser of denial.

Deena made a sound like a teakettle having religious experience. "You're killing me! You can't just drop a bombshell like that and not give me a name! Landing a whale like that..." The line went quiet for a second, and I could practically hear the gears turning in her head. "Wait... is it Sinatra? Dean Martin? Joey Bishop?" Another pause. "Oh honey, please don't tell me it's Liberace. You know he doesn't go for—"

"I can't say."

"Since when do we have secrets?"

"Since now." The words came out hard and flat.

"Well hell." Deena laughed. Not a real laugh. "At least tell me if he's worth it."

I thought about his hands. His eyes. The way he moved like there was music in his bones.

"He's worth it."

"You sound sure."

"I'm not sure of anything." That was true. The only thing I was sure of was the ache in my chest when I thought of him. It was like hunger, but worse. "Maybe I'm crazy."

Deena huffed out a sigh that could've stripped paint. "Fine, keep your secrets, you incorrigible tease. But I'm telling you, Val, when an opportunity like this falls into your lap, you gotta strike while the iron's hot, if you know what I mean."

I burst out laughing. You could always count on Deena to cut straight to the chase with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. "Why Deena Jane Lovelace, are you trying to corrupt me? I feel like I should be clutching my pearls."

"I'm serious Val, you deserve to let loose and have some fun for once in your life. Live a little! Sow some wild oats! Ride that stallion till you break the saddle!"

I closed my eyes and thought about all the other women who’d probably had this same exact conversation with their best friends. The sun through the window was too bright. It suddenly all felt too much. "Maybe I'm just another girl to him."

"You're never just another anything."

We were quiet then. I could hear her breathing through the line. All those states away in Chicago, probably still in bed with her hair a mess and yesterday's makeup smeared under her eyes. She was my best friend. She was wrong about this.

“And even if you were, so what?” It was Deena who broke the quiet. "Look, I know you. You've got a bad habit of getting in your own way when it comes to men. Always overthinking, always holding back. Always tying yourself down to some jerk who isn't good enough for you..."

The laughter died in my throat. Because there it was, the ghost we hadn't named yet.

Andy.

Deena's voice softened like butter in the sun. "Oh honey. Are you worried about that chump again? Because I will fly to Vegas and smack you upside the head myself. That boy is staler than last week's bread and you know it."

Andy. Just thinking his name was like stepping into a time machine - back to high school dances and drive-in movies and dreams small enough to fit in a burger joint uniform pocket. Sweet, goofy, going-nowhere-fast Andy. The kind of guy who thought putting on a tie meant wearing his good Arby's visor.

If I squinted hard enough, Andy's Arby's visor almost looked like a crown. Almost. He was... well, he was Andy. A burger-flipping, belch-ripping goofball who could always make me laugh, even when I wanted to strangle him. He was comfortable as an old shoe, familiar as my own reflection. About as exciting as watching paint dry in February.

But Elvis... Elvis was pure electricity in a black leather jacket. He made me feel like I could set the world on fire with just a smile. When a man like that looks at you like you're the only woman in the room, it does things to a girl. Things that don't involve overthinking or holding back or remembering why you shouldn't.

Deena, bless her heart, could read my silence like a book. "Val, I'm not saying you gotta marry the guy. But would it kill you to have a little fling? To let yourself get swept off your feet, even if it's just for a little while?"

I gnawed my lip, considering. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to stop being a good girl, always doing the safe thing, the smart thing. Maybe it was time to take a chance on something wild and wonderful, consequences be damned.

That's the thing about consequences, though. They have a way of showing up to the party whether you invited them or not.

"Okay, okay, you've twisted my arm," I said, grinning so hard my face hurt. "Operation Ride That Stallion is a go. But if I end up with saddle sores, I'm blaming you."

Deena's cackle could've scared crows off a cornfield. "Atta girl! You just remember every gory detail so you can replay the highlight reel for me later. And Val?"

"Yeah, Dee?"

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"But you'd do everything..."

"That's my point!"

After I hung up, I stood looking at my reflection in the mirror. Same face as always. Same brown eyes, same olive skin, same mouth that was a little too wide, same nose with the strong profile (Mom always called it “distinguished.” I called it “rhinoplasty-ready.”). But something was different. Something in the eyes maybe. Or maybe it was just that I was looking at myself the way he had looked at me.

Looking back, I should've seen it as a sign–me trying to dress up enough to belong in Elvis's world. Like putting a paint job on a Plymouth and calling it a Cadillac. But hindsight's always twenty-twenty, isn't it?

I was midway through my third wardrobe panic when the doorbell rang. Standing there in my slip, hair wild as a tumbleweed, I yanked open the door—and promptly tripped over a box on the floor. Big. Expensive-looking. The kind of box that makes promises. Its label read “Suzy Creamcheese,” and I just knew it was the one of those boutiques where they probably charged you just for breathing their air.

My hands shook as I picked it up. There was a card. The handwriting was messy, like he'd been in a hurry. Or maybe like he wasn't used to writing his own notes. When I read the message inside, I forgot how breathing worked.

"Songbird, let's make beautiful music together. Wear this tonight. I'll be the one in black. Yours, Jon Burrows"

Jon Burrows. His alias. Like we were spies. Like we were lovers. Like we were anything but what we were, a married man and a girl who should know better.

Inside the box was the kind of dress that would've made the Pope need confession. It shimmered like sin and promised trouble, the fabric probably worth more than my entire life savings.

My first thought was that he'd probably bought a million dresses just like it for a million other girls. My second thought was that I didn't care.

But that's the funny thing about falling for someone like Elvis. You know going in that you're not the first, probably won't be the last. But somehow he makes you feel like you're the only one who matters. At least for now.

In any case, the dress slid over my curves like water, like destiny, like everything I'd ever wanted but been too afraid to reach for. In the mirror, I hardly recognized the woman staring back at me. She looked dangerous. She looked ready. She looked like someone who could make Elvis Presley forget his own name.

I just hoped she knew what she was doing better than I did.

With an hour to kill before the show, I clicked my way down to the casino. The dress moved like smoke around my legs. The shoes he'd sent pinched my feet but made me feel tall. Strong. People looked at me different. Or maybe I was walking different. Maybe that's what confidence feels like. Like armor made of silk.

I sat down at the blackjack table. The cards were good to me, they kept coming up hearts. That should have been a warning, but I wasn't reading signs right then. I was too busy feeling lucky.

That's when I felt it. Eyes on my back. Not the good kind of eyes.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing all alone?"

He was old. Fat. His ring could have anchored a yacht. The kind of man who thinks money makes him God's gift to women.

"Playing cards," I said. I didn't look at him. The dealer hit me with a queen. Twenty-one.

“You here for the show?”

“Mm hmm,” I kept my eye on the cards. 

"Ah. One of those Elvis girls." He said it like he was diagnosing a disease. "Fresh meat."

The words hit hard. True words usually do. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what he could do with his fresh meat when a hand landed on my shoulder. It was warm and steady.

"Darlin', there you are! Been lookin' all over for you."

I spun around to find myself face to face with a tall drink of water in a ten-gallon hat. He had one of those faces that time had worked on like a wood carver, all weathered planes and honest angles. The kind of face that made you want to trust it right off the bat.

"Play along," he whispered. "Looked like you could use a rescue."

Relief washed over me like cool water in August. "Oh! Yes, of course. So sorry, I got a little turned around..."

He steered me away from Mr. Pinky Ring and his grabby eyes, waiting until we were safely out of earshot before introducing himself properly.

"Chick, at your service," he said, tipping an imaginary cap with an old-world sort of charm. "I'm with the International. And unless I miss my guess, you must be Miss Valerie?"

My eyes went wider than poker chips. "How did you...?"

His laugh was warm as Texas sunshine. "Let's just say Mr. Burrows ain't subtle when he's sweet on a girl. I'm supposed to take you to his dressing room."

He looked at my dress. Nodded approval. "That'll give him the vapors but good."

Something warm bloomed in my chest. Elvis had sent someone to find me. Had asked for me specifically. Maybe this wasn't just another notch on his belt. Maybe...

But I shut that thought down hard. Hope was dangerous. Hope got you hurt.

But Chick must've caught my expression falling like a bad soufflé, because he patted my elbow with fatherly affection.

"Chin up, darlin'. I know this whole thing has you tied up in knots, but trust me–that boy thinks the sun rises and sets on your pretty little head. I ain't never seen him so gaga."

I managed a wobbly smile, even as my heart did a two-step against my ribs. Chick was sweet to say so, but he didn't know the half of it. Falling for Elvis was like trying to catch a comet with your bare hands–bound to end in flames.

Chick led me through the back halls of the hotel. They all looked the same. Like a maze. Like a dream where you keep trying to find a door that moves. The carpet was thick and red and swallowed our footsteps. 

"Been with Elvis long?" I asked.

"Long enough to know trouble when I see it." He looked at me sideways. Not unkind. Just knowing. "And honey, you're trouble."

"I don't mean to be."

"Nobody ever does."

We stopped at a door like all the other doors. Chick tipped his hat. "This is where I leave you. Remember something though - if he's fool enough to let you slip away, I'll be waiting in the wings."

He winked and was gone, boots silent on the thick carpet. I stood there. The door looked bigger now that I was alone. Everything looked bigger.

I took a deep breath that did absolutely nothing to steady my nerves, smoothed down the dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe back home, and knocked. The sound seemed to echo like a gunshot in the quiet hallway.

The door swung open, and there was Elvis. Not the Elvis from television or magazines. Just Elvis. White shirt. Gray wool pants. Hair a little messy like he'd been running his hands through it. When he smiled it wasn't his stage smile. It was something else. Something that made my insides go soft.

"Well if it isn't my good luck charm." He pulled me inside. Fast. Like he was afraid someone might see. "Get in here before we start a scandal. I can see the headlines now - 'Elvis Presley Corrupts Young Songstress.'"

I laughed. I couldn't help it. The nervousness went out of me like air from a balloon.. "I think you're overestimating my ability to cause a scandal," I said, settling onto his couch like I belonged there. "The most exciting thing that's ever happened to me was winning a pie-eating contest when I was twelve."

His face lit up. He clutched his chest and staggered backward. Ham acting. Good ham acting. "A pie-eating champion? In my dressing room? I'm not worthy!"

Then he was on his knees in front of me. His hands were warm on mine. Big hands. Strong hands. Guitar player's hands. His blue eyes danced with mischief. "Tell me your secrets, o great pie queen. The people need to know."

Just like that, he wasn't Elvis Presley anymore. He was just a man with laugh lines around his eyes and a smile that could melt steel. That made him more dangerous. Not because he was famous, but because he was real.

We talked. Easy talk. Good talk. The kind where you forget to watch what you're saying. He sprawled on the couch while I sat in a chair. The distance felt important. Safe. But then he looked at me. Really looked at me.

"I'm scared about tonight." His voice was different. Quiet. Raw. "Scared as hell."

I blinked at him like he'd started speaking in tongues. "You get stage fright?"

"That ain’t even the half of it," his laugh had more edges than a broken mirror. "Honey, I'm about ready to shake out of my skin. Haven't played a venue this big in years." His leg bounced. His fingers drummed against his thigh. Nervous tells. Real ones. "Keep thinking I'll get out there and forget everything. The words. The moves. My own damn name."

Elvis Presley, nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Who'd have thought?

"But you've played hundreds of shows for thousands of people. You're a pro!"

"That was before." The words came out bitter. "Been doing movies for too long. I haven’t exactly done much live performing lately. Feels like starting over."

Looking back, I should've seen it then–the cracks in the armor, the way fame sat on him like a crown made of thorns. But I was too busy falling to notice the warning signs.

He looked at me. His eyes were very blue. Very young. "Truth is, I keep thinking I'll make a fool of myself. In front of everyone." He paused. "In front of you."

Something squeezed in my chest, soft and fierce all at once. "Hey," I said, covering his restless hand with mine. "You are not going to make a fool of yourself. Know how I know?"

His fingers curled around mine like a lifeline. "How?"

"Because I've seen you dance. Even if you forget every word, just do that hip thing. Nobody will give a goddamn what comes out of your mouth."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at me like I'd grown a second head. Then he threw his head back and laughed–not his polite laugh or his stage laugh, but something rich and real and unrestrained.

"Lordy, woman!" he wheezed, clutching his stomach. "You really are somethin' else, you know that?"

I grinned, pleased as punch at making him laugh like that. "I'm serious! Those things are lethal weapons."

"You're a mess." But his eyes were warm. Soft. "An absolute mess."

"And you'll be fine," I said. I squeezed his knee. The muscle was solid under my hand. "The second you see all those faces out there - all those people who love you - it'll click. You'll remember who you are. Why you do this."

Elvis looked at me for a long moment, something raw and unguarded flickering across his face. "You really believe that, don't you?" he said quietly. "You really think I've still got it."

"I know it." And I did. The way you know some things without knowing how you know them. "You're gonna kill it tonight. And I'll be right there cheering you on."

Elvis's throat worked as he swallowed hard, his eyes suspiciously bright. "What did I ever do to deserve a gal like you in my corner? I must've been a saint in a past life."

"Well, I don't know about sainthood, but you definitely rocked a mean pair of blue suede shoes," I teased, trying to lighten the moment before I drowned in those eyes.

It worked. He threw back his head and laughed again. The sound wrapped around me like a blanket. "Baby, you're too much!" His grin was pure boy. Pure trouble. "Stick with me, kid. I'll show you a thing or two about rocking more than just shoes."

The promise in his words sent heat crawling up my neck. Amazing how he could make something so innocent sound like sin with chocolate sauce on top.

"I'm going to hold you to that, Mr. Presley."

"You better."

Elvis glanced at the clock and sighed, some of the laughter fading from his eyes. "Guess I better start getting into my glad rags. Show's about to start, and I've got a whole lot of hearts to break."

I should have asked whose heart he meant to break first. But I didn't. I never did ask the right questions.

He stood and pulled me up with him. "Walk me to the stage door?" His voice got that vulnerable edge again. "Would mean a lot to have you there."

My heart said yes. My head knew better. "There'll be photographers."

"Yeah." He sighed. The sound hurt something in my chest. "You're right. Smart girl."

I squeezed his hand, holding his gaze. "I'll be with you every step of the way," I promised. "In spirit, if not in body."

He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. It felt like a brand. Like a promise. Like a lie. "You're my guiding light tonight, honey. My lucky star."

Standing there in his dressing room, drowning in those blue eyes, I felt like I could happily spend the rest of my life mapping the planes and angles of his face. Must've been temporary insanity that made me reach up and straighten his collar, letting my fingers linger on the warm skin of his neck.

Elvis growled—actually growled—low and rough in his throat. His hands found my hips, tugging me closer until I could feel the heat of him, smell the spicy-sweet scent of his cologne. "Y'know, I've half a mind to cancel this show and..."

Someone knocked. Sharp. Loud. I jumped like I'd been shot. Elvis muttered something that would've made a sailor blush.

"Thirty minutes, boss!" A voice called through the door.

He let out a hard breath, his fingers flexing on my hips. "Guess that's my cue," he said ruefully. His eyes never left mine. "To be continued. Bank on it."

Then, with one last scorching look that turned my insides to melted butter, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving me weak-kneed and panting in his wake.

*

The house lights dimmed and the band struck up, and holy shit, did that crowd go wild. The kind of wild that makes you wonder if they've been saving their screams up special, just for this moment. Shrieks and whistles drowned out the opening bars as a single spotlight pierced the dark.

And there he was.

Elvis prowled onstage in a black gi-style jumpsuit that probably had its own insurance policy, his hair gleaming like polished onyx under the lights. The audience lost what was left of their minds, but Elvis? Elvis’s eyes searched only for me. He caught my gaze and grinned, a private, knee-weakening thing that set every nerve ending aflame. I clutched my glass so hard I thought it would shatter. 

Sweet mercy. Maybe Chick hadn't been exaggerating after all.

The show was something else entirely - all hip-swiveling, high-energy dancing, and enough eye contact to melt the sun. Elvis shimmied and crooned and thrusted like his life depended on it, but every so often, his gaze would find mine across the crowd, dark with promises that made my toes curl in my fancy new shoes.

During "Love Me Tender," he changed one of the lyrics ever so slightly, singing "for my songbird" instead of "for my darling." If you weren't listening for it, you might've missed it. But I heard it. And when he winked at me right after, I nearly spontaneously combusted right there in my seat.

That's the thing about falling for Elvis. Every little thing feels like a secret message. Even when your brain knows better, your heart keeps right on believing.

I spent the whole show strung between pure joy and pure terror. My skin felt electric every time he looked my way. He was marking me as his. And God help me, I wanted to be marked.

That little voice of reason - the one that sounded suspiciously like Deena - tried to pipe up. I was sure that if she knew the whole truth, she’d hate me. "He does this with all the girls, dummy. You aren't special. He's MARRIED, remember?"

I told that voice to stuff it where the sun don't shine. For one night, I just wanted to pretend this was real, that Elvis's heated promises were mine and mine alone. That maybe, just maybe, he actually did feel something genuine for the nobody from Chicago.

By the time he got to "Can't Help Falling in Love," I was gone. Lost. My skin felt too tight for my body. Elvis took his bows like a king receiving tribute. Blew kisses. Reached for grabbing hands. My own hands stung from clapping. My face ached from smiling.

He'd done it. He'd absolutely killed it. The nerves, the self-doubt - all of it had vanished the moment he hit that stage. And something in me knew that if he asked, I was going to go all the way. No holding back, no second thoughts. Just full steam ahead off this cliff we were dancing on.

I barely noticed Joe until he materialized at my elbow, grinning like he had all the secrets of the universe tucked in his back pocket.

“This way, Miss Pedretti.”

Riding high on adrenaline and something that felt dangerously like hope, I let myself be herded to Elvis's suite by security guards built like brick walls with legs. The place was already jumping - a whirlwind of backslapping and champagne popping and enough cigarette smoke to give cancer to a small country.

I recognized some faces from before - Red and Sonny and the rest of the Memphis Mafia playing court jesters to Elvis's king, Colonel Parker looking like a cat who'd found the canary, hotel bigwigs in suits worth more than my car. But there were new faces too - starlets with magazine-cover smiles, hangers-on hoping for their big break, and a surprising number of blue-haired ladies clutching Elvis albums like holy relics.

For a second, panic grabbed me by the throat. I was a minnow in a shark tank. But then Jerry caught my eye across the room and waved me over with a friendly wink.

"There she is!" he crowed, throwing an arm around my shoulders like we were old war buddies. "Didn't our boy knock 'em dead tonight?"

I grinned up at him, letting his easy friendship settle my nerves like a warm shot of bourbon. "He sure did. I've never seen anything like it. I thought that one gal in the front row was gonna faint when he smiled at her."

"Aw, that ain't nothing!" Red chimed in, snatching champagne off a passing tray like a magician pulling rabbits from a hat. "Back in '56, we had girls dropping like flies every time he so much as moved a finger. Quite a time to be alive, let me tell you!"

The Memphis Mafia folded me into their ranks like I'd always been there, trading stories and jokes that made me feel like I was part of something bigger than myself. It was intoxicating, being on the inside looking out instead of the other way around.

Speaking of intoxicating... Elvis was holding court across the room, surrounded by suits and sparkly dresses like a king with his courtiers. He caught my eye over their shoulders and winked, his grin electric even from thirty feet away. That one look hit me like a lightning bolt straight to the gut.

That's when I felt it. The warning tingle. Like in those old movies when the hero knows trouble's coming. But I was already too far gone to listen.

I was debating the merits of "accidentally" bumping into him when a gnarled hand clamped onto my wrist. I turned to find myself nose-to-nose with a little old lady in a pink pillbox hat that probably remembered World War II firsthand. Her eyes, magnified by glasses thick as Coca-Cola bottles, peered up at me with the intensity of a prosecutor at a murder trial.

"Priscilla, dear, is that you?" Her voice shook like autumn leaves. "Oh, I just have to tell you how much I admire you! Standing by your man all these years. Through thick and thin. You're an inspiration!"

My stomach dropped. Fast. Hard. She thought I was his wife. His real wife. His married wife.

"Oh, no, I'm not—" I stammered, heat climbing my neck. But she was already barreling ahead like a runaway train, clutching my hand in her paper-dry grip.

"Albert and I made it fifty-three years," she said. Still had my hand. "But you and Elvis - the army, those awful Hollywood girls, all that time apart. It's a wonder you've managed so well!"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. What could I say? Sorry, ma'am. I'm not his wife. I'm just the latest girl he's trying to bed while his real wife sits at home. Looking in those rheumy eyes, bright with admiration, I couldn't do it.

So I just smiled and patted her hand, mumbling something about the power of commitment. She beamed at me like I'd just handed her the secret to eternal life and tottered off to spread her marital wisdom elsewhere.

I sagged against the wall, guilt sitting in my gut like a bad burger. What kind of person was I, playing at being Elvis's devoted wife when the real Mrs. Presley was probably at home wondering where her husband was and who he was with? And why wasn't she here on opening night, anyway?

The room suddenly felt too hot, too close, like all the air had been sucked out and replaced with cigarette smoke and accusations. I needed space. I needed air. I needed—

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you, Valley cat."

Elvis materialized in front of me, like the devil when you say his name. His jacket was gone. Shirt half open. Hair damp with sweat from the show. He looked good enough to eat. And he knew it.

I plastered on a smile, trying to shake off my guilt. This was supposed to be a magical night, wasn't it? My one chance to live like a star, to be Elvis's girl, even if only in the shadows.

"Hey," I managed, praying my voice didn't betray the tornado in my head. "If it isn't the man of the hour himself. I'd ask how it feels to kill it, but something tells me you already know."

He laughed, low and throaty like good aged whiskey, and took my hand. My pulse jumped at the casual touch. "Careful with those compliments, honey. My head won't fit through the door."

"I'm not worried." The banter felt good. Safe. "If your head gets too big, I'll just deflate it. I'm handy that way."

"A real Jill of all trades, aren't ya?" he drawled, tugging me closer until I stumbled, caught off guard by his nearness. His hands found my hips, steadying me, and I swear each finger burned through the silk like a brand.

His eyes held trouble. Heat. "Stick around. Maybe you'll show me just how handy you can be."

Christ. The implications in those words could've set fire to a wet paper bag.

Before I could string together a coherent response, he leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear like a whisper. “The boys are gonna clear out these folks. Stay a while. Keep me company."

My throat went desert-dry. I stammered, cursing my suddenly uncooperative tongue. "If you're sure I won't be imposing..."

He pulled back just far enough to meet my eyes, and something in his gaze softened like butter in the sun. "Valerie, trust me. There is nowhere else I'd rather be than right here with you."

How did he do that? Make every word sound like a promise written in stars?

The next hour passed in a blur of goodbyes and meaningful looks across the room. The crowd thinned out gradually, some folks leaving under their own steam, others getting gentle but firm assistance from security. Soon it was just Elvis, his core crew, and me.

I perched on the arm of a velvet sofa, trying to blend into the scenery while the guys swapped tour stories and inside jokes. Elvis sprawled in a chair nearby, nursing a coke, sneaking me these molten looks that made me feel like I was the only woman in the world.

Finally, Red stretched and heaved himself up like a bear coming out of hibernation. "Welp, I'm about ready to hit the hay. These old bones ain't what they used to be." He shot Elvis a look heavy with meaning. "Reckon y'all got things handled in here?"

Elvis's lips twitched, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yeah, man. I think we're good. Y'all head on to bed now. Me and Valerie here will just... clean up a bit."

The silence that followed was loaded as a gun on New Year's Eve. Then, with a chorus of goodnights and knowing winks that made my cheeks burn, the Memphis Mafia filed out.

And then there were two.

Elvis finished his drink and set it aside with deliberate care. Then he unfolded from his chair with the kind of grace that should've been illegal in at least forty-eight states. My heart started doing the cha-cha against my ribs as he approached, all leashed power and barely contained heat.

He stopped close. Very close. I could smell his cologne mixing with stage smoke and sweat. Could have touched him. Wanted to touch him.

"C'mon, darlin'." He held out one ring-laden hand, his eyes molten in the low light. "Let's go somewhere a little more private."

I slid my hand into his, letting him pull me to my feet and into the circle of his arms. Had to tip my head back to meet his gaze, my hands coming to rest against the solid wall of his chest.

"Private sounds perfect," I breathed. "Lead the way."

His grin flashed quick and sharp as a knife in the dark. He laced his fingers through mine and led me through a door I hadn't even noticed, into a hallway lined with identical mahogany doors.

We stopped at one. Elvis produced a key from his pocket and unlocked it, gesturing for me to go first. I stepped inside and froze, blinking in the sudden brightness. It was a suite that would've made Midas jealous - all plush carpets and gleaming wood and what looked suspiciously like actual gold leaf on the ceiling.

But what caught my eye was the table in the center of the room. It was set for two, with crisp white linens and gleaming silver, bottles sweating gently in a golden bucket. Candles waited unlit, promising romance and secrets and things we probably shouldn't do.

My heart did a funny little skip. He'd planned this. Planned a private, romantic dinner just for us.

I turned to him, words stumbling over themselves like drunks at closing time. "Elvis, this is... you didn't have to..."

He shrugged. For a second I saw that country boy under all the flash. "Wasn't any trouble. Just thought it'd be nice. Just us. No crowds. No eyes." His mouth quirked. "Plus figured you'd be hungry. I know I am."

Right on cue, my stomach let out a growl that would've made a lion proud. We both looked down at it, then at each other, and burst out laughing.

"Well, I reckon that's my answer!" Elvis wheezed, clutching his side. "C'mon, let's feed that beast before it stages a revolt."

Still snickering, he pulled out my chair with a flourish that would've done a French waiter proud. I sank into it, half-expecting him to ring for room service or summon some harried assistant with silver platters.

Instead, Elvis disappeared into the adjoining kitchenette and returned with... a greasy paper sack?

My eyebrows must've hit my hairline because he grinned like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "What, did you think it'd be all caviar and champagne? Nah, that ain't my style."

He dumped the bag over our fine china. Burgers and fries spilled out. The smell hit like a fist. Grease and salt and cheese and everything right about late night food.

"Sent Sonny for these,"  Elvis explained, sliding into his seat with more grace than any man had a right to possess. "Knew I'd be craving some post-show grease. And I figured, what's better than sharing a little taste of home with my songbird?"

There it was again. Songbird. That name that made me feel owned and scared all at once.

"You figured right," I said, snagging a fry that was probably worth more on that china than it had been in the paper bag. "Nothing better than burgers after midnight. Although..." I squinted at the foil peeking out from under a sesame seed bun. "Is that... peanut butter?"

The guilty grin came back. Made him look sixteen. "Caught me. Peanut butter and bacon. Picked it up in the army. Sounds crazy but trust me - it's heaven."

We dove into our burgers like we hadn't eaten in days, the silence broken only by appreciative moans and the rustle of foil. And damn if he wasn't right about that peanut butter and bacon combination. Not that I'd ever tell him that - his ego was healthy enough as it was.

"So," I said, dabbing at a spot of ketchup on my chin, "you were in the army?"

He stopped mid-bite. Those blue eyes went wide. He swallowed. Put down his burger. "You really didn't know?"

"Well," I said carefully, studying my fries like they held the secrets of the universe, "I, uh… I never really followed you that closely. I mean, of course I know your music and all. But the details of your life? Nah."

He stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his features. It was like sunrise breaking.

"What's so funny?"

"Just thinking I found the only girl in America who doesn't know my whole life story."

Heat crept up my neck. "What do you mean?"

He leaned back. Watched me. The look made my skin prickle. "You're the first girl in a long time who hasn't tried to impress me. Who doesn't hang on every word. Who doesn't agree with everything I say just to please me."

"That's sad," I said.

"Sad?"

I waved a fry in the air. Trying to find the right words. "You're a person. Real flesh and blood. With thoughts and feelings beyond what magazines print. It's sad people don't want to know that side. The real you." I paused. Wondered if I'd stepped on a landmine. "Must be strange. Meeting new people who think they already know everything about you."

"Well. What they think they know." His face went soft. Something warm and raw that made my heart flip. "You mean that, don't you? You really wanna get to know me. Not Elvis the star. Just Elvis."

"'Course I do," I said softly, surprised by how much I meant it. "You think I'd be eating burgers at 4 am with just anybody I meet? I promise you I am not that kind of girl." I winked, trying to lighten the moment before it got too heavy.

As our appetites gave way to pleasant fullness, we talked about everything and nothing - favorite movies (his: "The Way of All Flesh," mine: anything with cowboys), craziest fan encounters (had to give it to Elvis on that one, though my tale of a particularly persistent flasher in Boise nearly made him snort soda out his nose), best practical jokes played on unsuspecting bandmates (turned out we both had a gift for the strategic placement of whoopee cushions).

But as the laughter died down and the food dwindled to crumbs, a tension crept into the air between us. That elephant in the room we'd been dancing around all night, getting bigger and harder to ignore with every passing minute.

You know in horror movies, when you want to yell at the girl not to open that door? This felt like that. But like every girl in every horror movie, I opened it anyway.

"Elvis." I took a breath. Steadied myself. "Feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but... what about your wife?"

He stiffened as if I'd jabbed him with a cattle prod, his jaw going tight as piano wire. For a moment, I thought he might shut down completely, retreat behind that million-dollar smile and leave me out in the cold.

But then he sighed, his shoulders slumping like Atlas getting tired of holding up the world. "It's complicated."

My stomach knotted like sailor's rope. "You still love her?"

Silence stretched between us, long as a California highway. Then, soft: "I'll always care for my wife. She's been in my life a long time. But love?" He shook his head. His eyes looked far away. "No. Not anymore."

My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat. "What happened?"

He rubbed his face, suddenly looked all of his thirty-four years. Maybe more. "We grew apart. Wanted different things. Been living separate lives a while now. Barely talk except when we have to." He stopped. "Think we both know it's done. Has been for a long time."

Looking back now, I see it clear. The practiced pauses. The perfect timing. The way he probably told that same sad marriage story to a hundred girls in a hundred hotel rooms. But that's the thing about hindsight - it's got 20/20 vision and a mean streak a mile wide.

The night wore on, and I felt my eyelids getting heavy. A glance at the clock told me it was just before six in the morning, though time felt different in Elvis's orbit, like we existed in our own little bubble where normal rules didn't apply.

"I hate to say it," I said, stifling a yawn, "but I think I should be heading back to my room. It's been an amazing night."

Elvis reached over and took my hand, his eyes doing that thing - that soul-searching, make-you-feel-like-the-only-girl-in-the-world thing that probably took years to perfect. "Will you come back again? I feel like we've barely scratched the surface. There's so much more I want to talk to you about."

Hook.

I smiled, my heart fluttering like a teenage girl's diary entry. "I'd love to."

"Great. How about—"

Line.

I held up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. "Why don't you call me and invite me? Properly, I mean." Playing hard to get while already caught - how's that for irony?

His lip curled in that practiced amusement, a mischievous glint in his eye that had probably launched a thousand panty-drops. "Etiquette, huh? Alright, I'll play by your rules. I'll call you tomorrow night, say, around five-thirty? Room 2806, right?"

And sinker.

"I'll be waiting."

"Lamar," Elvis called out, smooth as silk. "Would you be so kind as to walk Miss Pedretti back to her room?"

With a final squeeze of my hand and a promise to call, Elvis bid me goodnight. And there I was, floating on air like I'd just starred in my own personal fairy tale, trying to convince myself I wasn’t just the latest in an assembly line of wide-eyed dreamers who thought they were special.

The next day crawled by slower than molasses in January. I couldn't bring myself to leave my room, terrified I might miss his call. By the time five-thirty rolled around, my nerves were wound tighter than a two-dollar watch.

When the phone finally rang, I waited two rings before picking up - didn't want to seem too eager, after all. As if I hadn't spent the whole time pacing a groove in the carpet.

"Hello?" I answered, trying to sound like I hadn't been staring at the phone for the past hour.

"Could I please speak with Valerie?" That voice, smooth as Tennessee whiskey, made my knees go weak even over the phone line.

I couldn't resist playing coy, like we were reading from a script he'd written just for us. "Who’s calling?"

"Elvis."

"Elvis who?"

There was a beat of silence, followed by a low chuckle that probably melted panties coast to coast. "You're a bonehead."

The playful exchange was just what my ego needed–more fuel for the fantasy that I was somehow different, somehow special. Elvis proceeded to explain the arrangements he'd made—he’d have his people call to arrange another late night dinner tomorrow. I hung up the phone, my heart soaring with anticipation.

Maybe staying in Vegas a little while longer wasn't such a bad idea after all.

If only I'd known then what I know now... but that's the thing about falling. By the time you realize you're in trouble, you're already halfway to the ground.

Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit  @ellie-24  @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain  @be-my-ally  @vintageshanny  @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather  @atleastpleasetelephone @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @jhoneybees @atleastpleasetelephone @eapep @elvispresleywife @that-hotdog @landlockedmermaid77 @sissylittlefeather @kawaiiwitchy

[tojisun]

sun u should explain the ghost band lore bc i’m interested but no nothing about them

oki oki so ani this might take a while bc i went crazy explaining and it might be too long so uhm find the tl;dr at the end 😭

i swooned when i saw u ask this bc!!! mwah mwah <333 idk it made me so giddy teehee <33 also! this is what i know so far so there might be lapses in my explanation hhh

the band ghost or ghost (or ‘ghost bc’)

- they are are theatrical rock band mostly known for their satirical approach to organized religion (roman catholicism); they have a parody of the ministry (from the papacy down to the clergymen [dubbed as brothers/sisters of sins]). there are criticism that they are satanic and, well, that is their lore.

the current singer is called papa emeritus iv

- papa iv is endearingly called popia because before being papa, he was known as cardinal copia. he succeeded the previous three papa emeritus (primo, secondo, terzo) after the three have been killed. he also inherited the ghouls (specifically terzo’s ghouls).

- primo, secondo, terzo, copia are all acted by the same guy (tobias forge)! the lore is that they’re all brothers, fathered by papa nihil, but that copia wasn’t recognized as his son until later on when the three papas were killed. the ones who organized the deaths of the previous papas is sister imperator, copia’s mom.

- the papas, in order: primo, secondo, terzo, copia (cardinal), copia (papa)

nameless ghouls

- they are the people that tobias forge (papa) hires to play live! theyre not a concrete band since these instrumentalists could be/had been replaceable :((

- when ghost debuted, there were only four ghouls: fire, water, earth, quintessence. these titles are reflections of the instruments they play! fire (lead guitar). water (bass guitar). earth (drums). quintessence (rhythm guitar). later a keyboard instrumentalist was added and they were dubbed as the air ghoul.

- as the band grew more popular and more instrumentalists came and went, the fans began naming them. at the top of my head; notable old members include: alpha (fire). omega (quintessence). mist (water). ifrit (fire). zephyr (air).

- i think it was in 2019 when the ghouls were established and no one left (until, that is, june 2023). they were: dewdrop (fire; previously water so he replaced ifrit as lead guitarist). rain (water; bass guitar). aether (quintessence; rhythm guitar). mountain (earth; drums). swiss (multi ghoul - means he is a backup vocals, acoustic guitarist, tambourine). cumulus (air; keyboard and backup vocals). cirrus (air - keyboard and keystar). sunshine (multi; backup vocals).

- nameless ghouls as of july 2023: dewdrop (fire). rain (water). phantom (quintessence - he replaced aether). mountain (earth). swiss (multi). cumulus (air). cirrus (air). aurora (multi - she replaced sunshine).

- fave: nameless ghouls aren’t all just men!! cirrus, cumulus, sunshine, and aurora are ghoulettes

- i finally know who is who when they don’t have their instruments 😭

- they all wear the same thing for anonymity, although fans know who they are unmasked!

other fun info

- a ghost concert is called ‘ritual’

- they have this episodes (??) of more lore called ‘chapters’

- there are talks that copia will be replaced by a new papa but copia’s goodbye had been too quiet and peaceful so fans speculate that tobias forge is gonna do smthn else?

- papa nihil plays the saxophone!

tl;dr - tobias forge is a huge fucking nerd who made a whole satanic ministry and band for flare!

[lover-of-mine]

Okay, I'm mad so let's make a list: long things that are shorter than 4 hours and 12 minutes or 252 minutes (the duration of that Oliver lashing thing):

All of 7a or all of 7b (5 episodes equal 210 minutes) (252 minutes is actually the length of most 6 episodes combos of a network show);

Justice League Snyder Cut (242 minutes);

Any Lord of the Rings Extended Edition (Fellowship of The Ring has 208 minutes, The Two Towers has 223 and The Return of The King has 251);

Any combination of 2 high school musical movies (209 to 231 minutes);

This year's super bowl (246 minutes);

The longest eras tour concert (225 minutes).

The first 8 episodes of Julie and the Phantoms add up to 240 minutes;

Tell me again about how me making fun of people escalating is somehow comparable to someone going on for four hours about how awful an actor is.

[slavghoul]

First musical emotion?

TF: I grew up in an environment full of music, with a very open-minded mother who listened to a lot of pop and rock music and, above all, an older brother who was 13 years older than me. That's how much I was immersed in teenage culture as a child. I was 3 years old in 1984 when the glam metal wave invaded the airwaves and TV screens. These bands, like Kiss, WASP or Mötley Crüe, very strong visually for a child, attracted me irresistibly. And let's not forget Twisted Sister. I Wanna Rock is the track that remains the basis, the trigger for everything for me. A song that, at 3, 13, 23 or 43 years old, still has the same effect on me as soon as I hear it: to jump in the air like a madman.

First record bought?

If not Kiss, probably a Rolling Stones album. It didn't make much of an impression on me because my brother used to buy so many of them, so my money was mostly spent on Star Wars stuff. There are tons of bands I love, but I think the Stones are my favourite. Because they embody everything I love about rock, even though they weren't as sophisticated as the Beatles or Pink Floyd. Between 1967 and 1972, in their darkest period, nobody did it better than them: they had the look, the attitude, the style and, on top of that, the songs! Let It Bleed is incredible, with songs like Midnight Rambler and Live With Me. As much as I admire technical singers, virtuosos of harmony, Jagger remains unique. I've never tried to imitate him, but as a performer he is the absolute model.

First concert of note?

My brother used to take me to see local punk bands at a very early age, but I remember B.B. King most of all, when I was about 5 or 6, with my mother. It was a jazz festival, outside in the courtyard of a castle, a very cool atmosphere. As soon as B.B. King started playing, there was electricity in the air. Everyone got up and started dancing, I was blown away. And as I was the only one of my age, I could move around freely, so much so that I found myself in the backstage, in front of B.B. King himself! He invited me into his dressing room: "Do you play the guitar?" - Yes! - so don't stop!" And I took his advice. Even though I sing on stage, the guitar is still my favourite instrument, the one I play and master the most.

The band that best managed to avoid the pitfall of the image taking precedence over the music?

Kiss, unfortunately, was far from being up to the task musically. Alice Cooper, after two minor first albums, went on to make four incredible albums with the original Alice Cooper Group. Above all, he made a phenomenal comeback with Welcome to My Nightmare in 1975. After that, the show took over... The band that managed to stay straight and dignified, without compromising the artistic quality of their work, is undoubtedly Iron Maiden. All of their 80's production is impeccable, and if they had a slump in the 90's, they came back even stronger with the return of Bruce Dickinson, and have been going strong for twenty years! Their work ethic is exemplary. With Ghost, we take up Phantom of the Opera, one of my favourite tracks from their early period, and one of the few where I felt we could add a little something to it.

Best punk song in the world?

There are so many, because I was also brought up on the sounds of the Pistols, the Ramones, the Dead Kennedys... But as a kid, I never got tired of listening to The Great Rock'n'Roll Swindle again, especially the sequence where Sid Vicious sings My Way. His version is one of my favourite songs of all time. What could be more awesome than to see a guy slaughtering this standard while doing the same, shooting the shit, with the audience that came to see him! It was like the ultimate middle finger, and it made me happy, and it showed me the way.

The band that remains the grail for you?

Queen, because the show side, the big show, is the ultimate for me. In the early 70s, my favourite musical period, there were no big shows yet, like the Stones started doing afterwards. Queen is the same. Of course, their best albums are from the 70s, but the peak of their career for me is the Wembley concert in 1986. Magic wasn't a great record, but the show was breathtaking, dantesque, with a repertoire as vast as it was delirious. If Ghost could ever come close to the 1986 Queen, I would be delighted.

The greatest Swedish band?

ABBA, of course. No one will ever be able to stand in their way. The Beatles are the monarchs of English rock, ABBA the monarchs of Swedish pop. Björn and Benny are national heroes. I found myself at a huge, formal party when Benny suddenly sat down at the piano and started Thank You For the Music. There was silence in a second. This guy is a monument. You can't imagine what ABBA has done, not only for pop music, but also for Sweden and the Swedes. This band proved that you can move mountains.

Which Ghost song are you most proud of?

Cirice, probably. I often write my songs by singing into my phone a melody that is in my head. We were about to finish the album Meliora. And the co-producer tells me that a really heavy and powerful track is missing. I tell him I have this heavy, heavy, macabre sounding tune with a long intro and a crushing riff. He suggests I tweak it while he goes for a run. When he came back, I had written a chorus, lyrical, catchy. It wasn't the leaden track he was hoping for. But it won us a Grammy!

The most evil band?

Certainly not Mercyful Fate, as one might imagine. They, like most Norwegian death metal bands, more or less satanic, are the most charming guys I've ever met. They seem more like nice teachers than evil creatures. The scariest band is probably Von, a mythical American black metal band from Hawaii. These guys were really scary, with their terrifying size, they looked really dangerous. But I think the evil is mostly on the side of those who pretend to defend the good. For me, the most evil and unattractive musician is Ted Nugent. He's pro-life, pro-hunting, and claims he's only fighting for freedom. But the world he defends is about as free and tolerant as Vladimir Putin's. I refuse to listen to him.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 39

So we know that ghosts can enter technology and even get trapped in it thanks to Technus, right? 

Imagine if the teens of Amity Park make something like a minecraft world or server. This means that team Phantom would be a part of it as well, which would eventually get said technology ghost’s attention. And then it could spread from him to the other ghost rogues. 

Suddenly the ghosts are also a part of the minecraft world, but they’re?? Not destroying stuff??

 Boxy is in heaven, everything is boxes! Everything! Technus is surprisingly good at moderating? He’s the master of technology! This is his domain to rule! Ember can give concerts without mind controlling people and loves when people bring their pet parrots to dance to said music. 

 Lunch Lady has ended up overhauling the spawn area to include a community farm and has a big kitchen to make sure everyone has food! Especially useful if someone’s bed is broken when they respawn. People have found out that Skulker will take out bosses and get a lot of mob drops for free as long as it’s a good hunt. Johnny, Kitty, and Shadow have built their own house on a hill with different towers they go to when they’re arguing or avoiding each other. There’s even a garage for Johnny to keep his bike safe away from ghost hunters! No one knows where the giant clocktower in the End came from, no one is admitting to building it, but Phantom seems utterly delighted either way, same with the giant PvP arena with a statue of a four-armed woman? 

 Practically all the ghosts are building their own lil haunts and lairs, mostly in the sky like their home, accidentally making a ghost town in the clouds. Danny is utterly relieved to get some proper sleep because his rogues are distracted by the minecraft world and fulfilling their obsessions without causing destruction! 

 Now if only people would stop joking about Phantom and him sharing a minecraft bed that would be great! 

[blush-and-books]

julie and the phantoms lives on. they win grammys. julie and luke's private but obvious will they/won't they moments are viral on tiktok after every concert, every interview, every concert. the music video for perfect harmony fuels rumors. julie, on a podcast, refers to the joy she has to work with her boyfriend - the internet goes wild. reggie and alex post a cryptic tiktok about third and fourth wheeling when two of your bandmates are dating. their next album single is the luke-penned wicked beauty, which describes julie to a t. before anybody knows it, they've gotten married before the start of their next tour. months after the tour wraps, a video of a pregnant julie recording new music in the studio is posted from jatp social media accounts. so many funny videos follow over the next couple of years of the band members trying to teach julie and luke's kids to play instruments. the four of them have bets on which instrument the two children are going to choose. in their teens, the siblings discreetly release an ep under a pen name that their parents don't know about, and one of the songs lands on the president's annual playlist. they blow up. nobody knows it's the children of julie molina and luke patterson until two years later, after they've released an album, and they appear at the grammys because they've been nominated for best new artist. they perform at their parents induction to the rock and roll hall of fame.

[ghostly-shenanigans-in-progress]

Facts and Junk for the Ghostly Pokémon au

Because making character designs and stuff for about 8 gym leaders plus Danny and co. are understandly taking later than expected.

The Amity region is well known for its phenomenon with shiny Pokémon frequencies being higher than any other region to date. It’s high for all types except for ghost types of which hold a significant meaning to the folklore of this region. As the stories tell, those shiny ghost type Pokémon are considered to be the reincarnations of previous loved one and ancestors that actively search for their descendants that have become trainers in order to protect and help them achieve their dreams through their journeys.

Those of note with shiny ghost types on their teams are Danny, Tucker, Sam, Valerie, the gym leaders, elite four and other side characters of note I won’t reveal just yet.

Due to the shiny phenomenon, this has obviously made the region a popular target for Pokémon poachers, and other illegal gang activities to visit, displace or destroy the environment these Pokémon reside in to make bank.

As a result, entry for any outside trainers and tourists is limited and extremely difficult to receive due to the extensive rules enforced by Amity’s game wardens and guys in white. Secondly, the severity of Pokémon attacks and frequency of mass outbreaks in this region are also tied to the security of this region being so tight as this region is very dangerous for newcomers who have not been raised and taught how to deal with this environment.

To improve safety precautions and travel between cities, the Amity region has massive national parks built near each major city or town that’s overlooked by the game wardens and park rangers. Trainers are able to transverse as they please but off the trail areas are off-limits unless the trainer has ranger status or earned the equivalent with earning all the gym badges or receiving the required number of bounties that are enforced by their boards in each park.

Danny’s Ace partner is a shiny Mimikyu he named Phantom or Spooky. He’s had him before he started his journey at age 13 after his parents’ strange machine of which would harness the power of space time distortion portals which naturally occur in their region popped this little guy out. Since he felt bad for displacing Mimikyu from its place, he promised to do the means necessary to return it back to its home. (But in the end Danny realizes he gave Mimikyu its home here with him than to his previous trainer in the future *wink* *wink*).

The most popular gym leader is Ember in the region. Her concerts are always sold out in her city and getting past her in the gym leader test takes forever to schedule.

There’s actually a former monarchy that is in charge of the elite four isle and grounds for the area. These people are Dorathea and Aragon but also the champion, Godric Pariah, who are the last of the royal dragon trainer lineage.

Clockwork is the professor you meet in your journey but is unknowingly the past champion of the region years back. He collaborates with the Fentons in their ghost Pokémon studies and their connection to the recent frequency of the space time distortion events and sleeplessness among the region’s Pokémon as of late.

The enemy/antagonists of this series is Team Nocturnal. The group has a front through a company of which helps trainers treat the recent sleeplessness issue that’s been affecting Pokémon and now people too. Supposedly, the success rate for treatments have been high but the frequency of previous patients coming back to the facility is oddly high despite it. The CEO of the company hasn’t commented on the success but rather insists that routine treatment is what helps prevent a relapse into the sleeplessness disorder.

Another gang you could run into in the region is team Shadow. A biker gang ran by Johnny 13, and Kitty which travels throughout the cities to cause havoc and fun whenever they feel like it. Oddly, they are more benevolent than aggressive with their actions. Usually, helping trainers through government roadblocks set by the national parks or giving them items to heal Pokémon’s status conditions and such. Despite this, they’re often the headache for the head game warden who has struggled to bring them to justice. The team gets their name because of Johnny’s Gengar, Shadow, who is their mascot next to Kitty’s smoochum.

The alliance with Team Shadow is one of several ways trainers can proceed to all park areas without having all badges in tow or escorts. Another is through collecting bounties and earning a ranger rank through the national parks’ system that allows trainers to help conservation and protection of the ecosystem under the surveillance of the park rangers. It’s a faster but more dangerous route to gain full access to the areas. Though, those who take this path eventually become park rangers in the future.

[markbbrooklyn]

UPDATE: FOUR PHANTOMS IN CONCERT PBS NYC-13 12:30AM Sat 10/5

Singers Brent Barrett, John Cudia, Franc D’Ambrosio and Ciarán Sheehan, who cumulatively have performed the iconic Phantom role more than 6,000 times, celebrate the music of Broadway and more. The concert includes a stunning finale paying tribute to The Phantom of the Opera. Kaley Ann Voorhees, who played the role of Christine in the Broadway production, is a special guest star.

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

As far as I know, until now, it was only available on PBS Passport (a streaming service which is by $ub$cription only)

Thanks to a Facebook post by ex-Christine Marie Danvers, I found out that it is now being broadcast on "free TV".

So if you receive Channel 13's signal in the NYC area and want to watch/DVR it, it's on shortly after midnight!

Elsewhere, check your local PBS channel, but don't waste your time going to the PBS website - it is still for Pa$$port $ub$cribers only!

[modpoppy]

BWAHAHA YOU FOOL YOU CANNOT STOP ME FROM DOING ALL THREE

UNIQUE THINGS ABOUT ME:

the mind wipe.

number one phantom fan! thats my pookie

i have a particular type of scar on my arm ive never seen anyone have the same kind of! its not a very unique circumstance per se i think im just the only emptyheaded fuck (ha) to have accomplished legit scarring from it

not many people can say they have a special interest in accounting can they! i made an accountant ace attorney au, i made kaeya genshin impact’s special interest accounting (and made him an accountant in my au fic), i could talk about it all day!

i

cant think of a fifth thing

FOUR THINGS IM PASSIONATE ABOUT!!!!!

PLUSHIES!! i like plushies a lot and they make me happy and i have too many of them and ive identified which brands i like i wish they had plushie conventions where people can find and share their plushies

WIZARDS im obsessed with wizards i wnat to be awozard i w anta to be vwizarf wi e a aa. rd

im very very passionate about chainsaw man, devilman crybaby, and nge, and how they play out literally vs the narrative subtext vs fandom perception, though i mostly care about csm bc its the most recent and most intense. i WILL DEFEND DENJI FROM WILLFUL MISCHARACTERIZATION WITH MY LIFE

um. the phantom. i dunno

THREE GOOD MEMORIIIIIIIIES

……. well this is hard of course given the mind wipe, and i was mostly left with unsavory memories, but ill sort through and find some good ones.

when i first became active on tiktok, i ordered some jjba plushies, and as a freebie got a Pesci plush. i didnt want it, but didnt feel good tossing it or selling it, so i broadcast to give it away for free and was able to send it to a pesci fan. i like doing things like that

i think i recall getting my hair done up nice and trying seafood for the first time. im really happy in the photo so i think things went well

the dethklok concert was really great! a lot of people complimented my hair and my outfit, one guy let me move in front of him to see slightly better, and someone even gave me a free pickles pin!!

ignore that two of those are post mind wipe.

WAHAAAA THATS ALL OF MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TY FOR ASKINGGGGG

side note: hey guys i dont know if the mind wipes working anymore!!

[omegasmileyface]

I wrote a little 1000-word (ok, 986-word) story about my Danny Phantom gost OC (specifically ghostsona) Joule! enjoy :)

(Edit 4/25/24: an edited version of this story is on ao3 here!)

===

When vision fades in, your eyes are already open. The muddled blurs of different shades of green make themselves into distinct swirls, curling in too many directions to count. It looks three-dimensional, but it feels more than that. Four or five, maybe.

Your body has made its presence again. Though it isn't blending from numbness to tingling skin like it usually does after passing out, instead there is just a sort of knowledge of where you begin and where everything else ends. Where proprioception is normally like a quiet physical static felt in your limbs, now it's like having a song stuck in your head. A background thought. You cannot feel the physical sensation of your body, nor its numbness. It's not strange, but it wasn't like that before.

…Before? Before what? Obviously there was a before, before the greens came into focus. The same way sleeping leaves a gap in your memory. You woke up, obviously. But what about before you went to sleep?

Maybe… pixels? Pixels on a monitor? But in what context?

That hurts. You don't want to reach back for more memories anymore. There's a wall there, and hitting it hurts.

What a shame that the only thing you can remember is green. Green is fine, but it's not nearly your favorite color. Some kind of hot pink would be much better, maybe a cyan too.

You're still just staring. What happens if you move?

…You can't move, so there's no way to tell.

Okay, earlier you felt your body. Is it still there? The quiet thought isn't in the background anymore, it's just gone. No more body. But you know you can have one, because you did.

You think to yourself, I have limbs, and a face where my senses go. You think this until you don't have to concentrate on it to know it's true. Then you think I'm sitting up, and I'm looking at my hands, and you do so. Silly… silly… silly you, you forgot about having a body!

Your hands are black and clawed, and they only blur a little at the edges. You're happy to see the black, since it means you won't have to wait for nail polish to dry anymore. You run them across your face, relishing in the odd way your awareness becomes gooey and undefined as your boundaries touch and form loops of you. When your hand is on your face, with the elbow bent out to the side, your shape has a hole in it!

Your hair floats around your head with all the silky chaos of being let down underwater. It's not long enough to see clearly, but you catch its color briefly. #ff0086. Beautiful!

What does the rest of you look like? You reach for that awareness of your body, and you find a thought holding the instructions to render you. You have #3a53c3 skin which fades to #000000 at the extremities and chin-length pink-red hair, which is held back at the crown by sharp #00ffff horns. Your lips and fangs are black, and black markings curve over your cheeks. Your eyes are black with cyan irises, and below the waist, you taper off to a long tail. You're dressed like you might be going to a concert.

How lucky you are to be this pretty! You don't often get to be.

Wait, why do your thoughts have instructions? That's juicy! Where is that going? Do you have some kind of GPU? You trace the thought back to the source, and find your mind—

But it's not in your head. You feel everything you know, the very bounds of your existence, everything that is real to you and your perception and your form, in your chest.

How interesting! All things— not that things don't exist outside of you, you're not a solipsist, but as far as your identity could be aware— all things, contained in such a small area?

And it follows code?

You tell yourself to make something, just to see what happens, and a pink spark arcs across your palm.

Gorgeous! How does it do that? Why does it do that? What sorts of things could you do by programming yourself? What puzzle-language would you solve-write in? Where are the rules?

And how can you break them?

You want to know everything there is to know about this self, this mind, this core. You need to learn how to instruct it, how to answer questions and solve puzzles with it. That's why you're here, even. Whatever put you here, whatever act of entropy wound up stringing your consciousness together out of the green, it only happened so you can figure out how the rules of this world play together. There are secrets only you can uncover. There is so much interesting detail buried in the four-or-so spacial dimensions stretching out from this point, and you've only seen this tiny block of it! What are you waiting for?

A tiny lump of distortion carves its way through the green next to you. All the same colors and energies as its surroundings, but in a different shape. It has red eyes, and they don't even glance at you. It doesn't have a core, you feel when you look at it. If it did, you'd know things about it, but it doesn't, so the space where that knowledge would go is empty.

Goodness, are there more selves than just you in here? Are there cores that aren't the same as yours? How can they differ? Do they come in different colors? Specialties? Languages? Is there lore? A theology?

If you're not the only one here, you need a user ID. Something to identify you. A name.

You like J sounds, and you saw some electricity earlier, so you call yourself Joule.

It's Joule.

Joule faces the direction the green coreless blob went, and they make themself go forward.

[1mnobodywhoareyou]

Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree

on ao3, rated G, Julie and the Phantoms

The boys are hanging behind after their school band practice. They had just been given the song list and sheet music for the upcoming Christmas concert and Sunset Curve had even been given permission to do a song of their own. They were excitedly discussing which song they could add to the line up. It was *technically* the elementary school’s concert but the high school band always performed and Sunset Curve took every opportunity they were given to play. Reggie is excited to be able to play both his bass and saxophone and the other three stick with their preferred instruments.

They’re interrupted by their band teacher doubling back into the room and he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees them. “Oh good, you’re still here! Luke and Bobby? Would you be open to accompanying the kids for the concert?”

Luke and Bobby look at one another and then back to their teacher, pointing to themselves. “Us?”

Their teacher nods, “yeah, normally I’d play piano for them but we were talking and it might be nice to change things up with guitar this year. And feature our students some more.”

Luke beams at that and Bobby shrugs slightly before speaking for both of them. He knows that Luke isn’t going to turn down the opportunity to play for a crowd, accompanied by kindergarteners or otherwise. “Yeah, we can do that.”

“It won’t be too much for you two? The school band, yours, and these songs?”

Luke shakes his head vigorously and claps Bobby on the back, “nope! We can handle it!” 

“Alright then, thanks boys! I’ll get you everything tomorrow. Get me your song choice by then too, please.”

“You got it, sir!” Luke offers a salute and their teacher shakes his head, amused. 

“Keep this room how you found it please,” he walks out of the room, leaving the boys as they’d been before being interrupted. 

Luke pumps his fist, “YES!”

An amused grin takes over Alex’s face, “it’s the elementary school.”

“So? It’s an opportunity to play! And it’s not a book club!” The boys had only formally been a band for less than a year and they’d just finally found their footing and were playing every opportunity they could. 

“Hey, I love playing book club!” Reggie exclaims and Luke laughs, pinching Reggie’s cheeks the same way that the older ladies had a tendency to do. 

“You just like charming the grandmas.”

Reggie bats Luke’s hands away, rubbing his face. “What of it? They love me! And send us home with tasty treats every week.” Reggie’s gaze starts to gloss over as if he’s lost in thought.

Bobby wraps his arm around Reggie’s shoulders with a laugh of his own, jostling Reggie out of his treat-related daze. “Let’s feed the insatiable monster before we lose him to daydreaming. Again.”

“I resemble that remark,” Reggie murmurs while Luke and Alex laugh and they grab their things on their way out of the room. Alex doubles back to turn off the light, wanting to ensure that they’ll be allowed to continue using the space until they can figure out another rehearsal (and instrument storage) option. He takes his place between Bobby and Luke, wrapping his arms around their shoulders so that the four of them take up most of the hallway as they walk toward the doors.

—

They decide to head to the Patterson’s today and are just finishing up their snack, making their individual cases for the song they want to cover, when Emily gets home. 

“Afternoon boys, how was school?”

Luke answers her around a mouthful of food, “good, Ma! We get to play for the Christmas concert this year.”

“Luke, how many times do I have to ask you not to talk with food in your mouth?”

He swallows, “sorry, Ma.”

“What song are you doing this year?” All four of them have been in the school band since fifth grade and the Pattersons had managed to make every performance. And all of the years prior, with Luke’s excited performances alongside his classmates. He lived to make the audience laugh and succeeded every time. His teachers stopped bothering to try reining him in very early on. Mitch and Emily stopped feeling the embarrassment of having a kid who demanded the spotlight by the time he reached third grade. This was the first year he got to do anything on his own though.

“The band is playing a really cool medley mashup! And, Ma! WE get to play!” he gestures toward his friends and she raises an eyebrow. “Like as Sunset Curve,” he clarifies excitedly.

“Luke’s very excited,” Alex explains drily, as if Luke’s excitement wasn’t apparent to all of them.

“I see,” she replies cooly and Luke’s face falls slightly. 

His friends clock it immediately and Bobby speaks up next, “they asked Luke and I to accompany the kids too.”

“That’s very nice for you boys,” Emily says. “It’s a lot of songs to learn.”

“We can handle it, Ma. It’s not like we haven’t been singing them since we could talk or anything.”

“You’re right,” she concedes and makes her way through to the kitchen. “Make sure you boys clean up please. Are any of you staying for dinner tonight?”

Reggie confirms his attendance while Alex and Bobby bow out, claiming they need to be with their own families for the evening.

“What if we wrote our own?” Luke suggests after everything for dinner gets sorted.

“Luke, no. We don’t have time for that!” Alex tells him. Luke’s face falls into a pout and Alex sighs, “what if you write one for next year and we can ask to perform it then?”

Luke’s face brightens slightly before falling back into a frown as he gets lost in thought.

“What if we just did Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree? Twist it to make it our sound but it’s still classic,” Reggie suggests. 

Bobby puts his fingers to his chin in thought before digging out the program they’d been given at school. “It’s not on the list,” he confirms.

Luke pulls out his notebook and starts writing out the adjustments he can hear playing in his mind. The others watch him for a moment before looking at one another in amusement. They know they’ve lost him to the songwriting void. 

Luke jumps up suddenly, running to the family room and digging through his family’s record and tape collection. He comes up empty and yells toward the kitchen. “Ma! Where do we keep our Christmas records?”

Emily comes around the corner, drying her hands. “They’re in the Christmas bins. I haven’t brought them out yet. What do you need?”

“I want to make sure I have this song right.”

“Does it need to be right this second?”

“Mooooom, the music is flowing! Don’t harsh my vibe!”

Emily puts her hands up in mock defense, “no harshing of vibes here. I’ll get your Dad to pull things out this weekend.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

Bobby decides to take that moment to interject, “Luke, one of the teachers will probably have everything we need. We can ask tomorrow.”

Luke sighs but concedes. There’s only so far that his memory can take him with this. 

—

Bobby was right and they are able to get the sheet music from their music teacher the next day. They lose Luke to his arrangement process for their entire lunch break but he comes out of it triumphant and ready to practice with the boys. They make slight adjustments together at the end of the day and wind up with something they’re all happy with.

They spend the next several weeks fine tuning things and practicing and before too long the night of the concert arrives. Luke is excitedly bouncing in place and keeps looking out in the audience for his parents. None of the rest of the boys’ parents come to anything any more and look forward to Mitch and Emily’s support when it’s offered to them. 

Reggie bounds backstage and up to Luke. “They’re here!” 

It would take intimate knowledge of Luke to notice the shift in his energy at the news but all three of his bandmates clock it. 

Luke accompanies the first three grades before joining the high school band for their performance and Bobby takes over the final three. There is a stark difference in the boys’ energy and how they play. Luke knows better than to steal the spotlight from the kids but he’s still putting on the performance he’s known for. Bobby keeps his head down and simply provides the backing track for the kids. Which works out well, considering the ages that they’re both playing with. 

They take a break to let the elementary choir sing unaccompanied and then get set up for their own performance. 

Sunset Curve nails their version of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree with Reggie closing out the song with what is quickly becoming his signature, “we’re Sunset Curve. Tell your friends!”

The crowd laughs as they applaud and the boys beam as they soak it in before being nudged back to reality by the MC. They quickly find their places with the school band and get settled for the last song of the night. 

Luke’s eyes canvas the crowd as soon as they’re finished and everyone starts packing up to leave. He’d found where his parents were sitting while Bobby was playing and he’s excited to hear what they thought. 

He manages to place them again and runs up with a giant smile on his face. “So?” he asks impatiently.

“You did great, Luke.” Reggie, Bobby, and Alex had joined them and Emily looks at all four boys. “You all did.”

Luke and Reggie both beam at her, always soaking up any attention they can get. 

“Luke did the whole arrangement!” Reggie gushes to Mitch and Emily.

“Oh, that’s great,” Emily replies, a bit muted and significantly less enthusiastically than Luke had hoped for.

“Didn’t you like it?” he asks.

“It’s just… is this really something you want to do?” she counters.

Luke’s eyes go wide and the other three boys look between each other in concern. “Yes, Ma! You just heard us, we’re great! Imagine how cool it will be when people are cheering for the songs that I wrote.”

Emily hums noncommittally and Mitch decides to take over. “You boys did a great job. Do you need rides home?”

He’s met with a chorus of “yes, sir!” and “please!” and he can’t help the light chuckle that escapes him.

Luke hangs behind as they follow his parents out to their station wagon. Alex notices and turns back to join him. “Don’t worry about them,” Alex says as they walk beside each other. “They’ll come around! You’ll see.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees softly. “They have to! We’re gonna make it, ‘Lex! I know it.”

Alex ruffles Luke’s hair with a small laugh, “yeah, buddy. We’ll make it.”

[dp-marvel94]

Face to Face- Chapter 54

Summary: When Danny went through the ghost catcher, he expected to be cured of the ghostliness that had haunted him since the accident, not to wake up on the lab floor with his parents saying he’d been overshadowed but everything’s back to normal now. But why does Danny Fenton cry himself to sleep to then dream of flying? Why does Phantom, the ghost who was supposedly possessing Danny remember a life that wasn’t his? Most of all, why do both the human and the ghost feel that something vital is missing, in their very soul? Or: Trying to cure himself of his powers one month after the accident, Danny accidentally splits himself but neither his ghost nor his human half know that that is what they did

First -> Last -> Next

Word Count: 7,517

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Note: Finally! The much awaited (for me at least XD) concert chapter! This is probably the most self indulgent thing I have ever written. 😅😳

Seriously though, I put so much time and thought into this love letter to my two favorite things: Danny Phantom and Christian rock. 😂 I hope ya'll enjoy it just a fraction of the amount I did writing it.

(And on a serious note. A warning for some minor religious references and discussion here- the name of Jesus in a reverent context, a character asks another if they would like to be prayed for. I wrote a very long post on Tumblr going to more detail on some of these and my reasons for including them. See the link in the end note.)

Excitement grew, buzzing in Danny’s chest as everyone piled into the GEV. Even Jazz.

The boy raised a brow at his sister. “I figured you’d wanna stay home and read about the psychology of troubled teens or something.”

The red-head rolled her eyes at the comment. She shook her head. “Spike is going. He’s really into the metal scene and I thought going myself might be informative.”

Dad glanced back. “Is that your boyfriend, Jazzirencess?”

Jazz blushed. “We’re just friends, Dad.”

The parents exchanged looks, saying nothing else on the topic. Instead the conversation shifted, back towards the subject of the concert.

“Danny, sweetie. Who are we seeing again?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Less than ten minutes later, the group arrived at the park. Dad pulled into a parking spot and turned the vehicle off. The teens were out almost before the van even stopped and practically run across the grass.

There was the stage, set up the field where Sam, Tucker, and his two halves had played frisbee golf on Thursday. Danny stopped a dozen feet away, just staring for a long moment. Not even four days ago he’d fought a dragon here. Signs of the struggle still mard the area: patches of dead grass, a few fallen trees, and –Danny winced at the sight– the destroyed bathrooms, bared off the caution tape. A row of Port-a-Potties has been set up in their stead.

The sound of a guitar broke through Danny’s thoughts. “Feels like I'm stuck. Going nowhere fast.” An older teenage girl was singing while playing. “My life is on the line. I'm running out of time.” The instrument suddenly cut off. Then her voice pitched down, speaking normally. “I’m gonna need more guitar in my ears.” A few more strums. “Perfect.” She glanced over at another teen, holding a bass. “Maggie?”

Beside Danny, Tucker leaned in, right next to his ear. “They’re sound checking!” The half ghost could practically hear the stars in his friend’s eyes. 

“We’re listening to GFM sound check!” Danny felt just as giddy.

More strumming instruments, banging on the drums, growling and yelling into the mic. “Mic check! One, two, three! Can you hear me?!” 

“Yeah!” Woah!” The few people already gathering in front of the stage yelled an affirmative.

“Sounds good, CJ.” The bassist backed up from the mic, leaving her instrument on a stand. “Let’s get dinner.”

“Pizza!” There was a cheer from the drum set.

The other two band members, all sisters if Danny remembered, left the stage, now empty of people. 

Sam tugged on her friends’ arms. “Let’s scope out merch.”

The three hurried over to the merch tables, the group clustered under a tent. First GFM’s merch table, all black and pink and green. Shirts and tank tops. A jersey and hoodie. Wristbands and stickers. Pins. Even a skateboard- with cupcakes and a cheerleader in a black and pink cheer outfit with fishnets.

“I want one of everything.” The goth gushed. 

Next Relent’s table- black cloth covered the table, displaying fewer options but no less enticing.

Danny eyed one particular shirt. 

Tucker pointed. “Dude, check it.” The shirt showed a typical, if spooky, bed-sheet ghost, the scene complete with the band name, fire, lightning, and little bats.

“I’m so tempted.” The half ghost grinned.

Then Protest’s. A huge banner with the band’s logo hung on a frame, shirts displayed around it. In front of that was a table with posters, cds, stickers, and other offerings. A man with long brown hair and an upper arm tattoo was hanging up one last jacket.

“That’s a sick zip-up.” Tucker commented.

The man turned around…. He looked vaguely familiar. “Thanks man. My bro designed it.” He pointed to another man, a few tables down who was talking to some other people. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m-” He held out his hand to Tucker, only to be interrupted.

“Joshua Bramlett!” 

The four turned, only to see-

“Grandma?!” Sam’s eyes crinkled in disbelief of the old woman zooming across the path in her electric wheelchair.

The man’s (presumably Joshua) eyes lit up behind his glasses. “Miss Ida!” He stepped around the group, bending over to hug the woman as her chair stopped. “How have you been?!”

The trio of teens stared, confused. “What is happening right now?” Danny asked.

Meanwhile, the bearded man and Sam’s grandma chatted. “These old joints are acting up. But I wasn’t going to miss seeing you boys for the world.” She patted his hand. “You have to meet my granddaughter.”

Grandma Ida wheeled forward, the man walking back to the trio with her. “This is Sam.” The old woman introduced.

“I’m Josh.” The man offered his hand with a smile.

“Sam.” The goth nodded, accepting the gesture.

“Tucker.”

“Danny.”

Two more hand shakes were given. 

Josh then lowered his hands, putting them in his pockets. “Have you ever seen us before?”

“Us?” Danny raised a brow and the man motioned to the banner. “Oh.” The boy blushed. “You're in the band.” That really should have been obvious; hadn’t he seen him on the flier for this very show?

Josh chuckled, giving a shrug. “I sing for The Protest.” The words were so casual, “Are you excited for the show?” and the question eager and genuinely interested.

The half ghost instinctively felt himself relaxing. “Yeah! We’ve been talking about this for weeks.”

“Me and the boys will be sure to put on a good one for you.” He chuckled, before pointing back at the stage. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got more set up to do. I’d love to talk to you guys more after.”

Sure enough, Josh turned and walked away. The three teens stopped, watching for a long moment.

“He seems nice.” Tucker commented.

“That young man’s one of the sweetest, most genuine people you’ll ever meet.” Grandma Ida nodded, eyes twinkling with her smile. 

“Who you’ve apparently met before?” Sam frowned down, hands on her hips. “You know the Protest’s lead singer. How come you haven’t taken me to see them before?”

The old woman just shrugged, a mischievous look flickering across her face. Then her eyes lit up, gaze flickering to something near the stage. “Is that Marco Pera I see?!” She called out. “Don’t you run off now! Come talk to Grandma Ida.” The old woman wheeled off, leaving the three teens behind.

The goth lowered her hands to her sides, mouth open. “Unbelievable.”

Danny tugged her arm, diverting her attention. “Come on. There’s another table.”

Sam turned back. Her brow furrowed. “I thought there were only three bands playing.”

Tucker shrugged, leading his friends to the table. Sure enough, there was more merch displayed. 

“They have everything.” Danny’s eyes widened. Bags, CDs, posters, stickers, and pins were typical fare. But there were shirts in just about every color, not just black or gray. Keychains and coasters. Wristbands too. Even jewelry, bracelets that looked like they were made of leather.

“You should get that one, Sam.” Tucker pointed teasingly at a pink leather bracelet with the band’s name.

The goth rolled her eyes, giving the technogeek a punch on the arm. 

“Hey!” Tucker protested. 

Sam ignored him, instead reading the writing on the banner behind the table. “Chaotic Resemblance. Who are these guys anyway? They’re not on the flier.”

“We got added last minute.” A blond man, late twenties with a lip ring, looked up from his phone, putting the device in his pocket. “We’re good friends with the guys in the Protest and playin’ a few hours away tomorrow.” The man shrugged. He had an odd accent Danny couldn’t quite place. “Figured we could swing by.”

“Cool.” Danny said with a slight smile. He had no idea who this band was but the prospect of hearing cool, new music was always exciting.

Briefly, names were exchanged; the man’s name was Travis, yet another lead singer. He asked the trio if they’d heard of any of the other bands playing today and who they were excited to see.

“GFM.” Sam’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve been following their vlog for like a year now. The music kicks ass. And their music videos! I love the one for SMILE.” She stopped, blushing in seeming embarrassment from the rant. “So, yeah. I’m excited.”

Travis laughed, expression open and kind, before asking Tucker and Danny the same question. The technogeek mentioned reading a review of The Protest’s new ep on a music website he liked and listening to the songs a bunch. And Danny…

“Relent’s super cool. Sam introduced them to me, since they’re on that same label GFM used to be on.” He blushed, cheeks scrunching up with his smile. “I’ve listened to the new cd like a hundred times. Especially Ghost and Heavy.” Just a hint of sadness brushed his mind at the thought of that second one. “I… really like those songs.”

“You’ve gotta learn the words, right.” Tucker elbowed him playfully. 

The halfa just felt more embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well uh…”

“Don’t be embarrassed.” Travis leaned forward, a conspiratory twinkle in his eye. “Let me tell you a secret. We love it when fans know the words.”

“Really?” Danny asked hesitantly.

“Yep.” The man nodded. “So you better sing really loud for those guys.” The half ghost nodded eagerly. Then, suddenly strumming sounded from the stage. Travis’ head jerked in the direction. “Oh, we’re sound checking. I have to go. It was great talking to you.”

Again, the trio watched him go. And Danny’s shoulder untensed. He felt better, embarrassment and lingering sadness gone. He knew all the words to Heavy because, well… he’d listened… and cried through the song many times. It’s not like anyone could blame him, right? The last two months had been the hardest of his life. But he’d gotten through it. He’d learned and he’d grown. And that song had been a tiny part of that.

Shaking the thought away, the trio of friends returned to their spot near the front. On the way they passed Danny’s mom and dad, both seated in their camping chairs with what looked like a few other parents. Jazz and a teen with black spiky hair and a nose ring stood on the other side of the stage, a little ways back.

The trio stood in front of the stage, excitement building as the band checked their sound. Minutes later, the musicians walked off, leaving the stage bare and ready. Music crackled to life on the speakers. Pre Recorded but familiar, fast paced and energetic, from bands Danny recognized. Anticipation grew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shadows were lengthening now, the golden light of late afternoon bathing the scene. The wind blew gently, not too hot or too cold. And the crowd gathered, people packing closer together near the stage. The half ghost’s heart fluttered with excitement. The show must be starting soon…

A cheer rang out around him. The boy looked up.

“Who’s ready to rock?!” It was an older man, maybe ten years older than his dad, bald but with a big, wispy beard and tattoos in a biker jacket. “I’ve always wanted to say that.” He chuckled. “I’m Dave. I’ve been volunteering with Guardians of the Children for ten years now. We’re so excited to have all of you guys here today. ‘Specially these awesome bands on the Gotta Rock ‘em all Tour.” 

Another cheer rose up and Dave clapped. “Yeah! Give it up for these dudes.”

“Woo!!” Danny yelled, voice joining his friends.

More clapping and cheering… slowly the sound died down.

The older man pointed. “Later, one of my buddies is goin’ to tell you all about what we Guardians do. But now… are you ready to have your faces melted!?”

“Yeah!” “Woo!” “Yeah!” The half ghost caught a glimpse of Sam, her fists already in the sky. Tucker, mouth open to yell.

“Our first band wasn’t originally planned to be here. They’re on their own tour now but makin’ a special trip to see us. I love these guys. If you’re in my generation, you’re in for a treat.” Dave’s eyes sparkled knowingly. “Give it up for… Chaotic Resemblance!”

To cheers, the band sauntered onto stage, one by one. The drums pounded, cymbals clashing. Then the bass, an easy strum. The guitar, with a flourish and…

“How are we doing, Amity Park?!” Travis ran onto stage, now in a jean vest with studs and hair unbound.

The first song started, unfamiliar words fast. The guitars slung notes, fast and driving. The singer’s voice rose, high and resonating, with a twang. 

Danny bobbed his head, a smile growing as he listened. The sound tickled his ears. This was cool! Not his typical style for sure. Maybe it was closer to something he’d heard his parents listening to…? 

A hint of a bridge. The guitar solo. On stage, hair flew. The song swept up. 

Around the half ghost, the crowd was swept up with it. Danny’s heart beat faster, hair flopping on his forehead with his movement.

The chorus, on final time…. 

“It's time we break!” Travis half-sung, half-yelled.  “The identity crisis toda-ay!” The note held out, long high and reverberating. Instruments clashed, one finally flurry of head-banging. 

With a final shout, the sound died…. And the crowd cheered.

“Yeah!!” The halfa clapped, the motion big and exuberant.

One voice rose above the rest. “Woah! Radical, dudes!”

Danny looked back, cheeks bright red. That was his dad, hands up and grinning like a mad man.

On stage, Travis chuckled, pointing. “Thank you, sir.”

The half ghost face palmed….

The show rolled on, embarrassment long forgotten. 

“We’ve got one last song!” The singer started. “Thanks for having us.” A cheer from the crowd. The guitars started shredding. “We love you guys. God bless.” A final yell. “Let’s start a riot!”

Travis pumped the air with a fist. “Hey! Hey! Hey!”

Soon the crowd was copying….

Jumping. Hair slinging. Figuring out what to do during the song was natural, the crowd moving as one. 

“This is the Riot Anthem!” 

“Riot! Riot!” The boy’s heart pumped, grinning.

“Our final call to action!”

“Riot! Riot!” He shouted, fist punching the sky…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The set ended but the show went on, Relent playing next, just as the sun was starting to set.

“What you're about to see is not for free. No, I ain't got time for apologies!” Danny spat the words to the much loved song. “I'm a south boy killa. No scope headshot winner.” Screaming. “I can feel something staring at me!”

Bouncing, the half ghost’s spirit soared.

But the next song was Heavy. “I wrote this song based on my wife’s story. She’s been through so much. So many horrible, painful things. But she’s come out victorious.” The singer’s eyes flicking over the crowd. “So I hope her story helps people. I hope it helps you remember you’re not alone. And it helps you find the strength to break the silence and talk about the things that aren’t talked about enough.”

The drums pounded, slow and steady. The emotional words rang out. “I cannot take the pressure. This feels like forever…”

Danny sang along, vision threatening to blur…. 

The singer fisted the mic, eyes closed. “Look what you did to my soul. Look at the size of the hole.” He lamented. Tears collected in the corners of the half ghost’s eyes.  “Why do I, why do I, why do I feel so heavy?”

The song trickled to a stop and Danny’s heart squeezed. He whipped the tears away….

One final Relent song. The music pounded. Danny jumped and head-banged, excitement returning. His head swung at the bridge, the best part of the song. He sung. “Time’s up! What! What! What! Welcome to the-”

A puff of cold air. Danny stumbled to a stop, looking side to side. His eyes caught on… he blinked. A young man with sandy blond hair, a leather jacket. Was that… the motorcycle ghost he saw in the Zone?

Nervous curiosity squirmed in Danny’s gut as the set ended with a bang. The instruments pounded as the people cheered. With waves, the band left the stage.

The half ghost glanced back, his eyes meeting the other ghost’s. The biker raised an eyebrow. Danny turned back to the front, biting his lip. He should probably go talk to the guy. There was a little time before GFM started.

He tapped on Sam’s shoulder who turned as he leaned closer. “Save my spot. Be back soon.” The goth’s brow furrowed for just a second. Then Danny muttered. “Ghost.” He vaguely motioned with his head.

With no more discussion, he ran off, weaving through the crowd. Sure enough… there was the biker ghost. Johnny? That was what the green haired woman he’d been with before had called him, right? Quickly, Danny approached, half a dozen questions buzzing in his head. But what came out of his mouth…

“You should put that thing out.” His eyes narrowed at the death stick in Johnny’s hand. “Don’t you know cigarettes can kill you?”

The older ghost burst out laughing. “Shit, kid.” He dropped the cigarette, the object disappearing into mist as it fell. “How can you even see me?”

“You’re standing right in front of me.” The halfa raised a brow, arms crossed.

“I’m invisible.” He rolled his eyes like it was obvious. “You a medium or something?”

“A medium? What-” 

“Shit, I’ve seen you before.” The biker interrupted, snapping his finger. “You look like that twelve year old who was looking for his Mama.”

“I’m fourteen!” Danny bared his teeth. A cold feeling flickered in his eyes, green light swirling in them. 

“Holy….” The other ghost’s eyes widened. “I thought you were the live twin to your dead bro. But… holy f-king hell….” He pointed. “You’re a halfa.”

Said halfa dropped his arms. “What… How?… I just flashed my eyes and knew it like that?”

“I felt it, now that I’m actually lookin’ at ya…” Somehow, Johnny’s eyes widened more. “How come I didn’t feel it before?”

Danny blushed. “That’s complicated…” He shook his head. “What are you doing here?” The question was curious, just a hint of suspicion. 

“Watching a show.” He motioned to the stage, matter-of-fact. “Me and Kitten stumbled on a natural portal. Thought we’d have a bit of fun.” He leaned forward, voice lowering. “She’s good about knowing how long one’s gonna be open. Said we’ve got ‘til midnight.”

Danny’s brow furrowed. So that was apparently a thing…? But he didn’t ask. Instead he looked side-to-side…. “Where is she?”

“Snooping around backstage.” The other ghost grinned, mischievously, a hint of sharp teeth flashing.

New suspiciousness flashed in his eyes. A desire flickered- to get the thermos and catch the two ghosts before anything happened. But…. the boy sighed. Johnny was just standing here, watching the show like any other concert goer. He sounded like he was enjoying the music. Maybe Danny could hope….

Danny rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Can you at least try not to cause trouble?”

“Trouble?” The man laughed. “We won’t do nothing too bad.” He winked. “Besides, I’m digging these guys… and girls?” His eyes widened slightly, set on something behind. Probably GFM getting on stage. He shook his head, expression just a bit more genuine. “Believe me, the last thing I want is to stop the party.”

At that, Danny sighed. Behind him, cheers started. “Great. I’ll be near the front. Have fun.” He started turning to leave. “And really, don’t try anything. My parents are ghost hunters after all.” He pointed a thumb to the two Fentons adults, standing in front of their chairs. “You saw that big gun my Mom had in the Realms? She knows how to use it. And…” He flashed his eyes. “My folks aren’t the only ones’ armed.”

For a second, Johnny’s face paled, nervousness flickering across it. Then he smirked, summoning another cigarette with a flick of his fingers. “Alright, kid.” Burgeoning respect shone in those eyes. “See you ‘round.”

Danny ran back to the front, pushing through the crowd. In front of him, pink-colored smoke still shot up from the stage. He arrived at his spot just as Maggie ran on stage. 

“What is up Amity? I need you all to make some noise for me tonight!” Arms spread, head back, the teen brought the mic to her mouth and growled….

“Don’t tell me to! Don’t tell me to! SMILE.” A guttural yell. 

Hair flying. The crowd chanted around him. “S.M.I.L.E. Why don’t you smile for me?”

His feet pounded, his heart pounded, sweat running down his back. Beside him, Sam spat the words; he could almost hear her growling along. Tucker banged his head, glasses hanging on for dear life. Even so, his friends’ faces shone with gleeful happiness.

The second verse swung around, the chorus again. Danny’s mind filled up with the words, the rhythm. No room for anything more than the sheer exuberance.

The guitar and bass cut off, drums pounding the beat. “Okay, everyone settle down. Boys and girls, are you ready?” The guitarist, CJ, more chanted than sung.

The crowd clapped and yelled, hands in the air.

“LuLu, are you ready?” Pointing at the drummer. “I know I’m ready!” With a grin. “Maggie, are you ready?” Voice pitched up, a performatively raised brow. “Maggie?”

A pause. The audience held their breath, gripped with anticipation and...

“Go!” A growl from said teen. The breakdown hit.

And the crowd lost it. Jumping. Headbanging. Pushing and shoving. Moshing. The horde jolted. Someone ran past Danny. And…. they were circling?! The half ghost grinned manically. 

“Jack!”

His ears twitched at the cry. A look back, eyes widened. And… Danny just about felt his soul leave his body. His Dad… his dad was in the circle pit. A flash of worry. But the man was keeping up no problem, sure on his feet. 

Danny chuckled, turning back to the front as the last chorus started. His voice joined the rest. At least his dad was having fun….

“Anyone want cupcakes?!” Maggie yelled.

This was it, the last song! And there they were: clear plastic containers with neon-frosted confections. The famed cupcakes!

“Misery loves company, I bet you're fun at parties.” Cupcakes flew. “Chasing after all the things you think will make you happy.” Instinctively, Danny ducked. “You've been played so many times, you'd make the perfect barbie.” The sugary goodness rained down. “Pretend your life's a fairytale, the story's getting boring….”  The guitar sped up, fingers flying across the cords.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, heart pounding a mile a minute. He sang his lungs out. “I don’t need your fantasy!” 

Beside him, Sam’s eyes shone with passion, a balled fist to the sky. “'Cause I'm gonna say, gonna say what I wanna say…” 

A cupcake nailed her in the shoulder, pink icing smearing across her shirt and face. Danny laughed, pointing. The shocked look on her face!

“…my voice. You can't take it away!”

Something chocolate brown and blue flew at his face. The half ghost flailed to catch and… 

“You can’t!”

Blue icing coated his hands. He dropped the cupcake…

“You can’t! You can’t!”

Right into Tucker’s hands. The technogeek smirked, taking a huge bite. 

Danny lost it, bursting out laughing. Mind, body, heart, and soul wrapped up, caught up in the moment. Just him and the beat. The stickiness on his hands. His grinning, screaming, laughing friends. The press of the crowd around him. The words pouring out of his mouth. 

“This is my life, my voice. You can't take it away!”

His core sang, buzzing inside him. This. This right here. It was amazing, incredible, perfect. The feeling almost euphoric. 

This is awesome! The words were more yelled in his head than thought. An almost physical thing, like throwing the idea with his mind to-

“Misery loves company, I bet you're fun at parties.” Sam’s jump sent her careening into him. “Chasing after all the things you think will make you happy!” She’s never looked so happy to be wearing pink.

The breakdown. Tucker’s flailing arm jolted his side, icing smeared around the technogeek’s  mouth.

“Now, you’ll see… I don’t need your fantasy!” With bared teeth, head raised to the sky, Danny had never felt so alive….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The set ended with a bang, the clashing of instruments as people cheered. The three sisters left the stage. The previous soundtrack started again, so much quieter than the live music. The half ghost almost felt the crowd breath out, decompress as one of the Guardian of the Children volunteers came up to speak. The mass of people shifted, the space for moshing filling in as some snuck closer to the front and others left. Jazz and Spike drifted closer, standing right beside Danny and his friends.

Danny took a breath, whipping his sweaty forehead.

His sister laughed, giving him a knowing look.

The boy raised a brow. “I’ve got icing on my face now, don’t I?”

“Yep.” Jazz’s tone was full of teasing.

“You want some?” With a grin, the little brother swiped for her.

“Danny!” The older teen shrieked, jumping away.

“Come on! Let me give you a high five!” He reached again.

Jazz weaved, dodging. “No!”

“Come on!” Danny got her right in her face.

“Ew! It’s sticky!” The girl fished in her bag, pulling on a sleeve of wet wipes. Frustiously, she whipped at the blue frosting. “Here, you heathen.” She shoved the package at her brother.

The boy rolled his eyes but obliged, whipping his hands. It did feel nice to get the sticky feeling off them. 

A sudden screeching sound through the mic brought Danny’s attention back to the speaker. 

The older man speaking smiled sheepishly. “Got too close to the mic there. As I was saying…”

What was the man saying? Danny should probably pay attention…

The boy shuffled foot to foot, watching, listening. He was getting tired from standing here so long. And thirsty. He’d sung, and screamed, and sweated a lot. He glanced back, wanting to go get some water. But his coveted spot…

Another screech. Danny’s gaze jolted back, focus returned. The mic was giving the guy problems, huh? He watched the stage, the lights  slowly brightening in the growing darkness. It was well past sunset now. A flicker of movement below the stage caught Danny’s attention. Some thing darted by, dark and strangely formless. That was weird… 

A few more minutes and the volunteer finished speaking, leaving the stage. The soundtrack returned as the lights on the stage dimmed.

Danny’s insides fluttered, anticipation rising again. He was still tired, previous emotional high lessened. But the last band was about to come on soon! The headliner!

Beside him, Tucker shook with excitement. “Oh, man. This is gonna be awesome.”

Danny nodded. The lights shifted, spot lighting the drums. And…

“Make some noise, Amity!” Josh ran on stage, jumping. “I wanna see you on your feet!”

The music rumbled and the crowd obeyed. A roar from the background track. Josh fisted the mic and growled. “I caught you like the monster hiding under my bed. Now I’m gonna rip you right out of my head! Like a baseball to the side of the face, I’ll make you disappear without a trace.” Heads bobbed, hands raised. “The match is in my hand… The match is in my hand!” The crowd shook, starting to jump. “You’re just a paper!”

A deafening pop and sound and lights died.

“A paper tiger!” The last yelled words sounded, only audible because of how close Danny was to the stage. 

For a few more seconds, the crowd continued jumping, the band still trying to play as Josh sang without amplification . “Nothing more than a… silver tongued… liar?” 

But the movement stalled, fizzling out. The half ghost stumbled to a stop, brow furrowing in confusion. Around him the crowd started to murmur.

On stage, the guitarist closest to the trio, short cropped hair and bare faced in a tank top, stummed, no sound coming through the speaker. His head turned toward the others already gathering around the drum set. “Did we just lose power?”

The drummer shrugged. One of the lights flashed on, randomly swiveling on its display. The spotlight shone right in the short haired musician’s face. “Woah!” He closed his eyes, head jerking away. The sound echoed out. The man blinked. “Hey, the mic’s back.”

More strumming attempts. Josh tried his mic again, lowering it with a confused look. The drummer motioned to something on the laptop set up beside the kit.

The guitarist turned his attention back to the audience. “Well, that’s how you know it’s live and we’re not just playing over a recording.” He laughed, strumming his guitar and making a face. “Anyone want to hear a joke?”

Under the stage something black flickered again. Danny titled his head, brow furrowed.

“What's a vampire's favorite kind of candy?” He gave a pause for effect, murmurs of question coming from the audience. Then… "A sucker."

Around him, people chuckled lightly, several groaning at the bad joke. On stage, the man continued. “There’s more where that came from. What do….”

The words drifted over Danny’s head, unable to keep his attention. Instead, his focus was on a… weird, unnaturally dark shadow. It undulated, half-slinging-half-crawling in the recesses under the stage. 

Another electric pop. The lights swiveled.

Danny almost swore he heard laughter….

The half ghost’s head turned side to side, looking. Was… no one else really seeing this?

The creature…. The ghost (it must be another ghost, with the way his ghost sense was swirling in his throat) chuckled again, static echoing through the speakers.

A few people winced, covering their ears. “Okay, okay, no more dad jokes.”

Somehow no one was seeing the ghost. How? Other people had been able to see the Lunch Lady and Dora. Wait…. It must have been the partial invisibility like Sidney showed him. But why…

“Hey!” The word was hissed, just a hint of ghostly echo. 

Danny’s head jerked, looking for the source of the noise. His gaze scanned the crowd. For just a second, his eyes met his mother’s, her brow wrinkled in concern as she stood up. 

Then… his gaze met a wavering, ethereal figure. Johnny…

“Cut it out!” The ghostly man hissed. He drifted forward, unseen by the crowd even as he literally, intangibly floated through them. 

Danny’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I’m not doing anything.” He muttered hotly, earning a confused look from Tucker.

The biker ghost “What? No, not-” Another crackle cut off the word, the man covering his ears. His eyes narrowed, fixing on….

The strange embodiment of darkness. 

Oh. Danny realized 

“Cut it out, Shadow.” The man complained. “I’m actually enjoying this. Go make a kid drop their ice cream or something.”

Danny raised a brow at that last part but Johnny waved him off, attention still on the shadow.

“I’ll bring out the flashlight, man. Just you keep it up and see.” The other ghost threatened.

The living (unliving? undead?) shadow seemed to deflate. With something like a sigh, it zipped off.

The lights came back on. “Hey!” Several positive shouts came from the stage. 

“Now we’re getting somewhere!” Danny picked up the words, from the other guitarist and unamplified.

The half ghost turned his attention back to Johnny. “What was that about?” He asked quietly.

The man shrugged. “There’s a reason they call me Unlucky Johnny 13.” He motioned, waving in the general direction the shadow had gone. “Thing’s got a mind of its own.”

That… answered no questions. But the other ghost ignored Danny’s confused look, instead lifting a hand. “There you are Kitty.” His eyes lit up and in a blink, he disappeared, materializing at the green-haired woman’s side seconds later.

Danny just blinked, taking in what had just happened. That was… something.

“...feel like my ears are burning. They’re talking about me, aren’t they?” The words drew the half ghost’s attention back. The guitarist pointed his thumb at his bandmates. “I’m being voted out of the band, aren’t I?” The look was falsely aghast. “This’ll be my last show with the Protest, guys. It’s been fun.”

What the heck had he missed?

Just then, his mom tapped on his shoulder.

Danny turned jerkily, surprised. “When did you get here?”

The woman’s brow furrowed in concern. “You had a strange look on your face. Is everything alright sweetie? ”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” His eyes flickered to the two ghosts standing at the edge of the crowd. The halfa’s voice lowered, stepping closer to the woman. “There’s two ghosts, the biker couple we saw in the Realms. And this weird shadow ghost that was messing with the sound. The dude, Johnny, yelled at it to stop and it flew off somewhere.”

His mom looked in the direction his gaze had flickered. “I can’t see them.”

“I don’t think anyone else can either. Just me.” The boy shrugged. “It’s a ghost thing.”

“What are they doing?” She asked.

“Just watching the show. Johnny said they came through a natural portal and wanted to have some fun.”

Her forehead wrinkled in worry at the statement. “A natural portal again?”

“We’re good to go!” The crowd cheering interrupted Danny’s response. Josh’s words echoed. “Let’s start this again.” 

“We can talk later.” Danny had to raise his voice to be heard. Accepting a nod in response, he turned back to the front.

The band was walking off the stage, only to return moments later to cheers. 

The instruments pounded. The singer held the mic to his mouth and… “I caught you like the monster hiding under my bed….”

The song started again and Danny jumped, previous confusion and worry quickly forgotten.

“You’re just a paper! A paper tiger! Nothing more than a silver tongued liar! Paper! Paper Tiger! Incinerated by my new found fire!”

The crowd jumped and screamed. Song after song, excitement built.

Josh sang. “You may feel a change but don't be afraid.” 

“The transformation has just begun!” The short-haired guitarist quipped with a grin, pointing at the audience….

The words half-chanted. “In the freak show. In the freak show. In the freak show.” Hands flailed, shoulders shook as Danny and his friends danced.

 “Your mind will be blown away! Hey!” Each word punctuated by a fist to the sky. “Hey! Hey!” 

“Welcome to the Freakshow!” Second chorus ending, the crowd reached a fever pitch.

His heart beating in time with the music, Danny head-banged. His hair flung, dripping with sweat.

Something square and silver at the edge of his vision. Head turned, brow furrowed. His mom had her phone out, lens facing him. 

The boy snorted. Sore neck bobbing faster, he stuck out his tongue at her….

In the small break before the next song… “You’re supposed to take pictures of the band, not me!” Danny laughed…

The set forgaged on. Shredding guitars, pounding drums, screamed words. The songs were incredible. And the message in between…

“If you leave here tonight with one thing, know that you are loved so much. Do you guys understand me?” Murmurs of agreement. “So much. You have no idea.” Josh’s eyes were wide and earnest, so much conviction behind the words. “After we’re done playing tonight, we will be over at the merch tent. Please come talk to us. You are looking at four sinners so we don’t have all the answers, I promise you that. We don’t. We would love to hear your story. We’d love to pray with you. We’d love to talk with you. That’s why we’re here. That’s why all of these bands are here, why we drove hundreds of miles to be here today. To share the hope that we have in Jesus. We love you guys so so much. Come hang out with us. We’ve got a few more for you….”

Danny’s heart squeezed, something deep in him touched by the words. He didn’t know about all of this, but that offer… to be heard, to be listened to. There were plenty of things he couldn’t say but…

Another song started. By now, the almost euphoric excitement had smoothed, lessened, morphed into a more quiet, heartfelt joy. Even still, the words sent goose bumps over the half ghost’s arm.

“This is the time for life revolution

Setting a course to reclaim the broken.

We look to find those lost in the night.

Following hearts that lead like a compass

Fire will rise and we let it guide us.”

The singer leaned over the crowd and the half ghost sang, his soul pouring into each syllable. “Despite the pain, we’ll stay unbroken.” 

Each voice ringing in harmony, brown eyes and blue eyes met. Something in Danny’s chest fluttered, breathless and awed. He could never describe the feeling, not completely.  But when gazes met… belief resonated. Both meant every single word….

To cheers, the set ended. The lights dimmed as people started walking away. And for a long moment, Danny stood in front of the stage, eyes wide and heart light. That amazed feeling stirred…

“We need to get a picture!” Jazz’s hand on his shoulder drew him out of himself.

“Yeah. Go for it.” The boy smiled, letting his sister put her arm around him. 

The pair took a selfie, each with matching grins. The red-head lowered the phone. And Danny finally registered his friends and family hovering around him.

“That first band was so good!” His dad gushed. “They’re just like that band I was in in college! Good ol’ Skunk Punks! But they’ve got much better hair. And better lyrics.”

“Your strengths are in things other than lyrical composition, dear.” His mom graciously didn’t speak on the hair comment. 

Sam pulled him and Tucker across the grass. “We need to get pictures with everyone! And merch! I want one of like everything.”

“Yes! I need the GFM snapback. Their set was so good!” The technogeek laughed, pointing at the icing staining her shirt. “They got you to wear pink. And.” He puffed out his chest. “I’m the only one who didn’t get icing on them

The goth rolled her eyes but then a mischievous look passed her face. “That’s what you think.” 

“What are you- Hey!”

She swiped a glob of crusting icing from her shirt and shoved it at him. “Ha!”

“Not my beret! Sam, how could you!?”

Danny just laughed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone bought merch. The Relent Ghost shirt and a wristband for GFM and The Protest for Danny. For Sam, the pink and black skateboard, a delightfully cute and creepy pink, green, and black shirt, and a bunch of CDs. (“Who even buys CDs anymore? You can just stream that.” Tucker wrinkled his nose. The goth pulled his hand down over his face. “I want to actually support the bands I like, Tucker. Spotify doesn’t deserve a cent.) The technogeek proceeded to buy his own CD and his coveted snapback.

Danny’s parents even got in on the action. Dad apparently bought a Chaotic Resemblance shirt for everyone in the family. And the famed pink leather bracelet.

Pictures were taken with every band. 

“A silly one next!” Noses were scrunched up in ridiculous expressions. Two members of the Protest pretended to be punching each other. Danny laughed more still.

Words were exchanged, excited ones about the show….

“Awesome set!” Each GFM member was offered a high five.

More casual ones, about school and interests. (Unsurprisingly Josh and co were very personable.)

“Yeah. I just started ninth grade. It’s going pretty well.” “What’s your favorite subject?” “Science. I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut…”

And somber ones.

The last band Danny got to speak to was Relent. His heart twisted, words lingering heavy on it. You should say something, a voice in him, not audible but very much present, whispered. The ghost boy listened.

“The last few months have been… really hard for me, for a bunch of reasons. But… I’ve listened to your song, Heavy a bunch of times. And it’s really helped me. Like… uhh… when I couldn’t sleep and just wanted to cry. And… yeah. I’ve listened to it alot and all your other songs so…. Thanks for writing them and putting them out. And… uh… thanks for being here tonight.”

Danny looked down, nervousness flopping his stomach.

“That’s why we write songs and tour.” The lead singer (In their introduction, Danny learned his name was Miggy.) “Like I said on stage, I hope that our songs help people. Thanks for telling me, man.” His expression softened, earnest. “Do you mind if I pray for you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Danny’s friends and family walked back towards the GEV, the boy lingered for just a moment to look over the field. For just a second, three ghostly figures flickered into existence. Kitty and Johnny, the black shadow curled at the man’s feet, floated in front of the stage, unseen by all except the half ghost. The man nodded in his direction, lifting a cigarette-gripping hand. The green-haired woman waved.

Danny returned the gesture, lips quirking as the couple disappeared. He had a feeling he’d be seeing them again.

With the ghosts gone, the boy turned his attention back to the activity across the field. The bands were still active, packing up instruments and putting them in the vans and buses. Soon enough the stage would be torn down as well, leaving no evidence of the concert that had been here. 

Even so, the half ghost’s heavy heart felt lightened. He felt better after talking to Miggy; that had been good for him. The boy sighed. This had been an incredible night. 

Sam bumped his shoulder. “Come on. Tucker asked and your dad said he’s taking us to Nasty Burger for shakes.”

It looked like the night wasn’t over yet.

Everyone piled into the GEV and his dad pulled out, leaving the almost empty parking lot. A few minutes later found the trio sitting at a picnic table outside the restaurant, each nursing their own shake.

Chatter batted back and forth, jokes and memories. The three looked through the pictures that had been taken.

“That’s a good one! You got him mid-head bang.” Tucker pointed while he and Danny leaned over Sam’s phone, admiring a picture of Josh Bramlett with his hair spread in a halo above him.

“I love this one.” The goth swiped. This photo was of GFM’s drummer, an excited grin plastered on her face.

“Drummer pics are so hard to get! That’s awesome.” Danny congratulated.

The conversation continued on, milkshakes almost finished and… 

The half ghost sighed. “Thanks guys for being there.” 

That got him strange looks. “Dude, of course we were going to come to the show with you.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I…” Danny shook his head. He wasn’t exactly sure what prompted this line of thinking but… “I mean…. Thanks for being here for me. With the accident and then splitting myself. I know it’s been hard and you’ve been the best friends I could ask for.” He’d told them as much at Sam’s that day, when they’d convinced Phantom to talk to Fenton about re-fusing and his denial of his death. And even before that…

He blushed. “You guys are the ones who convinced Phantom me to stop denying we were the same person. You guys… you saw me.. You knew me even when I didn’t know myself. So…” He bit his lip. “Thanks for sticking with me,” There in the Hot Topic dressing room, after his ghost self had flown off… “even when I was a jerk to you guys.” 

His friends’ expressions softened. “You really don’t have to thank us, Danny. That’s what friends are for.” Sam said.

“Yeah.” Tucker smiled. “We’re your friends. Of course we’ll stick by you. You’d do the same for us.”

Danny sighed, shaking his head. “Like I said, you guys are the best.”

His best friends both reacted out. An awkward group hug… the table in the middle had just their arms touching each other, heads close together. But Danny closed his eyes, heart warm.

This really had been the best day.

End note: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy it. :) As always, feel free to let me know what you liked.