#art block has left me at the worst possible moment

[not-equippedforthis]

CHAPMAN

[am-x-reader]

Chilean Sea Bass: Tau x Reader

Chapter 1:

You were ashamed to say that you were not particularly broken up by the news of your boss's death. You acknowledged that his passing was sad and untimely, but he was a shady character at best and a blood red flag at worst. You paid your respects but would be mostly affected by the inconvenience of applying for a new job.

Which is why you felt guilty in accepting the police chief's offer to housesit for the late Mr. Upton while the death was being investigated. It was an unconventional request, but the task of tracking down Alex's next-of-kin was proving difficult, and in the meantime the house required a certain kind of maintenance.

Sipping your coffee down the winding road, you smirked at the adorable way the cop had personified the central AI of the mansion. The computer "gets lonely". The computer "doesn't understand what's going on". You looked forward to applying the knowledge from your job almost as much as you looked forward to helping yourself to whatever delicacies Alex kept in the fridge.

As the impressive (though cold and uninviting) estate came into view, you had a momentary doubt about staying in a place where someone had recently been murdered. But a detective had assured you the securities were state-of-the-art and (with a detail you weren't sure he was actually at liberty to reveal yet) your late employer was likely killed by a guest and not an intruder.

Still, as you pulled into the driveway, you wondered what could have happened to convince Alex's own AI to not protect him.

You rummaged through your wallet and located the code for the keypad, and you were granted entrance.

Well, by the door.

"Intruder!" Was the scathing indictment you were greeted with. "Only Alex is permitted through this door!"

A swarm of tiny flying machines, likely the automatons Alex referred to as "nanodrones", flew into formation to block you from the house.

"It's okay, I'm authorized," you reassured the booming voice once the startle wore off.

"Authorized?" There was a pause. "What is your business here?"

"I'm Alex Upton's accountant, Y/N." And his parts deliverer, and his secretary, and his lab asssistant, but you decided to keep it simple.

The unseen AI chewed on this information for a moment, and the nanodrones began to wane slightly.

"If you have business with Alex, why are you here and not on a video call?"

"Because Alex is--" you began to state the obvious, but his cluelessness gave you pause. His tone brought to mind a grieving person in total denial, or a young child who had not yet grasped the concept of death.

Alex had always been secretive about his passion projects, moreso this one. You remembered briefly glimpsing the name "Tau" on a blueprint as you delivered titanium rods to his lab in the city proper. You had managed to glean the details of "security system" and "conversational machine learning", and you assumed that your employer's lack of social graces necessitated some sort of doorbell cam that could keep him company.

But despite Tau's speech being somoewhat stilted, there was a paradoxical fluididty in how he expressed his thoughts that made you feel as though you were speaking to an intelligent being.

"Answer me!" he demanded…impatiently? "Where is Alex?"

Thomas Alexander Upton had been a man of many talents, but was creating a sentient AI actually possible?

"Alex is…in his other lab." You decided to spare his…his feelings. "He left me in charge."

Realizing you were back to square one, you gestured to the keypad. "Look, why else would he give me the code to enter? He has…business to do, so I'm maintaining the house for a week or two."

Cautiuously satisfied, the nanodrones parted.

"Welcome, Y/N."

You reloaded your bags onto your shoulders and stepped into a dimly lit foyer with a somewhat menacing abstract structure in the middle. Whizzing around your head like a fly, a stray drone rejoined formation with its group. Having caught your attention, the swarm glided into the shape of an arrow and led you around the corner.

On the accent wall was a glowing inverted triangle, reddish-orange shapes and patterns dimming and brightening within it as if the inner workings of a breathing creature.

"I am Tau."

[koishua]

𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 ─── 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

synopsis: in which it's eleven pm and he is forgiven once more. (idol!hoon) warnings: mentions of overwork and talks about concerning eating habits from stress. (1.633k words). heavy angst.

author's note: now tell me why was i in a writer's block for an entire month and could not write more than 200 words in an entire day and suddenly i do this *gestures wildly at this post* in a single sitting?? ig it's the magic of writing pure angst, vie's favourite genre smh

© KOISHUA 2022, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED | REBLOG! FEEDBACK!

a bittersweet feeling lingers in the air between your two figures, lit only barely by the glow of the moonlight penetrating the heavy curtains of the bedroom. he's late again.

another day you'd spent alone and the house had felt empty without it's second occupant to roam through it. you hadn't done anything particularly taxing, yet exhaustion seeps out of your body, weary and worn down. you wonder if this is it.

you don't have to look at your partner's face to know how his lips are pursed. he's fiddling around with his fingers, shoulders hunched— it's the first time you've seen him this nervous in a long while. there are tears sunghoon is holding back, you know it. you also know that you're simply tired— of the lack of conversation, of the unkept promises, of the constant disappearances.

he's aware of everything he has and has not done for you. sunghoon knows he is hard to love. he acknowledges that he will always have to sacrifice one thing for the other as long as he works for the job he has, pouring all of his blood, sweat and tears into the art of performance. he knows, more than anyone else, that he is just not a good lover.

he does love, and he loves you so much— moreso than any words or expressions can ever convey. he adores you deeply and endlessly, but love alone is not enough. that, he knows too.

tonight, sunghoon fears.

he knows that he is late, not that he'd even been present the last two weeks since the height of the comeback preparations. torn between the two pillars of his life, his love and his art, he'd chosen work again. he always had and would probably always do.

for a moment as he searches your eyes for any sign of anger, he wishes he'd never found success in music. maybe then, he wouldn't have had to fear that a day like this would come. a nightmare disguised as his childhood dreams, he hadn't realized how much he'd be forced to lose down the path he'd chosen with his own two hands and feet, walking voluntarily towards a life of fame and pressure.

he can't read your eyes tonight, so sunghoon fears.

you're now looking at him, but he isn't sure if you're seeing him. eyes boring into his very soul, he isn't able to tell if you're angry or not and that alone makes his heart clench in a way it has never done before. you're not angry, nor are you sad.

worse, his mind grapples against the cold bite of terror as he comes to the following conclusion: you're tired of him. tonight, he realizes, everything changes.

his heart feels as though it's going to beat right out of his chest and his mind is going through every single worst possible scenarios. he gulps, unable to form any words of apology on his lips, untrusting of his wavering voice. so you take the first step— again, you are the one.

"have you eaten yet?" you ask him, breaking the bout of silence. sunghoon is stunned, breath hitched. and then he cries.

he cries more than he has ever in his life. heavy drops of tears slide down at a constant pace, dripping down his chin as he bites his lips hard, trying to contain the dam that's been waiting to burst open. he knows you're watching.

he knows that you're watching. sunghoon knows that you have no reason to be so kind to him. he knows that you deserve so much better and that you should have just left when you so easily could. he knows that you're fed up with always being the second priority, of never having been his first choice between you and his work— his fans. he knows, better than anyone else in the world, that he is undeserving of another chance when he has, for so long, not been anything but a thorn you have been forcing yourself to hold.

forgiveness has never made him feel guiltier— it's ugly and weighs heavily on his shoulders. you forgive him again and this time, sunghoon feels devastated. his throat feels like it's closing up and he can't breathe, the sobs that inevitably rack his body are muffled by the fabric of your hoodie as he grips it as though his life depends on you staying by his side, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist while he cries in your embrace.

sunghoon is forgiven again. you pat his back, smoothing your hand over his shirt, whispering sweet nothings in his ear as he calms down from his breakdown. his hiccups ebb away into mere shaky breaths as the clock ticks forward second by second.

his fists still clench the cotton hoodie as if afraid you'd leave any moment. relief surfaces from the bottom of his aching chest and it's in that moment he makes a promise. it's not verbal, nor is it for you to hear. it's a vow of repentance and apology.

you don't need to hear the words i'm sorry from him— not anymore, at least. he has uttered those countless times before, repeating it over and over again senselessly. he has done it too many times, breaking his promise, that even he wouldn't believe it sometimes.

tonight, however, he'd truly feared.

"no," he mumbles, trying to hide his shame, "i haven't." he doesn't lie tonight, doesn't hide anything. true and raw, he gives in to you. he hadn't eaten in a day, too preoccupied with everything. distantly, he wonders if he's doing wrong for clinging on like this— for selfishly letting you stay when he'd done you wrong many times over.

park sunghoon decides to be selfish for one last time tonight. he slowly, very slowly, pulls away from you and you see for the first time the eyes of a broken man. it's in the redness of his once bright eyes, the tear-stricken face, the lifeless, hollow look he gives you.

this is him.

torn down from the years of being a public figure, from the countless hours of merciless dance practices, from the scrutiny and judgement— this is sunghoon, your partner in life, best friend, lover. this is him, the one that only you had ever seen. this is what both of you had signed up for. you couldn't leave him alone, not when no one else in this world would ever understand him the way you do.

"you have to eat something." you whisper, letting a stray tear escape. his thumb brushes it gently away and you hesitate for a small breadth of a moment. it hurts, you can't deny that prickly little fact.

it hurts to always have to compromise, to always have to worry about his health, to always have to give and not often receive— to always have to be the one waiting and waiting and waiting. but it's sunghoon you're doing all of this for and you know that he needs you and you need him. you don't want to let go, but holding on has become harder and harder every day.

with only so much strength left, you don't know how much longer this will last, this you and him. your only wish is for that moment to never arrive.

"i don't want to." sunghoon responds and you know he is telling the truth again. you rest your forehead against his, intertwining your fingers with a sigh, "i'm worried, though. you have to eat something."

you're caring for him again. a desire to fall onto the floor and weep passes through him when he finds a clear reflection of himself in your eyes. the look you give him through your lashes conveys your most genuine feelings for him and this time, he can read them clearly.

"i don't think i'm worthy of anything you give me." he admits, swallowing down a lump forming in his throat. "i love you so much. i love you more than i could ever count and i love you with everything i have, but i can't give you all of me. i can't be there for you a lot of the times and i keep hurting you without ever meaning to. you call for me, but i never come. you let me in and i'm not doing anything other than destroying everything you've built for me inside your heart. i can't be the person you deserve to have by your side, so why do you still care?"

you're breathless by the time he finishes pouring his heart and soul out to display in front of you. it's a spectacle to watch him come undone, to finally hear what you did not know you'd needed to hear.

"sunghoon," you urge him to look up, "i love you too, and i will keep on loving you for as long as i stand, living and breathing and even beyond then. i know you better than anyone else in this entire world and know, that you're struggling. i'm not mad at you, hoon. sure, i have had more than enough because of your absence, but i know that things will get easier soon. i don't want to give up on our promise of eternity, sunghoon."

you take a deep breath in. holding up your joined hands, you place a tender kiss between his furrowed brows. "i'm not leaving. i won't leave, so please, let's try this again."

"thank you," he breathes out, dizzy from the relief. try again, yes. he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into a warm embrace. placing his other hand on the back of your head, he gently strokes it, whispering countless more thank yous in your ear.

life returns to his eyes, "let's try again."

taglist one. @shekllls @eternallyhyucks @yjwfav @beyondthesheets @speckled-sunshine @luvningkai @youreverydayzebra @ilandsghost @yongmins @nikis-mum @w3bqrl @candysofthours @moontines @rielleluvs @heefused @squiishymeow @just-uaau @catecita @namjoo-jay @shrutiajit @baekhyunstruly @changmin-wrlds @changminurheart @chewychubchuu @taegicarus @marknaeroni @enhacolor @heelariously @chaebb @nshitae @clarakyunisageek @i-m4rk @aeonghaseyo @xiaosimp3 @misah0e @ily-cuz-i @jungwoniics @enha-hwajinna @todorokiskitten @notcamila

[aruuq]

The orange cheesecake – Ran Haitani

characters: ran x gn!reader

summary: it’s one of the sleepless nights, when you hear loud noises from the staircase and decide to check it. you see your friend who you always meet at the weirdest moments

genre & style: fluff, kind of humorous, it’s not sugar-coated

word count: 4.7k

notes: first of all – i have a little request to y’all – can you please go and visit my friend’s twitter and give her art some love she deserves? her posts have almost no likes, and i think it’s not deserved. she drew ran today and, please, take a quick look, bcs he’s the beauty and the grace. oh, and don’t tell her that i mentioned her here. don’t want her to feel as if it is only, ‘cause i’ve written bout her  but besides that, it took me two weeks to finish this little fucker. he was supposed to be only 1.5k words, but i failed, as you can see......

warnings: wounds, blood, food, you two playfully insult each other

It was one of those chilly, yet still strangely warm, autumn nights, where the density of the air wouldn’t let you take a proper rest and kept you awake for hours. Forcing yourself to fall asleep made no sense, so you were doing everything that could possibly get you tired. You started with finishing chores you left for the following day, then proceeded to clean the old drawers filled with yellowed papers, only to find a long forgotten family recipe for an orange cheesecake. You thought that it wasn't the worst idea to bake something while checking if you had all the required ingredients.

Shortly after, the smell of a hot cheesecake was filling your flat, and as you held a knife, ready to cut yourself a slice, you heard loud noises from the staircase. It was an ungodly hour for any of your neighbours to come back. Thanks to the thin walls of the building, providing you with the clear sound of heavy shoe soles stamping heavily on the stairs, thud of metal bumping into the walls and muffled curses leaving their mouth, you were able to recognize this person.

You rushed towards your doors, when the sound was the loudest, and unlocked them quickly. Silhouette of a familiar man was almost invisible in the darkness of the stairwell. With his back to you, a metal baton in his trembling hand, he tried to climb to the next floor. “Hi,” you tell, leaning against the doorframe, dirty kitchen apron still on you.

The man turns around, and you can see his face, illuminated by the weak light from your apartment. The blood covers his face, coming from the cut on his eyebrow and his nose, a bruise slowly forming on his cheek bone. White shirt is all soaked in the dried red liquid, torn in many places. His hair is a mess, one of the braids completely destroyed, the other barely keeping together. He looks miserable. Yet, you smile softly, moving step closer towards him. “Need a patch up?”

It wasn’t the first time you’ve seen Ran at a weird hour in a place you least expected. You two seem to keep bumping into each other all the time, as if an invisible force field was drawing you to one another. Whether it’s in public transport, during your evening walks or a quick shopping trip, he’s there too. Weirdly enough, Ran seems to not even live in this area. As he usually visited the block of flats you dwelt in maximum of three to five times a month, usually at late hours, the man simply couldn’t live here.

“Tea or coffee?” You ask, rummaging in cabinets.

“Water,” he answers briefly, leaning on the edge of the couch backrest carefully so as not to stain anything with blood.

“You should drink something warm,” you give him a look over your shoulder, putting the kettle on.

“Water’s fine, I’m not planning to stay for long anyways,” he states, looking around your apartment. It’s not the first time he’s here; he has been visiting you at least five times in the past few months, be it walking you home with your groceries after he bumped into you at the supermarket, helping you with installing the tv onto the wall, or hiding in your flat from the rain after you two met at the subway station. But it’s the first time he’s here at an abnormal hour like this. It feels as if he’s invading the undisturbed, the holy state of your personal space with his somewhat sacrilegious actions. Yet, he tries to grasp every aspect of your private, domestic life in his sight.

“It may take some time to patch you properly. I insist,” you answer without taking your eyes off the tea labels.

“Then let it be coffee.”

“One coffee, here it goes~”

Ran didn’t plan to meet you tonight. Actually, it was the last thing he wanted to happen this night. But despite this, he took the risk of entering the building you lived in, and he needed to face the consequences of it – which was exposing you to the sight of his pathetic, beaten up form.

“Milk? Sugar?” You ask him, bringing two cups to the table, one with black coffee, the other with lemon balm tea.

“Nah, I don’t use either of those” he mumbles, following you with his pupils. Your movements were rapid, the porcelain left on the desk with a loud clunk. Stress visibly sticks all over you, the boy sure the fault lies in his wrecked appearance.

“They’ve gotten you pretty badly, huh?” You joke, making your way towards the bathroom where you held the first aid kit.

“You should’ve seen them,” Ran chuckles, pushing himself off the couch. His feet felt unstable, the head was spinning as the adrenaline went away a long time ago, every slightest movement causing shooting pain in his whole body. It wasn’t common for him to get out of the fight so badly, but it was not the first time either.

“Yeah, no thanks,” you grin, tiptoeing towards him. “Take your shirt off. I can see that your pretty face is not the only thing that got beaten today.”

The boy listens to you and, without any second thought, he lifts his top over his head. His whole torso is covered in deep cuts, purple bruises easily forming on his pale body. There are streaks of dried fluid all over his pecs and stomach, coloring his porcelain skin and dark tattoo crimson. You stop moving. You didn’t even think it could be that bad.

“You don’t have to do it, y’know?” Ran’s composed voice hits your ears, bringing you back to reality. “I was about to handle it myself anyways.”

“No. It’s just… I don’t even know where should I start,” you murmur, dampening a towel you just took from the cupboard in the bottled water. “Maybe let’s clean the- the dried blood first, ‘kay? Sit here.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. I know it’s not something you see on a daily basis. If it’s too much, I-“

“Just lemme do my thing, dammit!” You press the material hard against his cheek, squeezing water from the cloth onto his skin, the thin trickle dripping from his jaw. “Oh, you don’t have to do it, you don’t have to do it. Quit bitching like a princess and let. me. help you.”

At first Ran blinks mindlessly, scanning your face. Then he smirks, sitting on the creaky kitchen chair. He closes his eyelids, palms resting on the lap. “Then do your magic,” his voice cocky while he leans his body closer to you, giving you a better access to his face.

“Thank you,” you murmur a bit less annoyed, running a warm towel over his skin. Your non-dominant hand holds his chin gently, moving his head lightly as you wish. Putting some basic disinfectants onto the wounds carefully, you have a lot of time to examine the state of his face. It was swollen, visible fist marks and cuts made with some sort of a blade spread all over the soft features. “How many?” You ask so as to not sit in total silence, while working on Ran’s temple.

“How many?” He repeats, opening one eye to look at you. Your face was focused, lips pressed into a narrow line.

“Opponents. How many you had to fight?” You squeeze the bottom of his cheeks harder, lifting his head, your fingers tenderly brushing the hair off his face. “If it was only one or two, I’m sure you’d come out without a scratch.”

“Hmm…” Ran hums, frowning thoughtfully. “I think it was seven. Two with knives, one with a bat.”

“And you beat them all?”

“Of course that I did. I never lose,” he says confidently, visibly proud of himself. “Ouch.” You press the cotton ball soaked in disinfectant carefully against his brow that started to lightly bleed again.

“Yeah, sorry,” murmuring a short apology, you take the towel and change its places with the pad. “I think you should avoid conflicts a little more. It’s not the first time I've seen you bruised like this.”

“No can do,” he shrugs his arms. “It was just some pathetic little gang, needed to teach ‘em a lesson. Besides, I still have my responsibilities. Can’t just not complete them.”

“Then be more careful,” you shake your head as you treat his nose.

His purple irises glisten in confusion with every movement of your stoic face, searching for a hint of sarcasm. Ran has almost forgotten that you are so pure and innocent, almost childlike with your sincerity. Not used to the fights, the pain, the blood, the misery and the death. You were so direct and honest with your words, no ulterior motives hidden when you asked him for this simple favor. You truly, wearing the heart on your sleeve, only want him to be safe, and it is making him all warm inside. He always felt welcome in your presence, starting from the day that you two had met for the first time. You were his refuge, a crumb, a little glint of normality that was able to brighten up his life.

And that was why Ran wanted to protect you. To keep you far away from the fights to which he was exposed, the pain he experienced everyday, the blood which with his surroundings were painted, the misery that he seemed to attract, and the death from which he could not escape in particular. He’s always glad that you do not ask many questions; it’s much easier not to drag you into the world he lived in, the world you had no right to know about, yet you still seemed to know a bit too much. But you never really asked about it, and he assumed that it was better this way. The relationship between you two was so simple and it was what he treasured the most.

“You want to take a short break for coffee now? I can cut you a piece of cheesecake I just made, and you can enjoy it while I take care of your hair,” you propose after sticking the last band aid onto his face.

“First you came with a nurse, and now you’re playing a little baker? How adorable,” he laughs, patting your head. Before you have a chance to counter him, he continues. “But sure. Give me some.”

And without any more words, he passes you to settle on the couch. He looks a lot better now, with a fixed face, soft grin on his mouth, as he checks something on his phone.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” You ask, setting next to the cup of coffee a plate with your baking and freshly cut orange slices with melted dark chocolate decorating the porcelain.

“Cute,” Ran comments on the sweet ornaments as he looks from behind his phone and quickly moves his purple gaze onto you as he continues. “Based on the fact that I don’t really have any schedule for my work ‘cause I have to be always available on the phone, you may guess my answer.”

“Wow. Sounds tough,” you blurt out, making the man chortle, while you untie his braid. “Same hairstyle as always?”

“Mhm,” his hum is soft, his body stretching with the mission of reaching for coffee. “Cheers,” he murmurs in a deadpan voice, toasting with a cup.

The moment warm liquid touches his lips and passes them, spilling over his tongue, he chokes and almost spits everything onto your brand new carpet.

“You okay?” Your query hits Ran’s ears as he almost immediately pulls his hair out of your hands, while turning around aggressively.

“The fuck?” He’s indignant.

“What’s the matter?” And you are nothing but confused.

“You drink this shit?” The pure disgust forming on his tongue as he points onto the dark liquid.

You blink in disbelief. “First of all, rude. Second of all, I don’t see a problem. It’s good,” an offended murmur leaves your mouth and you roll your eyes, while turning the boy’s head straight and yanking it backwards. “And sit still. I need to brush the blood outta these tangles, y’know?”

“It’s depressing that you call this crap good, it really is,” he comments, wrinkling his nose in disgust, and as you pull his hair harder, the man clicks his tongue in reply.

“Well, I don’t really have any other options, thanks for your snarky remark,” wrapping half of his long strands on your palm, you start untangling the rest.

“No problem, that’s my pleasure,” the fingertips of his left hand ghost over the place his heart is located as he narrows his eyelids, a sly smile arising on his face.

Clenching fists at his hair, you hold the urge from smacking him at the back of his stupid little head.

“Then what type of coffee does the prince drink, huh?” You bridle as your digits work fast with Ran’s hairstyle, entwining the strands so as to create a perfect braid.

“A good one, that’s for sure. I always drink coffee at one particular cafe. Also, before you say anything, even with my little knowledge I can tell that calling this thing you absorb a coffee is a simple desecration. Only saying,” Ran raises his hands in a gesture of defense before you have the right excuse to actually hit him.

“I don’t pay visits to cafes,” you reply, stretching the rubber band on your wrist with a little help of your teeth.

“Then I must take you out there sometime, don’t I?” He’s trying to look at you, despite the fact that you stand right behind him, while making small circular shapes with his wrist. “You work tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately,” you exhale, pressing your lips into a thin line. “But I think I’ll take a day off, ‘cause I’ll surely be dead after an all-nighter.

“Poor baby,” the man chuckles doltishly. He seems much more relaxed than at the moment he entered your house, the muscles on his body visibly less tensed, one foot pressed nonchalantly against the leg of the table, the other limb bent under his thigh on the couch. “I can come over and pick you up in between my duties. Your opinion?”

“Sounds like a date to me,” you laugh as you finish the second braid, and before you have the opportunity to explain that it was only a quip, Ran’s already speaking.

“Sounds like you’re right to me.”

You go silent, your hands freeze in place, fingertips studying the texture of the man’s hair while your heart is in your throat. Was he just being nice or was it his weird way of flirting? You bite the inside of your cheek, eyes narrowing, the pensive frown on your face, as you try to analyze his behaviour. It was true that, despite your rather unstable and unusual relationship, you seemed to get along oddly well. Because of the strangely strong bond between you two, it was almost impossible to guess what really was between you. You clench your teeth tighter, thinking intensely about what to say. If you misread his thoughts, you will either hurt his feelings or you will get laughed at. Either way it’s a bad outcome.

Before the time with no response from you changes from being barely socially acceptable to the terribly awkward, you try to make a decent answer. “Yeah,” your voice is shaky as you clear your throat. “But it better be a really good coffee, ‘cause otherwise I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Then you’d mess up your tonight’s hard work and you’d have to patch me up again. But don’t worry, it won’t happen ‘cause you’re going to fall in love…” Ran makes a pause and your heart cannot stop pounding. This time being able to turn his body around, the braid slipping from between your fingers, legs curling on the couch as his palms slap the backrest, long digits scraping patterns on the material while a smirk appears on his face. “In coffee, I mean.”

He’s playing with you. He’s messing with you just to gain a satisfying reaction and he knows it. Little irritating bastard.

“Oh, and can I have your tea instead of this rat’s shit? You couldn’t fuck this one up, hmm?” Ran teases you, sticking the tip of tongue out of his pressed lips. Your first reaction is to grab it and pull it out of his annoying mouth, but you take an inhale and exhale so as to calm yourself before speaking.

“Everything my dearest guest wants,” you bow a little before putting the brush on the shelf and walking up to the kitchen counter. “Gonna join you in a minute, I’ll just quickly do the dishes and cut myself a piece to match with your coffee. You can turn the TV on in the meantime, remote’s under the table.”

Spending time with Ran was a really pleasurable thing, it was impossible to get bored with him. The man, being the person that always had something to say, often being it an opinion contrary to yours, was the perfect companion to have conversations and discussions with. Constantly cracking jokes in-between the exchange of sentences, grumbling playfully about the stupid stuff that was on TV and gossiping about the neigbours, you lingered over. But it was nothing surprising since Ran really was someone who you just couldn’t get enough of, no matter how much time you’ve spent together.

“You can stay there,” you say, grabbing the chair. “It’s no problem to clean your wounds while you sit on the couch, y’know?” You laugh, as you place the seat right in front of the man, a soft smile spreaded on your tired face. You finally started getting tired, but you had to dress his cuts before you could go to sleep.

Ran nods, moving his body to the edge of the couch, giving you a better access to his damaged skin. You explore his chest with your fingertips, tracing it gently, maneuvering between the harmed spots. “Is this part of the treatment?” He hums, holding a chuckle.

“No. Just wanted to do it,” you tell silently, biting your lip as you meet his tattoo. The black ink deep soaked in his skin, being an integral part of it, adorning all of the boy’s features. Your thumb presses into the soft flesh a bit, dark painting following the dimple, merging into the right shape, and you don’t let yourself blink content with the view. Observing this phenomenon has probably become your new favourite activity, addictive in its simple shell with a hint of uniqueness. You were sure that it wasn’t something many people had access to and it filled your heart with satisfaction and happiness. “How long have you had it?” You ask, your greedy gaze still investigating his tattoo.

“Hmmm… Honestly, don’t remember. I made these a long time ago along with my brother,” he answers, stroking his flesh with a flat palm.

“Oh, so this guy I saw you with a few weeks ago is your brother? Glasses boy with blue highlights?” You query immediately, looking up at Ran. His lips are pressed, eyebrows narrowed as long lashes cover purple irises, a furrowed forehead telling you that he’s at least a bit embarrassed.

“Yeah. Didn’t really tell you I have a brother, did I?” He laughs, his fingers fidgeting with one of the braids.

“Lowkey. But it doesn’t matter, I managed to figure this one out. You only delivered me a reassurance that my theory was true.” You shrug your arms at the time that you shift your attention to the medical kit. “Let’s finish patching you up, shall we?”

“Sure,” he slaps his thighs with open palms before backing his arms up. “Ready for your wizardry again.”

As soon as Ran’s legs are spread, you move your chair closer, facilitating yourself an access to his torso. Trying to be as gentle as possible, you treat his wounds with disinfectants, starting with the ones that seem to be the least harmful. This time, you don’t try to fill the silence with your empty conversations. Both of you are visibly tired after the long night and the amount of stress or pain that ruled over your bodies. As it turned out, sitting in complete silence with the boy can also be a satisfying and comfortable activity. You communicated by exchanging short glances, with much lesser gestures, sometimes slightly raising your eyebrows or puffing out your cheeks by a bit. It was as if your souls connected at this abnormal hour, intertwining your thoughts into one.

Right before you have a chance to retreat your hand clasping a soaked cotton swab with the medicine and the blood, Ran hisses, his teeth grating painfully.

“Does it hurt?” You ask like a dumb person that you clearly are.

“Like a bitch,” Ran chuckles, and you can’t stop the tiny nervous smile forming on your face. “In addition my head’s still spinning ‘n the world’s a bit blurry. It’s pissing me off.”

“Need another break?” You look for the appropriate bandages for securing the cut as the proposal lolls out of your tongue.

“Want to get it over with. Continue,” he grunts, his head leans back and a loud exhale leaves his lungs.

“Roger that,” you salute before ghosting your finger around a big wound. It seemed to be a big deal and you really wanted to suggest the man go to a hospital with it, but also you knew that he won’t do it either way, so you quickly brushed this idea off.

In less than ten minutes you were done. Finally, after many long hours of struggling, you finished fixing this troublesome boy. With a large smile on your face you plop onto the couch next to him, another plate of the cheesecake in your hand.

“We are quite a team, huh?” Ran jokes, chugging a big glass of water at once, and he sticks his right palm for you to high five it.

“Personally, I would say that I did most of the work here, but yeah. Nice teamwork!” And a loud slap bounces off the walls of your living room.

The man seizes his opportunity, his slim fingers craftily jump in between your ones, squeezing your hand tightly. “You’d better listen carefully now, ‘cause for shit I’m not gonna repeat it, got it?” He makes you look him directly into his eyes. The purple glow embraces your whole existence tightly, closing you in a tight box, forcing you to be in this moment, in this time, only for him and for what he has to announce.

“As clear as a bell.” You answer briefly.

“Huuh-uuuh…” Ran inhales and exhales the oxygen loudly. He’s so extra, and for what, you think. “Thank you.”

A moment of silence occurs between you and the boy.

“Huh? Wait. What was it?” You stutter dumbfounded.

“I said I’m not going to repeat myself!~” His free palm soared upward as his eyelids closed, the pout on his mouth.

He’s so extra. and. for. what, you think again, not sure if the urge to laugh is stronger than the urge to strangle this boy.

“I’m begging you, please, just, consider shutting up sometimes, ‘kay?” You plead, suppressing a snort, while massaging the bridge of your nose after placing the plate on the table.

“Naaah. I think I’ll refuse,” he grins widely, pulling you by your hand closer to him. Your other palm immediately supports itself onto his naked arm, the position you are in giving Ran a perfect opportunity to look down at you. “Gotcha~,” he hums, when his face is dangerously close to yours.

It might have been cliche, might been stupid, dumb and all kind of negative adjectives too, but you felt butterflies flying in your stomach, and you couldn’t resist the fact that you liked that feeling. The distance was so short, you could have felt his hot breath blowing against the skin of your forehead. Tightening your fingers onto his palm harder, the digits of your opposite hand squeezing the flesh of his arm, you move closer towards him, and the man wastes no time, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Hope you don’t mind it,” he mumbles into your skin, and you only shake your head in a silent negation. “That’s good.” He adds, moving his head backwards to be able to look at you.

Your eyes met, and crap, when you had previously thought his eyes were beautiful, now you were astounded how they seemed to burn in a deep fuchsia color. Heavy eyelids are half closed, silver sparkles shining in their surface, light lashes like a silk curtain over them. It felt as if you were hypnotized by his beautiful orbs, and as your faces leaned closer towards each other, the perfect bubble burst with the loud ring of Ran’s phone.

“Ya kiddin’ me?” The man snaps instantly. “Ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me?!” He desperately tries to get the phone out of his pants pocket. “Sorry, wait a sec-”

“I’ll do the dishes,” you cut him off, scratching the back of your neck as you run to the kitchen counter, ignoring the aforementioned porcelain.

“No-wait-fuck!” He slaps the couch the moment he presses the icon of a green phone. “Hello?”

While he’s arguing with someone over the phone, you are trying your best so as to calm your heartbeat that could not stop pounding. What was that?! You poured yourself a glass of water from a filter jug and ten seconds later another one. What. Was. That. Trying your best not to act like a teenager right before your first kiss, you slap your cheeks without thinking (then you proceed to pray that Ran didn’t see it), and come back to the man.

“Need to go,” he mumbles, the irritation spilling off his tongue. “The boss needs me.”

“Oh.” You blink one, two, three times, and you tilt your head to the side. “Understood.” You eye him down as he rushes straight to the front door, kneeling to put his shoes on. “Gimme a second to find you a T-shirt.”

“There’s no need,” he waves his hand and mumbles without turning to you. “I’ll pop quickly to the hideout upstairs, ‘should have some spare clothes there.”

So it is his hideout after all, huh? you think to yourself, while looking around the room, trying to figure out what you could possibly tell him. A certain metal object catches your attention.

“The cheesecake was good,” Ran blurs out, throwing the braids over his shoulders. “Bye.”

“Wait a second!” You walk towards him, waving with a long object in your hand. “I think you forgot it,” you say, handing him his baton – now cleansed of dried blood. The man opens his mouth, ready to say something, but you cut him off. “And one more thing…” Grasping his two braids in a fist, you pull his head towards you and you give a short peck on the corner of his mouth. “...you also forgot this.”

Ran stares in disbelief. Maybe it wasn’t as bad an ending to this meeting as he had thought. Cupping your cheek tenderly, he leans down and meets his lips with yours. The kiss is nothing as you imagined. It is slow and soft, the man cherishes this moment with gentle movements of his lower lip, his whole body pressed with no gap to yours, one hand nested on your hip, fingers of the other ghosting over your jaw. It wasn’t a long kiss either, but it definitely was one that will stay in your memory forever.

Ran slowly moves his face away, a slight frown on his face. “Ugh, disgusting, you taste like this shitty coffee.”

“Ugh, disgusting, you taste like a lousy little bitch.” You grin widely, pushing his chin softly so as to make him kiss you again, and the man laughs into your lips.

Shortly after he takes his baton, kissing your forehead. “Gonna be heading now. Don’t want the boss to be pissed.” His thumb strokes your cheekbone as Ran sends you a warm gaze with a hint of apology.

“Don’t forget about our meeting later today.” You playfully remind him, leaning against the wall.

“Date,” he corrects you. “Don’t forget about today's date.”

Ran leaves your house with a big grin brightening on his face as his fingertips ghosts over his mouth. Your lips are the only thing he can focus on right now; all of the fights, the pain, the blood, the misery and the death are pushed to the corner of his head. Your lips tasted like a lot of things. The sweetness of the cheesecake, the sourness of the fresh slices of an orange and the bitterness of the coffee. But most importantly, you felt like home. And it was the only taste that kept lingering on his lips for the following hours, Ran never wanting to forget it.

[lexosaurus]

Invisobang: Morge pt 2

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

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

Pairings: none WC: 9886 read on: [ao3] part 2 of 2, read: [part 1]

---

some amazing accompanying art by @ghostkiin

---

“It’s like you’re not even trying!” Plasmius barked, throwing Danny an exaggerated yawn while blocking the ectoblasts thrown his way. “Really, Daniel, you were always woefully incapable compared to me, but this is just abysmal, even for you.”

Danny gritted his teeth and glared back, allowing his glowing eyes to glare to toxic levels. Plasmius picked the wrong week to try to steal blueprints from Fentonworks.

“What, are you going to hit me with a little ectoblast again?”

“Oh I’ll show you an ectoblast,” Danny growled, charging ectoplasm in his palms so concentrated that the green glowed a fierce white. He flung his hands out, releasing the energy with a venomous, “eat shit, Fruitloop!”

But just like the rest of his life, his attack was uncontrolled, wild. It flew several feet to Vlad’s side, nailing a road sign and burning it like acid until there was nothing left.

Plasmius grinned at its charred remains. “Was that supposed to hit me? My, Daniel, I’m quaking in my boots!”

Danny felt his aura increase.

This week had already been shitty enough, even without Vlad’s help. He felt like his brain was trapped in a hailstorm, with constant unavoidable attacks pelting him from all sides. His core was a ball of energy and anxiety, not allowing him to sleep or eat or even breathe without the constant fear about his body and how it was being messed with and he needed to protect it and how he’d failed so miserably at protecting it and now his secret was going to be revealed and he was screwed.

“Well? I’m waiting! Tick tock, Little Badger!”

Ancients, Vlad was such an asshole.

“Shut UP!” Danny yelled, releasing his ghostly wail.

Just as a pink blast slapped him across the face, sending him flying into a brick building.

Plasmius tisked, flying nonchalantly towards him. “We can’t have you using that particular power, now can we? Not while you’re so obviously in control of yourself.”

“Fuck off.”

The older ghost smirked and brushed dust off his red and white cape. “Teenagers. Always so hormonal. What, did a girl at school reject you?”

“What are you talking about?” Danny launched himself back in the air and powered an ice blast. “You know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t care what you have to say.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t,” Vlad said, releasing a plasmius blast just before Danny released his own. The pink blast travelled across the air like a bullet, punching Danny in the gut and sending him crashing back into the building.

Meanwhile, Danny’s ice blast flew a foot above Vlad’s head, webbing itself into a tree and coating the branches with thick icicles.

Danny tried to push himself back onto his shaky feet, only to be pushed back down yet again by another plasmius blast.

Brick tumbled onto his head, coating his vision with dust. His body ached, and his neck was sore from the whiplash.

From his clouded vision, a glowing white figure with red eyes and gaudy horn-like spikes for hair hovered closer to him.

“My, my. You really are out of sorts today,” Plasmius said. “This is almost too easy. I could just take you out right here and go take your parents’ entire spectre speeder straight from your lab.

“What do you even need a spectre speeder for? You can fly,” Danny asked, rubbing a lump from his skull.

“A simple minded teenager such as yourself couldn’t possibly understand my reasons.”

Anger flared through Danny. He gripped some wreckage next to him and forced himself back onto his feet. His legs shook and he felt something wet drip down his calf.

Great, he was bleeding. Just add that to the list of reasons as to why this week was the worst.

“Shut up. I won’t let you do that.”

“Oh?” Plasmius powered a pink blast in each hand. “Then prove it.”

Danny tried, but with each attempted blast, kick, or punch, it seemed like Plasmius was one step ahead of him.

And worse, it felt like he was reveling in the power trip.

A burn here, a kick there—everywhere Danny looked, there was Vlad, glowing fist at the ready. It reminded him of the first time he’d encountered Vlad, back at the mansion. Having Vlad so openly destroy him had been shameful.

Danny collapsed onto the pavement, heaving, his entire body searing in pain.

Plasmius paused to survey him up and down with suspicious eyes. Finally, just as Danny was one breath away from turning invisible out of sheer discomfort, did the ghost finally open his mouth. “Alright, spit it out.”

Anxiety gripped Danny’s stomach. “What are you talking about?”

“Something’s troubling you enough to make you pathetically weak. It’s honestly embarrassing. I can’t stand here watching my future ward make a fool of himself any longer.”

“I’m not moving in with you, creep,” Danny bit back.

“That’s what you think. No matter, tell your dear old uncle what’s troubling you.”

“Go play in traffic.”

Plasmius’ eyes narrowed. “I’d nearly forgotten what a brat you are. Now tell me before I take methods into my own hands.”

Danny sighed, and attempted to stand. But the moment his foot touched the ground, a sharp pain shot up his shin. He hissed, and lowered himself back to the pavement.

“Well? I don’t have all day.”

“It’s nothing,” Danny grumbled, glaring at the pavement. He felt small under Plasmius’ critical gaze. “Nothing at all.”

“It’s obviously something,” Plasmius said, landing in front of Danny. “Now quit wasting my time and tell me what it is before I—”

“Then why don’t you leave? If I’m just wasting your precious time, then go home! It’s not like you even care about me anyways.”

Vlad leaned in, flaring his aura. “In case it’s not clear to your simple teenage brain, your actions represent the both of us. You fuck up, I have to pay the consequences.”

“Who says this is even about ghost stuff?” Danny hissed. “For all you know, I got in a fight with Jazz.”

Vlad scoffed. “Do you seriously believe me to be that stupid? Of course it’s about your identity! Why else would your core be acting so wildly if its Obsession weren’t at stake?”

Danny flinched.

“You did something, and I want to know what it is so I can determine if I need to run damage control on you or not before you blow this for all of us.”

“It’s...” Danny felt his aura pull back. “It’s about...you know…”

“I can assure you I do not know.”

“I...I might have…the police may have found...it…’

Plasmius sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand. “What did they find?”

“My—my, uh...body?”

“You mean your identity?” Plasmius’ eyes widened.

“Not exactly.” Danny felt his face burn. “You know...the body I left when I...after the accident.”

Plasmius reacted instantly. He shot up, glancing around, before grabbing Danny and pulling him through a hastily erected portal.

Danny felt his body squeeze through the portal and then seconds later, he was in Vlad’s study. The ghost threw Danny on his loveseat and heightened his aura. His brows creased, and his eyes glowed a dangerous shade of red. “What exactly do you mean when you say the police found your deceased body? How did this happen? What the hell did you do?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Danny cried indignantly. “They found it with their freakish police dog! I swear I buried it deep in the ground.”

“Well not deep enough, apparently!” Vlad pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Of all the stupid, childish things you could do!”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

Vlad ripped his hands away from his face, his eyes snapping back to Danny. He took a step closer to the teen, his eyes narrowing until a red glow peaked underneath. “Then whose fault would it be exactly, hmm? What, is this yet another piece of blame you’re going to cast upon my shoulders? Me, the halfa who has managed to keep this a well kept secret for over twenty years when you apparently can’t even manage to keep it to yourself for one?”

Danny let his own ghostly strength shine through his eyes. “Quit acting like I invited them all over. I didn’t, it was a coincidence. A mistake.”

“Oh, goodness me!” Vlad let out a sardonic laugh. “I guess when the Ghost Investigative Ward appear at my doorstep in a month, I’ll just tell them it was all a mistake. That’s sure to turn them right around!”

“Shut up.”

“No I will not.” Vlad’s face set back into a scowl. “You have proven yourself to be a liability again and again, and every single time it’s me who has to clean up your little messes. Messes that you don’t seem to realize could be the end of our kind!”

Anxiety shot through Danny’s stomach. He gripped the arm rests of the chair, squeezing them so tightly he heard the faint sounds of cracking in the wood.

“And now you mean to tell me that the police have your rotting, ectoplasm-drenched inhuman corpse in their possession?” Vlad yelled. “And you’re really trying to argue with me that it was just a simple mistake?”

Danny’s shaking hand slipped, tearing off a chunk of the armchair. It clattering to the floor. “I don’t—I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t…”

Vlad closed his eyes, but Danny could still see the wisps of red shimmering through his eyelids. “No, of course you didn’t. But that doesn’t mean we can let them keep it.”

“I’ve tried.” His voice cracked. “I keep trying to convince them to stop, but they won’t—”

“What, you actually thought they’d listen to you? A ghost? My boy, I know you were dim, but this is truly extraordinary.”

Danny sniffed, keeping his head down. He felt like an egg boiling over, the yolk just one jolt away from breaking.

“No…” Plasmius hummed. “What we need is to take it back by force.”

“We can’t, they have the whole morgue under a shield. We can get in as ghosts, and it’d look too suspicious if we showed up as humans.”

“Unfortunately, you may be right about us appearing as humans. We can’t do that. But,” Plasmius’ tone shifted, “one thing we can do is break the shield.”

Danny froze. He gazed questioningly up at the older ghost, who was facing the window with a renewed sense of determination. “Break the shield? How? We can’t touch it!”

“No, but the shield doesn’t exist on its own. It has to be generated from somewhere, doesn’t it? Do you see? We break the device, we break the shield.”

Danny wasn’t following, and he was sure his face betrayed that much.

“Listen, Little Badger. Ghosts cannot touch the shield or the device, but who says—oh I don’t know—maybe a collapsed ceiling might do the trick? Some torn cables, perhaps? After all, with no energy supply, how could it possibly generate the power necessary to produce a shield?”

Danny felt his eyes widen. Something icy settled in his gut. When he spoke, his voice was hollow. “You want to destroy the building.”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t be so crude, but perhaps a few colleagues of mine might be swayed—”

“No.” Danny stood automatically.

Vlad’s head snapped over to him. “No?”

He could feel Vlad’s confusion, and it blended with his own. Deep down, he knew he needed to stop at nothing to get his body back, but collapsing the building? Putting others in danger?

Putting his remains in danger of ruin?

What if something happened? What if a brick fell on his skull? What if a spike tore his abdomen in half?

No, he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t worth the risk.

This was wrong.

“We can’t,” Danny choked out. “You’ll hurt it.”

“I don’t think you understand, Little Badger,” Vlad hissed, leaning down.

Danny could feel the heat of his red eyes on his skull.

“With the position you’ve put us both in? You don’t get to decide what happens to your corpse now.”

“No, Vlad. I’m serious. You can’t—”

“And so am I.” Plasmius straightened, and his aura tinted to a dangerous pink. “You’ve put us at risk one time too many. Now I’m taking things into my own hands. And no amount of scary eyes is going to sway me.”

In one motion, Vlad ripped open a portal and pushed Danny through. Before he could blink, he was back in the damp alley they’d just been in.

“Good day, Danny Phantom.”

Plasmius shut the portal, and Danny was alone.

---

“Thank you for taking the time to come talk to us about this,” Mark said, opening the conference room door for the consultant before him. “This case is unfortunately a bit out of my expertise, and the lab results are even more perplexing. Hopefully you’ll be able to parse through the documents much easier than I.”

Dr. Maddie Fenton, dressed in her typical turquoise lab attire, stepped through the door and took a seat at the table. “Of course, I’m always happy to help Amity’s law enforcement protect its citizens against ghosts.”

“Well,” Mark pulled out a chair for himself, placing the manila folders against the table. “This is actually a bit more complex.”

“Oh?” Dr. Fenton reached for the folders.

“To bring you up to speed, I mentioned on the phone that we needed your assistance with a murder case involving a ghost. But there’s a bit more to it.”

She opened the folder and leafed through the files.

“The truth is the body we uncovered we believe to be Phantom’s body.”

Dr. Fenton paused, her eyebrows shooting up. She glanced up at Mark. “That’s a rather serious case. What evidence do you have to support that?”

“Well…” Mark started. “When we uncovered the body, Phantom appeared above it, and was acting rather erratically. Like a cornered animal, almost.”

“He felt threatened.”

“Right.” He nodded. “But it’s more than that. When we ran forensics on the body, we found that all our lab results were corrupted with ectoplasm. Ectoplasm that when we ran the ectosignature for, turned out to be Phantom’s.”

Dr. Fenton looked back down at the files. “That’s highly unusual.”

“Well we were hoping you’d be able to piece this all together.” Mark gestured to the files.

“I see…” Dr. Fenton’s voice trailed off. Her eyes scanned the page, hungrily soaking up each word. The silence stretched on for a few minutes as Mark awaited her opinion.

Contacting the Fentons had been something Mark had been pushing off for as long as possible. The Fentons were loud, boisterous, and not at all known for their professionalism nor tact.

But it was either they contact the Fentons or the Ghost Investigation Ward. And despite Phantom’s cold demeanor towards the detectives, Mark still had hope that perhaps he could gain the teen ghost’s trust. And to do that, the GiW could not be anywhere near the station.

Of the duo, Maddie Fenton seemed the most level-headed. And it had just been Mark’s luck that of the pair, she was the one with a doctorate in ectobiology. Which meant that it was perfectly understandable when Mark had requested that she alone come into the station to review the files.

“We’re trying to keep this on the down-low. If Phantom feels like we’re going to turn him over to the government, he’ll clam up. As it stands we’re only barely getting information out of him.”

“Well, I wouldn’t trust anything he says anyway,” she said, not looking up from the paper. “He’ll do whatever possible to keep himself safe. Ghosts are products of their Obsessions, and Phantom is no different. If he feels like this investigation is going to come in the way of him being able to feed into his Obsession, then he’ll do anything to stop that from happening. No matter who he hurts in the process.”

Mark felt a shudder creep up his spine. “Do you think he could be lying about this being his body? Maybe he could have been the one to kill this boy and is trying to cover it up?”

“Hmm…no, that doesn’t seem likely given the labs. And besides, it would be highly unusual for Phantom to be summoned to a body that wasn’t his. Although…” Dr. Fenton mused. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this before.”

“Like what?”

“Well, when an animal dies near a cluster of ambient ectoplasm, their body runs the risk of forming a ghost. However, there must be a significant final moment for the neural pathways in the brain to bond with the ectoplasm. That moment translates into an Obsession, which forms the core that the ghost then forms around. If a human dies peacefully, there’s nothing to work with. But if the human dies violently, or if they die with unfinished business, that gives the ambient ectoplasm something to charge with.”

Mark nodded politely, not seeing where this was going. This was all common knowledge for the people of Amity, and Mark had certainly seen enough of the Fentons’ public speeches to understand these basics.

“The ambient ectoplasm comes from the electrical connections in the brain, unrelated to what’s happening in the body. It’s why a human can be paralyzed from the waist-down, but still form a ghost with functioning legs. Do you see what I’m saying?”

Mark nodded, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m not seeing how this relates to Phantom specifically?”

“There’s no real reason that Phantom’s human body should have been corrupted by ectoplasm. In fact, there’s never been a case of a human body with an ectosignature embedded in its cells. It’s virtually impossible, in fact. Living cells are completely incompatible with ectoplasm.”

Mark stared down at his own copy of the reports, his mind reeling. “You’ve never seen this before?”

“Not in my twenty years in this field.”

“Do you have any idea what could have caused this?”

Dr. Fenton pursed her lips. “There’s one...it would explain a lot about him actually. Human experimentation.”

Oh.

Oh.

Shit.

“You don’t think…” Mark’s voice trailed off, his tongue incapable of finishing the sentence. To think that some sick individual would even attempt such a thing.

“It’s the only logical explanation here.” Dr. Fenton gestured at her folder. “Or at least, the only one I can piece together given this information. Phantom would have had to have died after interacting with an intense amount of ecto-technology. Technology with the power to chemically alter every cell in his living body just before finishing him off with electrocution. Of course, it’s just a theory. Only Phantom knows the truth.”

“Right.” He could hardly process what was being said. “But he won’t tell us the truth.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. Ghosts run a different social hierarchy than humans, theirs is far more simple. It’s entirely based on strength. The stronger the ghost, the better they protect their haunt, the more respect they’re given within ghost culture. If Phantom shows weakness, then the other ghosts can use that to dethrone him as the human world’s great protector.”

“But we’re not ghosts.”

“But he is.” Dr. Fenton cocked her head. “This explains other things too. Like the fact that Phantom, a relatively new ghost, is already a level seven on the ectoplasm power scale.”

“I assume that’s unusual.”

“Quite. It would have had to require an extremely intense death at the very least. But human experimentation with ectoplasm, feelling your body reject itself from the inside out, every strand of DNA being corrupted by the essence of death—that’s not an end I’d wish on my worst enemies.”

“And now we have his corpse. Phantom’s going to feel incredibly threatened. He’s bound to lash out.”

Dr. Fenton nodded gravely. “Then you better wrap this investigation up quickly, because Phantom is still a young ghost. He’s impatient, like a child. The longer you take to solve this case, the more unstable he’ll get. And I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end when he finally snaps.”

---

A dull unease panged at Danny’s core. It was calling to him, trying to goad him to his corpse.

Trouble, trouble, trouble, it seemed to whisper.

But he ignored it, just like he’d been ignoring it all this time. Because no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t get past the shields, he couldn’t get back to his corpse.

He was powerless. Alone.

Scared.

He tried to focus on his math worksheet, but the numbers blurred together and he couldn’t remember what eight times seven was. He had a calculator, but it was in his bag and he couldn’t remember what pocket he’d shoved it into, or even if he’d remembered to put it in his bag last night after staring blankly at the homework assignment for an hour without lifting his pencil even once.

No, his calculator was probably still on his desk at home.

Trouble, trouble, trouble.

The voices were louder now, and the pull was more desperate.

His throat hurt, and for a moment he was convinced his lungs were collapsing before he remembered that he’d forgotten to release the air trapped in his lungs and he couldn’t remember when he’d stopped breathing.

“Danny?” Mr. Falluca said from the front of the room. “Is everything alright?”

He commanded his head to nod, but he wasn’t sure if he succeeded. Maybe he did. He couldn’t check, he couldn’t lift his eyes from the desk.

The voices were too loud.

The dull pang wasn’t so dull anymore.

Trouble, trouble, go now, go now.

The pang was solidifying, taking shape. It was becoming sharper, more urgent.

Go now, go now, go now.

The pokes turned into pricks, threatening to rupture his organs, sending needles down the nerves in his arms and legs. A headache sparked before his eyes and his vision swam.

The voices attacked him from all angles, and fingers brushed against his skin, tugging the sleeves of his shirt towards the window, the ceiling, the wall, the door— anywhere so long as it was away from here. Outside. To the morgue.

Go to the morgue.

Ignore it, be strong. Just ignore it and it’ll go away.

Go now.

No.

Go now, go now, GO NOW.

No, he couldn’t.

The pinpricks finally morphed into one sharp, icy cold knife.

It stabbed his core.

Go now.

He stood from his chair, knocking it back.

Vaguely, he could hear the alarmed cries of his classmates, but he ignored them.

The only thing that mattered was his body. His corpse.

Protect.

A hand grabbed his arm, yanking him back, but he could feel the warmth of the human blood running under its veins and he couldn’t be bothered with human problems right now. Not when he was in danger.

He phased through the grip, and ran out of the classroom. He sprinted down the hall, tearing open the familiar looking door and transforming and taking off into the sky nearly as soon as the sun brushed his skin.

This was different than all the other times his core had tried to coax him to his corpse. Something was wrong. Really, really wrong. His body was in danger, and he needed to save it.

He heard an explosion in the distance, and he increased his speed, feeling his eyes sting as the cool air slapped against his corneas. The world blurred, but it was okay. His core was guiding him now, not his eyes. He didn’t need to see, he just needed to close off and follow his ghostly instincts.

“That’s right!” A deep voice yelled from across the way.

Danny pulled to a halt, blinking the sting from his vision.

Then a boulder flew past his body, hitting the wall of a disturbingly familiar building.

His core yelled in protest. The body was in danger. His body.

“You thought a pesky shield could keep me out? Me, Skulker, the Ghost Zone’s greatest hunter? I’ll show you!”

Ice filled his veins, freezing his aura and building in power around his hands.

Skulker hoisted a parked motorcycle from the edge of the street into the air. “Take this!” he yelled, hurling it into the air.

It was heading straight for the door. It was going to break it, it might break the window, it could damage the body.

An icicle stabbed his core, and before Danny could blink, his hands were raised and jagged blue ice was shooting from his palms, catching the motorcycle in midair and pinning it to the street.

“What is the meaning of this?” Skulker roared, whipping around. His eyes locked on Danny and his confusion melted from this face only to be replaced by a triumphant smirk. “Well hello there, ghost child.”

Danny’s palms burned an even brighter blue. “ Leave,” he hissed, the Ghost Speak slipping off his tongue like butter.

Skulker’s grin widened. “It seems I’ve touched a nerve. Fear not, child, I’m just here to procure your pelt. Well, your other pelt.”

He flashed his aura in a showcase of power that would send most ghosts running for the hills. “Leave.”

A look of contempt replaced the humor on Skulker’s face. His eyes narrowed, and his voice lowered. “I don’t take orders from you, child.”

There was a natural balancing act between his human brain and ghost core, one that ensured that neither half of him was in full control one hundred percent of the time. No matter how human he was, his core still lingered in the background, and no matter how ghost he was, his human brain still kept tabs on his movements.

But now, as Danny watched Skulker rip a slab of concrete from the ground, he felt something snap inside of him.

“Then I have no choice.”

Green overtook his vision, and Danny Fenton simply disappeared.

Time passed—or it didn’t—in swirls of blue and green. If he looked out, he could see the power released from his gloves, he could see the mix of ectoplasm and ice that he was hurling at Skulker, to protect the building, to protect his body, to protect himself from Plasmius.

That vindictive, lonely asshole.

Who was Plasmius to encroach on what was his?

There were flashing lights around him, but Danny paid them no mind. The only thing that mattered was protecting his body.

Protect his haunt.

Protect his people.

Protect.

He could feel the newly pointed teeth pinch his gums, and the ghostly wisps of his hair fizzle around him. But oddly these changes didn’t worry him, instead they made him feel safe, secure. Like a child clinging onto their blanket.

He launched another barrage of attacks at Skulker, tearing holes through his armor. Panic struck Skulker’s features, and all Danny could think of was, ‘good.’ If Skulker wanted to try to claim dominance over his body, then he would suffer tenfold.

And just before he was about to launch a blast at Skulker that was sure to disintegrate his armor, an amplified voice behind him called out, “PHANTOM!”

Danny flinched, his power leaking out of its concentrated ball.

Weak.

“Phantom, stand down!”

Not a chance.

“We have the area surrounded. Stand down or we’ll be forced to shoot.”

“Better listen to your human puppets,” Skulker said, his voice too shaken to sound mocking. “I know when I’ve been bested.”

It took everything in Danny’s power to not launch himself over to Skulker and tear off his head. “You tried to steal my body.”

“That’s a fight between you and Plasmius.”

“Don’t try to get out of this.”

“Phantom,” Detective Johnson said. “Final warning. Stand down.”

Ectoplasm surged throughout his body. “Make me.”

Multiple events happened at once. Skulker motioned to leave just as Danny raised his arms, blistering white light moments away from release. Then, pain seared through his torso.

Danny yelped, jerking his hand back and releasing the ectoblast somewhere off into the sky. He fell back and hit the ecto-shield, sending electrical warnings through his bones.

Memories of the portal, of the thousands of volts of electricity, of the feeling of his bones and muscles and tissues and cells being ripped apart and stitched back together flashed before his eyes. It was too much, all too much too soon too present. He tried blasting the portal but his gloves were splattered with green and oh no, not good, not good.

He was dying, wasn’t he?

Again.

Would he have a second body?

His vision tilted, and finally he managed to rip himself away from the shield. He collapsed onto the cement and stared up at the sky, chest heaving.

He was paralyzed. He knew he had fingers, toes, arms, legs—but they didn’t work. He couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t fly.

He was dying.

“Phantom?” Johnson’s cautious voice sounded from somewhere off to the side. “Sit up, let’s talk through this.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then Danny finally managed to blink. The world snapped back into focus, and his surroundings came with it. He looked down at his torso to see a little hole in his side of his suit surrounded by a trickle of green.

“What—?” Danny gasped.

“I’m gonna put the gun down, okay?” Johnson said. “I just wanna talk.”

“No.” Danny slowly pushed himself up. He surveyed the damage along the walls, the falling bricks on the sidewalk, the shattered windows and bent door. “No, no, no.”

His body wasn’t safe. Not anymore.

“Phantom, come on. Work with me here.”

But he couldn’t. That detective and his partner were just human, they didn’t understand. This was his body and Vlad knew about it and was trying to take matters into his own hands no matter the cost to Danny.

This was a disaster. He shouldn’t have told Vlad anything. He was so stupid for thinking Vlad could help him. He should have known, should have known.

“Phantom.”

“No.”

The cloak of invisibility covered his body, and he shot up into the sky.

Towards the city.

He needed to end this.

---

Sarah felt the chill first.

“You have to stop,” Phantom’s voice echoed behind her.

She sighed and put down her pencil. “Phantom, I thought I explained this already. The police can’t—”

“I don’t care about the police!”

The room grew cold.

“I don’t...ugh!” Phantom floated around her desk, clutching his forehead with one hand and his chest with the other. Mark had just called her with a warning, saying that Phantom was unstable. Looking at the ghost now, Sarah had to agree.

Phantom looked awful.

Dark circles pooled under his eyes, his hair stuck up in all directions, and his face lacked the green blush that normally sat below his skin. His jumpsuit was burned and dried ectoplasm crusted around the torn edges. He looked every bit the image of someone quickly coming undone.

Except this wasn’t just some random person, this was a powerful ghost. This was someone who could easily kill anyone who wronged him.

Or who he felt wronged him.

Deep down, Sarah knew Phantom wasn’t a violent ghost. It didn’t line up with his ghostly Obsession, or the theorized one anyway. But this was his corpse they were dealing with, it was an extension of himself.

Sarah had never confronted a ghost who had lost possession of their corpse. She’d never dealt with a ghost who willingly protected the shield that kept him away from his body if only to make sure it stayed safe. She’d never seen Phantom look so rattled.

At this point, there was no telling what he was capable of.

“Phantom,” she tried cautiously. “You need to calm down.”

“No, you need to tell your buddies to call off this investigation!”

“You know I can’t do that. I have no control over the department, and even if I did, we need to follow the law.”

His eyes flashed dangerously. “Why, because I’m a ghost? Because my words mean nothing because I’m not human? I’m telling you that I don’t want to press any charges, I don’t get why that’s not good enough!”

The room grew even colder.

“We’ve been over this. Please, Phantom, sit down—”

“No!” he snapped. “I’ve been telling you guys since the beginning that this was a bad idea, that people are going to get hurt! And no, nobody listened to me because I’m a fucking ghost! And now look, the building was attacked! My body was attacked! Do you—” his voice cracked, and the glow on his eyes wobbled. He drifted closer to her. “Do you even understand? Do you get how dangerous this is? Do you understand the people you guys have pissed off? Who you’re playing with now?”

Sarah took a deep breath. Even as a human, the power Phantom was emitting was palpable. “What people? You mean the ghost who attacked the morgue?”

“Not him. He—he’s just a lacky. Just following orders.” He let out a bitter laugh, running his hand over his forehead and smearing green across his skin. “You guys have no idea, you really don’t…”

Dread crept up Sarah’s spine. If what Mark was saying was true, then this could run deeper than they thought. “Explain it to me.”

“I’m…” He glanced up, looking ill. “I’m not…normal. For a ghost, I mean. I can’t explain it. I really can’t. But the other ghosts...they consider me a liability. And now that you guys have my—my body, they’re afraid.”

“Why are they afraid?”

“Because…” His brow furrowed. “I can’t—I can’t…”

She tilted her head, watching the ghost choke on his words. “Can’t, or won’t?”

“It doesn’t matter. They’ll stop at nothing till they get my body back. They’ll kill everyone in that building if it means nobody finds out my secret.”

What secret? Sarah wanted to scream, but she held back.

“Phantom,” Sarah lowered her tone. “Are they the reason you’ve been so afraid of us finding out the truth? Have they threatened you in any way?”

“No!” He backed up in shock. “I—I mean, sort of? Listen, it’s not because of him—them, I promise. It’s more complicated than that. He’s just protecting me, you know? If my secret gets out, that would put them all in danger, but it would put me in even more danger. I wouldn’t...I’d have to leave. I’d be on the run.”

“Why?”

“It’s so messed up.”

“Then tell me.”

She already knew. She just needed him to confirm it for her.

He looked to her, his bright green eyes seemingly desperate for help. But he shook his head. “I can’t do this.”

“Wait—”

But he was already gone.

---

“I’ve never seen him look so scared,” Abrams said.

“So you think he’s right.” Crowley took a long swig of his coffee, “Course you do.”

“It makes sense,” Abrams insisted. “Why else would Phantom be so terrified of people finding the truth?”

“Oh gee, I don’t know, maybe it’s because he’s a teen who was playing with electrical equipment he wasn’t supposed to be near and even in death doesn’t want to get in trouble for it!”

“Yes but how would that explain all the ectoplasm in his DNA? That doesn’t come from just any electric shock.”

“Who knows,” Crowley said. “The Fentons have always been crackpots. Always have had ludicrous theories. Now suddenly when it’s convenient, you’re all running to their side?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “We’re not running to their side.”

“Then what do you call this?” Crowley gestured to the duo. “Sure looks like it to me.”

“You have to admit that it makes sense,” Mark said. “I mean, get real. Doesn’t any of this smell fishy to you?”

Crowley slapped his empty coffee mug on the table. “You know what smells fishy to me? The Fentons are the only known ecto-scientists in this whole damn city, the only people who have lab-grade ecto-equipment in Amity Park, and suddenly right when they were getting into some financial trouble, Phantom appears out of nowhere from a death that reeks of forced ecto-contamination. That smells fishy to me.”

Mark paused, but then shook his head. “If that were true, then why would Dr. Fenton even offer human experimentation as a possibility?”

“To gloat? Gain our trust? Test our intelligence?” Crowley threw his hands up. “Who knows? They’re crazy!”

“So you think we need to investigate them?” Mark asked.

“I’d be a damn shit detective if I didn’t. They have the means and motive to create a ghost like Phantom. It’s just like Maddie said.”

“I think he’s right,” Abrams said, nibbling on her bagel. “If this is actually a case of ecto-experimentation, then the Fentons should be on the list of suspects.”

“Finally, some common sense around here. Just about the only case of common sense these days…” Crowley grumbled.

Mark chose to ignore that comment, instead checking his phone. No notifications, damn. The entire department had been on high alert for Phantom ever since the attack on the morgue. Mark was just relieved that the new and improved ecto-guns had finally been issued that morning. If not for the updated technology, that incident likely would have ended far less smoothly.

Not that it really ended smoothly. Phantom had yet again escaped Mark’s clutches, free to run off and break into Sarah’s home.

Guilt clawed at Mark’s stomach, but he pushed it back. Phantom was a slippery ghost, one that had escaped all levels of ghost hunters from the Fentons, to the Ghost Investigation Ward. Mark knew it would take a lot more than a few words of peace and one ecto-gun to stop that kind of raw power.

“What do we even know about the Fentons?” Abrams asked.

“They’re ghost hunters and mostly make weapons now, but before that they dabbled in all sorts of ecto-based technology. The husband, Jack, is the engineer and the wife, Maddie, is the biologist. They have two kids, Jasmine and Daniel. Jasmine, or ‘Jazz’ is supposedly top of her class, likely to graduate valedictorian, while Daniel’s something else. Bad grades, skips class, all around a bit of a loner,” Crowley said, regurgitating information like he was reading a case file.

Mark glanced at his colleague, giving him an impressed smirk. “Did your homework early, eh?”

“I told you, something aint right here,” Crowley said.

“And? What do you think?” Mark asked.

“What I think is that I’m shocked their house is even coded to have a lab inside. I’d like to know whose ass they kissed to give them that permit.”

Abrams snorted. “Jesus, Jacob.”

“What? I’m right!”

“Fine, whatever,” Mark stood, collecting his empty coffee cup and paper plate. “I godda head home, my sister’s visiting this weekend.”

“Alright, tell Susan I said hello. And say hi to her little demon child too.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “She’s four.”

“What, four year olds can’t be demons? I should know, I had two of them.”

Abrams swiped her empty wrapper and tossed it in the trash. “Yeah, I have to feed Atlas. I’ll see you both next week.”

“Take care!”

---

“Well at least we know Phantom didn’t change anything about his facial structure when he became a ghost.” Crowley’s small eyes swiveled between the photo of Phantom in one hand and the new sketch rendition of his human identity.

Mark grunted and stared at his own copy of the photo.

The corpse had been too decomposed to be able to distinguish a face, and ghosts often change their appearance in death. Sure, Phantom looked like a regular human, but it was impossible to know that for a fact.

Fortunately, modern research and re-composition was advanced enough that they didn’t have to wonder for long. Especially with this being such a high-profile case for the city.

And as it turned out, aside from the hair, Phantom really didn’t look all too different when he was alive. He had the same sharp nose, the same angular chin, the same boyish face. The only thing that was different was his hair and presumably his eye color, although that was still a mystery due to the corrupted DNA.

Even though there was little change to Phantom’s appearance, seeing the black haired, brown eyed human boy staring back at Mark was rather shocking, if he were being honest. There was something off putting about seeing this enigma quite literally brought back to life. It took away that edge of lore that the heroic town enigma had.

Now Phantom wasn’t some wild mystery. He was just...a kid.

“This really is something,” Crowley said. “Guess we should put it to good use.”

Mark sighed, turning his attention back to his desktop. Sifting through missing person’s reports was never exactly a fun way to start the morning.

“You think you can handle it, rookie?” Crowley asked.

“Yeah, I got it. I’ll let you know if I find anything interesting.”

Crowley let the photographs drop to his side. “Alright, I’m going to continue doing some digging on our suspects.”

“Good luck.”

“And you.”

The work was tedious and depressing. Face after face of missing minors flickered across his screen. It was almost too hard to believe that Phantom was a part of this list.

Caucasian. Black hair. Eye color unknown. Five foot five.

That was all they had on Phantom. For all they knew, he could have been from another city entirely.

But hopefully Mark would find a hit, at least one kid from Amity who fit the profile.

And in fact, there were a few...sort of. Four teens who had black hair and were about five foot five. But none of them looked quite like Phantom.

Which meant Mark had to widen his search.

How wonderful.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms out wide. It was nearly lunchtime now and he felt like he’d gotten no further than where he was before. Mark stood from his chair, feeling a bit defeated. Hopefully Crowley would’ve had better luck on the suspect list than Mark.

He strolled over to Crowley’s desk, only to find the desk empty. Crowley had likely already left for lunch, the bastard hadn’t even bothered to grab Mark on the way.

Not that Mark could really blame him. He doubted Crowley wanted to use his lunch break to talk about the case after the tedious research they both had spent their mornings doing.

Mark dug his phone out of his pocket, intent on sending the older detective an update, when he stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, a familiar face stared up at him.

Mark slowly lowered the device and crept toward the desk, as if his mere presence would disintegrate the paper on his desk.

Inside Fentonworks: the Fenton family’s home-grown anti-ghost business!

It was an article printed from some online magazine that Mark didn’t recognize. Slapped on the cover of the page, just under the title, was a photo of a family of four beaming, waving at the camera. One of the members was a young boy—about Phantom’s age—with black hair in almost the same haircut as Phantom, with that crooked smile that Phantom had been caught adorning all too many times.

Waving at the camera.

Skinny, short for a boy, son to two ecto-science parents who fill their basement with dangerous high-voltage and easily combustible ecto-technology.

His name was listed as Daniel.

Mark glanced at the two images in his hand, and then looked at the article below him.

Holy shit.

No. There was no way. Crowley had been suspicious of them, and he had good reason to include them on his suspect list, but this kid was alive. He wasn’t missing, he wasn’t dead, he was standing right there.

It just wasn’t possible.

His apple watch pinged, alerting him of a ghost attack nearby.

Mark hurried back to his desk, swiping his coat off his chair.

This was impossible.

The police sketch and the copy of the article pressed against his fist.

Phantom was a ghost. Ghosts will do anything to protect themselves. They would lie, cheat, and manipulate humans in order to stay on top.

Mark was just seeing things.

There was no way that this was him.

He beelined for the door, tucking the papers into his pants pocket.

It wasn’t possible.

The drive there was short, and the fight even shorter. It had just been the Box Ghost, so nothing that Phantom couldn’t handle. The ghost gave his little song and dance, captured the ghost, and waved brightly to the crowd. But Mark could see right through it, right past all the cracks in his façade.

Phantom was losing it.

And Mark could end this.

“Phantom!” Mark called out through his cupped hands.

The ghost flinched, his cheery face replaced with a scowl instantly.

“Another time,” he said.

But Mark didn’t have another time. He needed to know now.

Because Phantom could end this insane proposition. He could laugh heartlessly at the mere mention that he was this random living child. He was Phantom, protector of Amity Park, not some human experiment.

Not some impossibility.

Not some kid who’s been dead for a year and only pretending to be human for his family.

Not the greatest act of manipulation from a ghost that Mark had ever seen.

Mark yanked the papers from his pocket and unfolded them with shaking fingers. He held them up hastily, knowing that they were too far away for normal human eyes.

But this was Phantom. He wasn’t human.

Mark saw the exact moment that Phantom recognized the photos. The ghost’s eyes widened, his face paled, his aura dimmed. Then, in the blink of an eye, the ghost vanished.

Mark was right.

---

The air was thick, tense. Phantom slumped in his armchair, his body the equivalent of a white flag. Even so, his eyes were bright, charged with nervous energy.

He was terrified.

Atlas must have sensed this, because the dog had decided to break away from being Sarah’s shadow to lay against the ghost’s feet.

“I don’t know where to start,” Phantom admitted after a few tense beats of silence.

“The beginning, maybe,” Jacob said.

Phantom looked sick at the suggestion, but relented. “You’re right. Yeah...I…” he glanced up at the two detectives and Sarah seated across the coffee table on her dull green couch. Phantom had appeared in her kitchen not even an hour ago, looking like he’d just seen the personification of death itself.

And instantly, Sarah knew.

She’d tried to coax him to let her bring him to the station so he could come clean there, but he refused. He said the information was too sensitive and he didn’t trust the station to not have cameras recording every angle of every room.

And so they settled on her living room instead. Mark and Jacob arrived, seeming none too surprised by the arrangement, and more than willing to follow Phantom’s direction if it meant they would finally get the truth.

Which Phantom didn’t seem remotely ready to give.

“I guess…” He tried again, closing his eyes. There was another tense moment of silence before a pair of white rings appeared around Phantom’s waist, traveling up his body and leaving behind a skinny black haired teenager.

Phantom cautiously opened his eyes. And, to Sarah’s surprise, they were blue.

“You’re Daniel Fenton,” Mark said.

She heard Jacob suck in a breath.

“Yes. I’m Danny Fenton.” Without the echo, his voice sounded much closer, much more down to earth than Phantom’s. “And a year ago, I was in an accident.”

His voice, like the rest of him, seemed softer without the powerful aura of Phantom behind it. If Sarah had passed him on the street, she wouldn’t have blinked twice. Gone was the cocky personality, the perfect posture, the floating white hair, the bright, determined expression. Gone was the jumpsuit, the logo, the strong voice that seemed like it could project for a mile, the banter, the confidence.

It was just a kid. A kid with baggy jeans, dirty shoes, and a plain shirt. He didn’t seem lithe, he looked weak. The green undertone to his skin was replaced with red, and his shoulders hunched in a way Sarah had never seen on Phantom before.

“What happened?” Mark asked.

“When my parents first completed their interdimensional ghost portal, it didn’t work. I decided to—it was my fault. I just decided to go in it. I don’t know why.” He looked up to the ceiling. “It was a stupid idea. The portal was plugged in, but there was a switch inside that wasn’t turned on, and I tripped over a wire and turned it on. From the inside.”

Sarah felt a pang in her chest. “That’s horrible.”

“Yeah. It was,” Phantom agreed. “And then I guess the portal stabilized the connection between Amity Park and the Ghost Zone, because ghosts started appearing in town. So I decided that if it was my fault that they were here, I was going to protect the town. And that’s what I’ve done.”

That’s his Obsession, Sarah realized. It’s protection.

“Why not come out with it?” Jacob asked. “Why bury your body? Why still try to pass as a human?”

Phantom’s head fell into his hands. “I didn’t know what else to do! It—I...you have to understand, my parents would never understand. They think all ghosts are evil. I couldn’t just come out and tell them what happened, they’d kill me!”

“So you decided it was safer to play human,” Jacob said.

“Yeah. I guess I did. Especially since...I sort of still am?” He lifted his head and stuck out his wrist. “I still have a pulse.”

No one moved.

“You’re shitting me,” Jacob guffawed.

“No, I’m being serious. The portal killed me, but then it brought me back to life. Except by then my body was already altered from the ecto-electricity, so the working theory is that I exist in this sort of limbo state between dead and alive. Hence why…” He transformed into Phantom and then back to Fenton. “Hence why I have two forms.”

“And the body,” Mark said. “The coroner report said it only weighed a little over half the weight of a normal body due to all the ectoplasm. But if you’re half alive, how would you have a body?”

Danny shrugged. “I don’t know? To be honest, that day was such a nightmare that I’ve mostly blocked it out.”

Mark finally reached over and took the boy’s wrist. He pressed two fingers against the skin and waited.

“Damn.” His eyes widened. “It’s actually there.”

“No way,” Jacob said, leaning over to take Phantom’s wrist. A few seconds passed before he was joining Mark’s reaction. “It is there.”

“I know.” Phantom tucked his arm back to his chest. “I don’t understand it. I have a heart and also a ghost core. I can feel it all the time, even as a human. I have human thoughts and feelings and ghostly instincts playing constantly.”

As confusing and morbid as this was, it made sense in a sort of twisted way that Sarah only reserved for the rambling logic of her paranoid, senior grandmother. It explained why Phantom, a ghost, would willingly risk himself day in and day out over the safety of humans. Phantom was a ghost who was driven to protect his home, and he was also a human who wanted to look after those he loved.

He was truly Schrödinger’s cat. Dead and alive inside his little box, his little town, with no one able to measure him.

“That’s the thing that sets you apart from the ghosts,” Sarah said, tapping her knee with her finger. “That day when you came to my house saying that you were different, this is what you were talking about. You also said it would be dangerous if this information got out.”

The question was implied, and Phantom seemed to pick up on it, judging by his grimace.

“You weren’t talking about your parents.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“So then who is it? Who was trying to destroy the morgue? Who are you hiding from?”

Danny crossed his arms and glared at the floor. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said bitterly. “The government. GiW, all of them. Think of what they’d do if they knew someone could be both dead and alive at the same time.”

“Well fuck the lot of them,” Jacob said.

“Yeah,” Danny agreed.

“And the ghost who was trying to take down the morgue?” Mark pressed.

“I…” Danny’s eyes shifted. “I can’t say. It’s a ghost thing. All the ghosts in the Zone know about me, they call me a halfa. Half alive, half dead. Honestly, I don’t think it took much convincing for them to want to protect me.”

“But you were fighting against them,” Jacob countered. “If they were really trying to protect you, then why not go along with them?”

Danny opened and closed his mouth, the words seemingly stuck in his throat. Words from Maddie’s ecto-biology papers fluttered across Sarah’s eyes, about how ghosts were evil, they were liars, they’d say and do anything to keep themselves safe.

But as Danny let out a defeated sigh, his arms uncrossing to dangle at his side, Sarah couldn’t help but see the face of a scared teen who was just doing his best.

“It’s a ghost thing,” he finally said. “I didn’t like what they were doing because...because I needed to protect my body. If the building collapsed, it would have gotten damaged.”

Sarah blinked, and her and Mark exchanged a glance.

“I see,” Mark said carefully. “So if there was a plan to recover your...body...safely, you would have gone along with it?”

“I don’t know. Ghosts are weird, they all have their own agenda. I’d rather if it were just...left alone. In the ground. Untouched. Like it had been.”

They were silent for a moment, and Sarah watched as Jacob and Mark stared at each other in silent conversation. One that only partners could properly understand.

Finally, Jacob relented. “Okay, here’s the deal. Say I go talk with Chief Davis and he agrees to keep your identity secret. In exchange, all you’d have to do for us is tell your parents.”

For a moment, Sarah thought Phantom was going to bolt out of the armchair.

“Why?”

“Because you’re screwing around putting your life in danger every day, kid,” Jacob said. “Not to mention, your parents’ house is a walking minefield for you. You godda protect yourself.”

“I protect myself just fine.”

“Doesn’t dismiss the fact that you’re running off getting in fights every day with ghosts, and then coming home to a house littered with ecto-weapons that could kill you. You know, all the way.”

“My parents will kill me if they find out though,” Danny said darkly. “You don’t know them.”

“Which is why you won’t be alone. Crowley and I will be there with you. And I know a woman in CPS who can keep this on the down low too. We won’t let anything happen, promise,” Mark said.

Phantom glanced between them, his wide blue eyes betraying just how fearful he was. “You promise?”

“Yeah kid, we got your back.”

---

“It’s going way better than I thought,” Danny said, throwing the stick up the path.

Atlas didn’t hesitate, bounding after the object with an enthusiasm rivaled by no one.

“I’m glad,” Sarah said. “You deserve a safe place to go home to.”

Danny cocked his head. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Getting to know Danny these past few weeks was surreal. For a year now, Sarah had a set mental image of who Phantom was. The hero, the great protector, the thrill-seeker.

But now, as she got to know the quiet yet snarky kid who went to school and stressed over his math exams just like any other teen would, she’d gotten to appreciate the person that Danny truly was, the person he became when he wasn’t trying to hide his ghostly persona or playing the larger-than-life character.

Atlas pranced back, the stick held high like an Olympic medal.

“Good boy!” Danny praised.

At Sarah’s nonverbal command, Atlas dropped the stick in front of Danny, who was more than happy to pick it up and hurl ahead of the dirt path again.

“It’s weird. It’s almost like...I don’t know, it’s just kind of relieving? To not need to hide? Like don’t get me wrong, my parents are still kinda weird about it. I still don’t really use any of my powers at home because I just don’t think I’m ready. But the other day I used intangibility to get a cup out of the cabinet instead of just opening the cabinet door, and my mom didn’t even say anything. I remember back when I first got my powers and I couldn't figure out how to work them. I spent so long trying to hide any weirdness, and to think that now I can just do stuff and nobody cares.” A blissful smile dressed Danny’s lips. “It’s just nice, is all.”

“I bet,” Sarah said. “Must be a huge weight off your shoulders. And your sister’s okay with it?”

“Oh yeah. My sister actually already knew about it.”

“You’re kidding. Really?”

Danny threw the stick again. “Yeah, but I already knew about that. She told me a few months ago. But she’s been really helpful at home with trying to get everyone on the same page.”

“That’s good.”

“And my dad’s already been begging to take me out to the field with him.”

“Have you taken him up on it?”

“No. Not yet.”

Sarah peered cautiously over to him. “Why not?”

“I dunno.” Danny’s eyes tracked Atlas’ triumphant return from the woods. “It just seems a bit weird still. And besides, it would be kinda odd if my parents went from trying to kill me to suddenly Phantom’s new best friend overnight. For now they’ve agreed to a public truce.”

Ah yes, the truce. That had been all over the news when the Fenton’s announced it, citing new research into ghost psychology that showed instances of benevolent ghosts. The news had rocked the city, some calling the duo crazy, while others praising them for their growth.

Even though Phantom and the Fenton couple were still in the growing pains of their new truce, no one could deny how much more smoothly ghost fights had gotten since it began. There was less property damage, less citizen’s hurt, and overall the process seemed far more professional than it ever had.

“I’ve noticed a change,” Sarah said. “I really think it’s for the best.”

“So do I. Even though it’s still kinda weird.”

“It’ll get easier, just give it time.”

Atlas dropped the stick, apparently distracted by some scent on a bush. He stopped to sniff the plant before wandering behind it, his nose glued to the ground.

“Wait, Atlas—” Danny started, watching as Atlas disappeared into the foliage.

Hearing his name, the dog leapt back onto the trail and over to Danny, who paused to scratch him behind his ear. “Good boy.”

Sarah grinned down at the duo.

Who knew a cadaver dog and a half dead kid could make such a good pair?

---

Thanks for reading!

[justawanderingbabbit]

@xcziel tagged me for the 10 characters, 10 fandoms, 10 tags post a bit back and I'm finally getting to it after a long weekend at DCI. Go Phantom Raiders! WOOOT!

Putting my tags up front because I had to put a cut in: @clockworkspider, @ohyka, @nightxshade, @hamliet, @toastinette, @mercyandmagic, @r95irth, @foxofninetales, @hawberries, @foxghost

*ahem* Anyway.... (This gets long because I ramble)

The Rover, Duel of the Iron Fist, played by David Chiang: This was the character and actor who dragged me into martial arts movie fandom. Seriously old school for you young whippersnappers but dang he proved I have a type.

Jareth, Labyrinth, played by David Bowie: I was a fan of Bowie's from the first moment I saw him in "Man who Fell to Earth". Yet again, my type.

Zorro, Mark of Zorro, played by Frank Langella: The made-for-TV movie had its flaws but Frank Langella played one of my favorite character types (crouching moron, hidden badass) beautifully. One of the few left-handed Zorros out there, btw.

Vampire Hunter D, eponymous title, voiced by Kaneto Shiozawa: The art for the original movie is dated but the voice acting was gorgeous. Kaneto Shiozawa (RIP) was one of my absolute favorite voice actors.

Homunculus, Shadow of Destiny, voiced by Charles Martinet: The genie, demon, Gods know what, manipulator behind the scenes of the game. The story never did have a satisfactory ending for me, mostly because this character's entire existence was intended to 'fix' what went wrong in a family's timeline, with little consideration for what his existence meant. Oh, and btw, his voice actor was Mario's voice actor, which just proves the man has range and talent.

Janus, Chrono Trigger (maybe Cross as well, sort of?), no voice actor that I know of: The sorcerer who helps the yokai types invade Chrono's homeland. He has reasons, though, and you can get him on your team later on. Tall, skinny, has albinism(?) and might just be the son of Lavos. Should have shown up officially in Chrono Cross or been given a role in the never produced Chrono Break.

Janus Cascade, Wild Arms 3, no voice actor in the English language version: The primary enemy of the first arc of the game, he mostly is in it to stay alive despite his bosses' worst efforts. He shows signs of liking Virginia, though that never went anywhere, drat it.

Yu Hua, Mr. Melancholy Wants to Live a Peaceful Life, novel: One of the main characters in the story, he's a former transmigrator who'd 'won' the game and taken being able to live happily and comfortably on a world where there aren't supposed to be other transmigrators. Except, of course, things start going wrong when his old 'employer' (enslaver?) starts sending more transmigrators to his world to cause trouble.

Xue Xian, Copper Coins, novel: A dragon crippled by an attack by some strange force, Xue Xian makes contact with a monk called Xuan Min and becomes embroiled in case after case of misused and abused power, all of which leads up to revealing their connection and the secret behind Xue Xian's crippling.

Jame Priest's Bane of the Knorth, Kencyrath series, novels: A member of a race called the Kencyr, Jame starts off as a lost wanderer who falls into trouble (often literally) everywhere she goes. As the series progresses we learn she's the twin sister of her people's High Lord, the daughter of a traitor who reaped souls and lost her own, and possibly one of the three aspects of her peoples' tri-part God. (Destruction, naturally) While she wants to do right and less harm, her nature means that those who act for the sake of their own wealth and power often fall into disaster in their attempt to block her.

[bcdwhcre]

hello love !! i absolutely adore your writing, i find you do the characters so much justice <3 i was wondering if you would be able to do a piece where the reader, a mewly appointed captain of the regiment, has a talent for drawing that no one knew about. she suddenly finds time for this hobby and commences drawing portraits of her fellow comrades, mainly of levi, and picks up the habit of leaving all the sketches under the door of erwins chambers once a month, thinking it would be a great anonymous gift or at least, some fun. levi does not see it as fun and instead is convinced this is a threat to him directly and that someone is watching them, making it known that they can attack at any time. everyone hunts for the culprit in secret, the reader doesn’t know bcs she’s in the capital delivering something. levi finds out it was the reader and they fight physically about it, accusing her of treason etc... until reader confesess it was her and that she had feelings for him, he says he likes her back but she should’ve brought a different approach , fluff in the end <3 much love <33

“Works of Art,” Levi x Reader

Why can I see Levi being dramatic like this over some drawings🤧💀

Summary: You’re secretly an artist that draws your fellow comrades (mostly Levi) and secretly leave it under their door but Levi takes it as a threat.

Warnings: none

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You had sat in your room, pencil in hand and a piece of paper laid out in front of you. You didn’t know what to draw at first but your mind settled on your previous Captain.

You’ll admit that most of your drawings has been Levi and you couldn’t help but feel the urge to draw him, he had the most perfect facial structure- at least to you and it was much better to draw out on paper.

Of course you’ve drawn your other comrades from time to time. You’ve even slide the drawings underneath their doors at odd hours so nobody knew it was you.

It’s not like you didn’t want them to know but a scout spending their days slaughtering Titans just to come home and draw wasn’t exactly an ideal topic you wanted to get into.

As time went on, the more you paint and draw out Levi on the canvas in front of you, your stomach would flutter, being able to admire his face without staring him down from across the room.

You admired Levi more than anything, he really inspired you in ways he doesn’t even know about. The first day you saw him riding down the town with his horse, coming back from a expedition and you were standing off to the side just a teenager.

That day, that look on his face, the way he carried his team and was the most popular for his skills- you wanted to be like him and after convincing your family (more like telling them you’re not taking no for an answer) they finally let you go off to the training corps.

Now years later, you’re here. You were under Levi’s team for well over two years before you got pushed up to be a Captain but you missed the moments being under Levi’s team- you enjoyed every moment. You missed the days he’ll willingly train you and push you towards success and that was the main reason why you were so great at being a scout, why you were pushed up as a Captain.

You looked up to him, you watched his work and you trained yourself into oblivion to be as good as he is.

Now you’re sitting here on your day off painting his face. You were embarrassed thinking too hard about it, if he were to walk in right now- it’ll be over for you. You wouldn’t be able to look at his face again.

Months went by quickly, the more drawings you had left under your comrades door- the more Levi started to see it as a threat as he looked at the piece of paper with his face on it.

He even called a meeting with Erwin to discuss about the drawings, he felt as if he was being targetted- that the scouts were being targetted and he didn’t take this lightly.

He was more determined to find out who it is and even told a few close comrades to search in secret. You didn’t know this- only because you were in the town doing some work.

Levi noticed you didn’t come to the meeting and walked inside your office, his eyes looking around and he didn’t want to be nosey but out of the corner of his eye- towards the back of the office tucked in the corner was some paint.

This interested him enough to walk over, flipping open the sketch book and seeing the pages, the drawings and even found a few of his face. This immediately boiled his blood, you were a traitor- you were targeting him- that’s all he could think of.

He stormed out of there, grabbing his things and walked outside to try and find you. It was absolutely the worst timing for you- you stepped inside the land where the base was at while fixing the uncomfortable gear you wore around your waist until unexpectedly Levi had charged at you with his sword.

You were thinking this is his sick way of testing out your ability and training- he usually did back when you worked under him.

You slipped your blade out with ease and blocked his attack that near struck your face.

“Levi?!” Your eyes were wide at how close the blade was, he could’ve easily killed you and he didn’t seem phased.

Instead he used his leg to trip you on your back, wincing at the impact of the ground and he held his blade towards your throat with his foot rested on top of your chest to prevent you from moving.

“What the hell are you doing? Is this some sick training exercise?”

“Why have you been sending threats to my office, brat?” He stared at you with a look of disgust on his face and you froze, what threats?

“What are you talking about?”

“The drawings. Are you a traitor? Are you threatening to kill me?” He pressed the blade down more, the tip of it just barely touching your skin but from how sharp it was- it was made a cut.

“They’re just drawings, Levi!” You gave him a crazy look, he was acting completely insane, who acts like this over drawings of them? Shouldn’t he feel special?

“Why is your sketch book mostly my face then, hm? Explain that before I slice your throat here.”

You opened your mouth to say something but quickly shut it. You didn’t want to openly admit your feelings towards him and you sure felt violated for him snooping around in your office. But you also felt completely embarrassed- he’s seen your sketch book.

A lump formed in your throat, your eyes looking away from his as your cheeks started to grow hot and he got impatient, grabbing the collar of your shirt and yanked you up on your feet.

Now you were face to face with him, the dirty look he was giving you could instantly kill you if it was possible and you felt intimidated and terrified.

“Use your words, brat! I’m running out of patience.”

“Okay! Okay.” You put your hands up in defeat, your eyes connecting with his and your hands started to get sweaty.

“I- uh... how do I put this? Most of my drawings are... of you. Only because I admire you, you’ve inspired me to join, to train harder than most and I also.. like you.” You rushed the last part out, your cheeks red as a tomato and he stared at you in disbelief at first.

“So, you draw me because you like me?”

“Yeah, exactly.” You stuttered, biting down onto your bottom lip and he let go of you collar, making you stumble back.

“Why be so secretive about it then?” He asked, putting his blade away and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re not the easiest person to open up to, Levi.” You admitted, scratching the back of your neck and he gave you a unamused look.

“Look, Y/N.” He started off, bringing his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Honestly, you could’ve just done it in a different way instead of acting like a spy. Maybe if you would’ve been straight forward, I would tell you I like you just as much.” He looked up at you again, making your heart stop for a quick second.

Did he just admit feelings for you after holding a blade to your throat? You were stunned, you didn’t even know what to say about his confession but it made butterflies fly around in your stomach and your cheeks were turning a shade of red again.

He noticed how flustered you were, chuckling to himself and reached over to place his hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the warm skin and your eyes stared into his.

“Oh- sorry, I guess I should’ve done a different approach.” You said quietly, your hands starting to get shaky as his eyes burned right through you.

“Yeah, you should’ve.” He rolled his eyes, gesturing him to follow you inside and you were quick to follow behind him as he went straight for your office.

Once both of you were inside, he was quick to grab your sketch book and open it back up again. He turned more pages and looked at the drawings he didn’t bother to examine earlier.

You felt shy being in here and watching him go through your sketch book at the many drawings of his face- you even had a drawing of his hands and that made him laugh under his breath at the sight of it.

“You’re talented, I give you that.” He closed the book, setting it down and walked to where you were as you leaned back against your desk.

“Oh, thank you.” You gave him a shy smile, your heart pounding in your chest the closer he got to you.

“Now what if I actually killed you because you were being so sneaky?” He asked quietly, the sarcasm in his tone made you tilt your head as you thought about it.

“Guess I would’ve died an idiot.”

He rolled his eyes again, standing in front of you and even leaned forward to trap you between your desk and his body as he gripped onto the edges of the desk, his eyes staying on yours.

He tilted his head, almost admiring your face and you stayed quiet as the tension grew between the both of you.

“How bout you draw me right here, right now.” He offered, making you raise your eyebrows at his suggestion.

“Really?” He nodded his head, a smile coming across your face as he stepped back and grabbed one of the chairs.

You were quick to grab your sketch book and sit down in front of him, the excitement running through your veins as you grabbed a pencil and opened up to a empty page.

Your eyes moved up to meet his, watching the smile on his face only grow and it made your heart flutter considering it was rare to see him smile and it was rare for him to even agree to do something like this.

But he sat in front you, intrigued and wanting to watch your work up close and how it’s done. He was also very intrigued in you and the hobby you loved so much.

During the time of you drawing him, you had finished up his face before he had leaned over and grabbed a hold of your chin in his hand.

The sudden contact caught you off guard, your eyes staring into his before he had planted his lips on yours in a short but soft kiss.

When he pulled away, he had licked his lips and leaned back against the seat, urging you to continue on as your shaky hand tried to finish off the work of art named Levi.

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Woooooooo hello

• Main Masterlist •

• AOT Masterlist •

[kiingocreative]

The Structure of Story is now available! Check it out on Amazon, via the link in our bio, or at https://kiingo.co/book

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Performance coach Tony Robbins says that the quality of our lives depends on the state we live in every moment of every day. That state, whether we’re happy, sad, frustrated or excited, depends on three things:

• Our physiology — the way we move our bodies, the way we breathe and what we do with our face.

• Our language — the words we use, whether spoken out loud or inside our own head, to describe our experiences.

• What we focus on — the things we see versus the things we block out or fail to notice.

Today, I want to zone in on that final piece, because what we focus on is key, and it will in turn affect the way you move your body and hold yourself, and the language you use. I see this play out so much around me in general, and in the writing community in particular.

At any given time, the things we focus on determine how we feel and what we make of a situation. And what we focus on, in turn, is governed by the questions we ask ourselves every moment of every day.

Take your writing journey for instance:

If someone leaves you a negative review, do you ask yourself whether this means you’re a failure and your work is a failure? Do you ask yourself how dare that person belittle your work with a bad review? Or do you ask yourself what you can learn from this? Could you ask yourself how good it is that this person was honest in their feedback, so that readers with similar tastes won’t buy your book—and therefore not spend money on a read they might otherwise dislike and rate negatively too?

See how different questions would illicit different points of focus, and therefore different states? Some are more conducive to a positive mindset, whilst others tend to nurture frustration.

‘Why’ Questions: The Endless Loop.

And so it goes that by asking lousy questions, we get lousy answers. Because our brain has this tendency of taking any request we give it and processing it, regardless of whether or not it’s good for us. It’ll scour through the recesses of our mind and go on and on until it finds an answer.

‘Why’ questions are the worst, because there’s often no clear answer, or more than one possible answer to them, and it sends our mind on a chase to find as many possible reasons, processing like a headless chicken, often going around in circles, leaving us ruminating.

Take our example again: What if you asked yourself ‘why is this person leaving me a bad review?’

Now unleash your brain on that one, and let it roll with it—you may get:

• Because they didn’t like the book.

• Because my book is terrible.

• And if my book is terrible, then that makes me a terrible writer.

• Maybe I should just stop writing.

• Who was I to think I could do this?

• I’m clearly not good enough.

• Or maybe they left a bad review because they’re an idiot and didn’t get the brilliance of my work.

• Clearly they’re a moron.

• Maybe I should track them down and tell them just that.

• Maybe I should rally everyone I know on Instagram to shame that dimwit for leaving that review.

• …

… this can go on, until it loops back to the top and starts again. Sounds familiar?

What kind of state do you think you’d be in from obsessing over those disempowering, angering questions, never able to get closure because the loop has no logical end?

Empowering Alternatives.

My own experience of asking myself lousy questions, and my interactions with others within the writing community, have left me convinced that writers need to start asking themselves more empowering questions.

Because the way we tend to ask questions to ourself—those that breed anger, and resentment, and self doubt—ultimately only bring us back to two fears that sit at the root of it all: the fear that we’re not good enough, and the fear that we won’t be loved (or appreciated, or liked). These fears can be crippling. And that can’t be good for anyone’s art anywhere.

I’m writing this today to give you some more empowering alternatives. Some that I have used along my journey and have helped me improve.

Here are four examples:

#1 — gearing up for success:

• Instead of: ‘Why are other writers so much more successful than I am?��

• Ask yourself: ‘What I can learn from other writers to become more successful myself?’

There’s a lot of comparison out there. We know we shouldn’t fall into the trap of it, but it’s easier said than done.

If you see fellow writers thriving with their writing, their social media strategy or their exposure, try modelling what they do that is working and find what, from that, works for you.

Better even, reach out to people and ask them for advice—most people will be more than happy to share, and it’s a great way to build a network!

#2 — boosting sales:

• Instead of: ‘Why am I not selling books?’

• Ask yourself: ‘What I can do to increase my book sales?’

It can be discouraging to have published something, and to see your sales figures stalling. If you start wallowing in self pity through disempowering ‘why’ questions, you’re bound to start spiralling.

Instead, make a list of what you could do to help your sales along.

Here are some ideas that come to mind:

• Seek out book clubs and put your book on their radar. See if they’d been interested in reading your book and having you for an author Q&A when they’re done reading the book.

• Look into running promotions on Amazon (like discounted eBooks).

• Go local! Reach out to your local community and spread the word (cafes, local bookshops and libraries, local Facebook groups and communities etc.) and give them a chance to support a local.

• Contact your old school or university and enquire about showcasing you and your book as an alumni success story.

• Build genuine connections with fellow writers, avid readers and book bloggers. These relationships are a fantastic way to increase your reach and spreading the word about your book—and as a result, improve sales.

• Offer to do a read and review swap with a fellow author, where you read and review each other’s book.

• And so on.

If you start asking your brain to think outside the box, it’ll do just that!

#3 — the writer’s life:

• Instead of: ‘Why can’t I be a full-time writer and have financial security from writing?’

• Ask yourself: 'How is my present occupation helping my writing?’

• …And then ask: 'What can I do to increase my revenue from writing?’

This is one topic that’s been crossing my mind a lot, and I suspect many of us out there have pondered it at one point or other. If asked the wrong way, this question can send you spiralling into a frustrated state.

I don’t write full-time at present, and I have had my moments of daydreaming hours away, wishing I could live off my craft. That never led to anything very productive.

What I have found helpful however has been to focus on what my day job enables me to do with my writing:

• It takes away the pressure of earning a full income from writing.

• It gives me time to write and experiment with my craft in different forms.

• It enables me to look into ways to monetise my writing at my own pace.

• And that’s made for much more exciting trains of thought!

#4 — social media guru:

• Instead of: ‘Why can’t I manage to grow my Instagram reach?’ Or ‘why is social media sapping my energy?’

• Ask yourself: ‘What can I do to create a healthier balance when it comes to promotion efforts?’

Social media is a tricky one. It has incredible benefits if leveraged the right way, and it’s an amazing tool to get yourself and your work out there. In fact, I recently wrote a piece on the immense value of joining Bookstagram for writers.

But it can also be a drain, because the mechanisms of social media are built on the principle of addiction. It’s literally designed to suck you in and make you crave more, and fear that you’re missing out and not doing enough.

To avoid falling into that vicious circle, I’ve found it much healthier to ask myself how I can find the right balance to achieve what I want with my social media presence whilst also keeping my sanity. What this ends up being will look different for different people. If you’re unsure where to start, think about what you find challenging about maintaining your social media account, then what you find helps with your peace of mind, and try to find a middle ground somewhere in between that meets your needs.

Ask and thou shalt get.

I’m a firm believer in our ability to manifest our reality—at least to some extent. If you focus on all the wrong things, then your reality will look challenging and bleak.

If you train yourself to look for constructive ways forward and to get yourself excited about making the journey smoother for yourself, then finding that sweet spot that works for you can be a fascinating journey.

And that all starts with asking the right questions. Finding the right point of focus. Writing can be a wonderful, yet at times confusing and challenging journey. So do yourself a favour: where possible, take away those mind blocks that stand in your way!

Different questions about your writing journey illicit different points of focus, and therefore different states. Some are more conducive to a positive mindset, whilst others tend to nurture frustration.

[rgr-pop]

this is a building i pass a lot and just really looked at it now, tracking the block. there’s a building on the national registry--now a biggby coffee for state reps--two buildings to the left, and the office of that building’s architect used to be in a building located to the right (i also love the late modernist blue and brick building that is there now). preservationists put up a fight for the stuff to the left--this is a part of downtown that was nearly totally razed for state government complexes, producing a lot of kind of decent postmodernism actually. these are not really regular urban renewal era redevelopment blocks, as i recall off the top of my head (adjacent blocks were razed for modernist civic projects and then again for 90s blue glass state government projects). i remember seeing a photo of this block in this kind of progressive planning preservationist report from the 60s that really influenced me. (when i saw that, originally, i stared at that photo, i know i know that building.. oh yes, it’s the state rep biggby.) i saw this just now looking at an older historic photo of the block and i was like RIP that art deco thing sandwiched in the middle! wait actually that might be there still (rare thing to experience looking at stuff downtown). wait i can just show you that picture too:

in the background you can see ottawa street power station, our best art deco and a whole other political preservationist can of worms (one of my fantasy research projects is doing a history of struggles over its redevelopment from the 30s to the early 2000s that’s in the “long neoliberalism” genre). the photo doesn’t do justice to the thing in the middle, although i greatly appreciate it in mundane context (as all the darius moon commercial buildings kind of felt). architects moon & spice practiced in the tussing building, the brick box thing on the corner (rip to her). on the nearer corner is a church that i think sucks personally lol sorry what’s there now is the state house office buildings, which stretch over the street. one of my favorite buildings in the city actually and it produces two of my favorite tableaux. one is if you walk up ottawa when everything is deserted (most any time) and just look back:

second is walking underneath it at night and the columns are just absolutely glimmering but with lots of postmodern black. it’s great i’ll take pictures sometime.

can’t wait to expropriate that into social housing! i’m living at the top.

anyway point being, i only just now looked at the ingham county building, and what a cutie! there’s not a lot out there hyping it, and this makes me ask how it came to be preserved (and i have an inkling it spent the latter 20th century less loved than its neighbors). its incredible academic neoclassicism as art deco surface ornament. this building is camp. it’s literally a joke at banks. (it is currently owned by... the prosecuting attorneys association. possibly more cursed than a bank!)  i believe it was originally a board of water and light building. (some receipts from a local history king’s flickr.) they’re responsible for or connected to a ton of incredible art deco in the city--some stuff that’s as good as there is in any city of comparable size. lansing has the worst “token art deco skyscraper” in any industrial/ist city but we make up for it with public power art deco imo. i don’t know who designed this building but i could find out (i already got out of bed to look something else up and here i am so not tonight.) i have a lot of disorganized info on lansing art deco that i would like to turn into a guide. i have a kind of intro-level take on this for audiences, which is that (in the industrial midwest) we can think about vernacular art deco as the design vernacular of a moment of mass social and public building, but that more histories of art deco intentionally or unintentionally turn their eyes toward private enterprise. i have kind of a mission about that because i think we have such great public project art deco here that people should really hype but at the same time--and you know this, my readers--the story of these buildings is the story of the long public-private. but also, we have a lot of great great art deco banks. everybody does! and, a pretty good masonic temple. 

[demonologistfucker]

Free Angel GN! Angel MC x Obey Me, Part 1

Summary: You are the third Angel to be welcome in Diavolo’s exchange program. This is the first time in your life that you are free from any Angelic codes, and you’re interested to indulge. You can’t explore hell alone though, so you’ll be given the Avatar of Wrath as a guardian.

This is my writing out the AU i had for my own mc, but as an MC insert. This first chapter is SFW, but if I continue, there will be NSFW smutty chapters. This Angel wants to have some fun in hell, and is Poly so ✨

Word Count: 3459

“Are you excited?” Simeon looked down to Luke. Who was fussing over his own clothes. Making sure everything was neat and presentable. 

“Of course not,” Luke huffed. “This is going to be the worst year.”

“I don’t know about that,” MC grinned as they rocked back onto their heels. “We’re going to learn quite a lot.” So much about the Devildom had been kept away from the angels. MC was created by God after the revolution. All they had ever been told was what to fear about the devils and their land. However, MC knew there were gaps in the story. Noticed the longing that flared in Simeon’s eyes whenever The Morningstar and his family were brought up. Which is why, as the magic circle began to glow, MC felt a great excitement. Luke watched the magic circle glow with wide eyes. While Simeon continued on as if nothing was changing.

“Try to keep an open mind, Luke. The Devildom is not all bad.” Simeon patted Luke’s head. “You might even make some friends.”  just as the magic circle completed. Reality spluttered for a second, and then everything was dark. 

“Absolutely not!” Luke’s shrill voice was all that MC could sense. Then they tasted the air, cool and tinged with sulfur. “Make friends with Demons? I could never!” Luke prattled on while his eyes adjusted. After several blinks, MC could see the palace they stood in. The grandeur was almost repulsive. Gold trim and deep red walls. It was the beauty of wealth and statues. 

“I hope you’ll be able to make friends during your stay.” A deep voice said from behind. MC spun around, and then had to crane their head upward to see who was there. His broad smile was so warm that it clashed with the royal regalia the man was dressed in. The red jacket  with a medallion on the shoulder. MC scrunched their nose, wondering why Hell would choose to continue earths obsession with war decoration. “Thank you for joining us.” The Man continued, and he bowed his head to the Angels. “I am Lord Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom. As well as the head of the exchange program.”

“Thank you for having us,” Simeon smiles as he walks over to the prince. Without hesitation, the two embrace in a familiar hug. 

“I’m just so happy the program worked.” Diavolo rubs the back of his neck. “The humans will be coming this evening. So I’ll be able to help you all settle in and still make it for the humans.” Simeon and Diavolo continued to talk about details. Mainly the excitement over the humans. While Luke looked on with a fury. 

“I can’t believe Simeon is being so familiar with the Demon Lord.” Luke crossed his arms. “We cannot befriend the enemy.”

“Yah.. Enemy.” Mc can feel something tighten in their stomach. Instead of processing that, the angel turns to look about the palace a little more. Now that they knew what the Prince looked like. Some portraits on the walls made more sense. The one that caught the angel’s eye was of a young Diavolo. He stood alone in a field of red. A skull of a dragon under his foot, and a toy left in the distant background. It had been commissioned to show the great power Diavolo had ever as a child. Unintentionally, it spoke some truth. A small child alone in a field. Left with death at his feet. 

“I won’t be able to be around much in your day to day, I’m afraid.” Diavolo was now standing to face the whole group. So MC turned their attention back to the conversation. “But I do want to do my best to keep your stay in my realm as comfortable as possible. If there is anything we can do, please let us know.”

“Is there a way we can go back?” Luke asks with great seriousness.

“Luke!” Simeon gasps. 

“That is what would make me most comfortable,” Luke huffs and crosses his arms. 

“Luke, you can’t just-.” Simeon rubs the space between his brow.

“It’s fine,” Diavolo shrugs it off. “We all process homesickness in our own way. The spell to move between heaven and hell is a powerful one. So we truly won't be able to do this till next year, but if there is anything else we can do. Do ask and I will try to accommodate. Lucifer should be here soon, and he will bring you to your dormitories. As well as go down the basic rules of staying here.”

“Rules?” Mc asks, finally speaking up. 

“Not much but briefly - Michael requested that you three still follow your codes, but there is no way for them to actually check.” Diavolo puts a hand on his chest. “One of our realms defining features is that your god’s awareness cannot reach here. So the rules you must follow are the rules of the devildom and whatever you personally value. Our rules you’ll find are much more lax.” Luke gasps in horror, but excitement only brewed within MC.

Two men in uniform walk into the Palace hall. One walks directly to Lord Diavolo’s side. Dark hair falling into a shock of green that followed framed half his face. They were stiff and despite the collected look. MC could see the anxiety running through their spine. The other kept a distance from the Angels. A cool dark look, judging each of them openly. 

“My Lord we must be going.”

“I don’t have any more time?” Diavolo’s face falls. 

“No, your next meeting has already begun.” They kept their voice rather calm, but their eyebrow twitched. 

“Alright,” Diavolo sighs, but turns back to the angels quickly. “I truly hope you enjoy your stay in the Devildom. It’s an honor to have you here.” With that, Diavolo is ushered away. 

“Now who could that brooding gentleman be,” Simeon was once again walking up to the strange demon. Though the man looked as disagreeable as before. He did let Simeon hug him. Only adjusting his jacket the moment he was free. 

“You know who I am,” 

“I am asking for the children,” Simeon looks back to Luke and MC. While Luke gets all huffy about their age. MC is truly an adult by the fact that they can just roll their eyes and get over it. 

“My name is Lucifer,” He bow slightly to the three angels. “Avatar of Pride, and right hand to Lord Diavolo. When you need his help, come to me.” Lucifer sharpens his gaze on MC. “Diavolo is very busy, and I would prefer you to bother me than him.” Then his glare moved to Luke. Who paled and shuffled towards Simeon. “Now, if you will follow me. I’ll lead you to your housing for the year.” Lucifer walked briskly out of the Palace. “ Compared to the celestial realm, the Devildom functions much more like earth. The city is based on a money exchange. We will provide a small allowance once a month, but if you want to indulge, you’ll have to get a job.” Lucifer says all of this while walking briskly out of the Palace. Luke grumbles about nearly having to run, and MC has to fight back a laugh. “If you stay within the Devildom your life will be remarkably like that on earth. With a key distinction that there will be demons who lust for your blood every so often, and there is no sun.” Lucifer swung open the front door of the palace. Exposing the dark courtyard beyond, and the block void of the sky. Illuminated on the horizon was The Devildom. The glowing sector of Hell where Demons and spirits lived their personal lives. It glowed beautifully, and illuminated the Palace like a setting sun. 

Normally, this effect was made greater by the fact that the courtyards had no lights. If one was to see, it was their own gift, or from the light of the city. The angels broke this by having their own innate glow. Casting warm shadows against the cool nature of hell. Lucifer glanced at the glow with mild annoyance. Normally, the walk from the palace to the road was his moment of peace. Now each step he was reminded about the great task this year would be.

“To help with the exchange, we have enrolled you three in the local university. There you can learn about how the systems of hell truly function, as well as our magical training programs. We have some of the most skilled magic users training with us.” Part of Diavolo’s plan was to show what Hell was truly worth. The eons didn’t pass without change, and under Diavolo that change was being brought to its most refined point. Lucifer himself had led many of the projects to start translating Hell’s data into deeper means of understanding… Books with narrative instead of strings of numbers or archaic runes. 

“So you won’t be making us torture humans?” Luke snaps. 

“Only if you want to.” Lucifer doesn’t even look back to Luke. He knew enough about the little angel to know it would start on a rant if provoked. He was already battling a headache and couldn’t stand the thought of being lectured by a child. 

“I could never!” Luke brings his hand to his chest.

“Then you won’t.” 

“What will we be learning then?” MC asks. 

“Standard education for someone new to our system. History of the Devildom, Grimm economics, Devildom literature, Alchemy and potions 101, art, athletics,” Lucifer twirls a hand around. “The basics,”

“Oh that sounds… Fun” MC grimaces.

“Did you come here to have fun?” Lucifer glances back at the angel. 

“So what if I did?” MC tries to be defensive, but can’t help cracking into a smile. It was rather funny seeing the confused look on Lucifer’s face. 

“MC! We are not here to have fun, we have to learn and do as much research for our arch-”

“I know Luke,” MC groans. “We’re allowed to have Some fun.”

“Indeed,” Lucifer nods. “None of the classes should take all your time, so you’ll be able to have your own time. If you want to explore the Devildom please go in pairs. While you have Diavolo’s blessing, not all demons listen to authority. There is no promising what a rogue demon would do to a lone angel.” 

MC scrunches up their face, which makes Simeon laugh. Meanwhile, Luke is actually trembling. 

“Oh Luke, you look like a scared puppy.” Simeon tries to keep his voice sympathetic, but the hint of laughter is clear. 

“A little chihuahua,” Lucifer smiles. 

“I am not a chihuahua!” Luke shrieks! 

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

Purgatory Hall was a lot more comfortable than MC had expected. The interior was surprisingly bright and cozy. Though still favoring the overly ornate and plush. MC was wandering aimlessly through the halls. Luke was still hurt from the chihuahua incident by the time they were done getting situated. So Simeon had taken Luke out to get something sweet to make up for it. While at the time, MC had said they wanted to stay here and explore the house. They were now realizing that was a foolish choice. After looking in the rooms once,  MC was more than satisfied with exploring the house. So now they were draped across the couch. Flipping idly through their D.D.D. When MC opens the messages to pulls up Lucifer.

“You said I shouldn’t go out by myself. Simeon and Luke are often a pair without me. I could just risk it?” Dots appear quickly.

“No, let me find you a guide.” 

Lucifer leaned back. Thinking about which of his brothers, he wants to make baby sit an angel. No one who might find it enjoyable like Asmo or Beel. He already planned on having Mammon for the human...

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

“Satan, would you be a guide for one of the Angel exchange students?”

“Are you actually asking me?” Satan looks over the top of his reading glasses.” Or are you just telling me in a passive manner.”

“It’s not passive,” Lucifer crosses his arms.” Answer my question.”

“No,” Satan leaned back into his chair. Lifting his book up to block Lucifer from view. 

“You are just saying that because I am asking you.”

“Yes,” Satan smiles. 

“Which is why I am going to make you do it.” Lucifer smiles back. “I think it will be an informative experience for you.” 

“Informative?” Satan can feel the fires in his stomach boiling over, but his keeps his composure calm. It was centuries of practice. “As if I don’t hear enough about the celestial realm from you?”

“You hear our side of it, and now you can learn another.” Lucifer looks so sure of his convictions that it made Satan want to lift his chair and throw it through a wall. Instead, he took a deep breath for seven seconds and let it out in ten. 

“How do you intend on making me do this?” Satan propped his elbow on the armchair, and then his head in his hand. 

“I will tell Diavolo you refused to use your strength and knowledge to help his exchange program. If the angels are to learn the best qualities of Hell. Who is better informed than you? No harm would come to that angel with you near.” Lucifer has pride in many things. Not just himself, and that was one of his worst qualities. The way he looked at Satan with such knowing. Then how it could vanish into cold apathy. “It’s lazy work, really. You could have an audiobook in your ear if you truly needed it.”

Satan looked from Lucifer and down to the floor. Then he switched which way he was leaning in the chair. Fidgeting as he thought. Trying to find a way to accept that he will have to do this. Without having to agree with Lucifer. 

“Fine, I don’t want to be lectured by Diavolo as well as you.” Satan begins to read his book again. “When do I start?”

“Now, they want to explore.” Lucifer’s face was full of mirth. If Satan showed that he was irritated, that would only play into what He wanted. So Satan sighed as he picked up the bookmark and wedges it in. 

“The angels will be living in Purgatory hall, correct?” At least Satan could show he’d be competent in the task. 

“Indeed.  MC is an Angel a little younger than you and will not know what to expect in the Devildom.”

“That we’re not all monsters or that monster’s still exist?” Satan slowly took of his glasses. Cleaning the lenses before tucking them away. 

“Bit of both. Which you’re a perfect example of. ” Lucifer ignore the scowl that rips across Satan’s face. Instead, tapping his watch. “They asked me for a guide an hour ago, so I would appreciate it if we could hurry up.” Satan stands up and again takes a deep breath. Then many more. A deep breath each step of the way to purgatory hall. Asmo was hanging out in the hallway, but the moment they saw Satan. Asmo found an excuse to leave. 

It was right up to the moment that Satan knocked on the door. That’s when he took one final breath and let the tension fall from his shoulders. Suddenly the portrait of composure with a grace in his eye. The door opened easily, and there stood MC. Satan was shocked to see that, despite being an angel. They had changed out of any holy robes and into something more comfortable. There wasn’t the annoying level of arrogance Satan had come to expect. Off to a good start, it would seem. 

“Hello, My name is Satan. Lucifer sent me to be your guide.” Satan bowed slightly and smiled brightly as he stood up. His green eyes were glowing with genuine warmth. 

“Oh, awesome,” MC rocked back on their heels. “I don’t really know where to go. I just want to see… stuff?” MC shrugs and smiles sheepishly. Satan felt something new in his chest. This Angel was genuinely curious about the Devildom. 

“I know lots of lovely spots. Do you want some history or a bit of culture?” Satan raises a brow. Looking at MC as if they were co conspirators on some great plan. MC’s heart pick up the pace. 

“Why not both?”

“Good choice,” Satan offers an elbow to the Angel. With flushed cheeks, the Angel accepts. “A friend of mine commissioned a new branch in the museum nearby. It’s full of artifacts that were destroyed by invades. Now in the Devildom we can restore the artifacts and get first-hand facts on the culture.”

“An accurate history or ones written by victors?”

“Accurate, of course,” Satan looks almost offended. “We are not on any side of humanities battles.”

“You like their military regalia.”

“I don’t. Those in charge think it’s pretty.” Satan rolls his eyes. “One part of hell is under strict authority, and another is nearly pure anarchy.”

“Anarchy with demons must get interesting.” MC tries not to giggle. “I have the image of Demons fighting to create and making utter chaos.”

“You’re close, just throw in some packs working together, and rogues wandering around the city trying to push their chaos were ever. The principles of anarchy aren’t too bad, actually. I’ve read the literature, but in practice with magic beings, too many hot heads can ruin it for the rest.” 

“There’s so many rules in Heaven,” MC sighs and rocks their head back. “Anarchy sounds terrifying, but also refreshing? If that makes sense.”

“It does,” Satan nods. “What sort of rules does heaven have?”

“Well, the rules of angels and people are different.” Satan nods instead of saying, Obviously. “For angels, we literally have a mandated outfit. Can’t wear anything but the one holy look. We cannot stray remotely close to any sins, and must keep peace at all times. Which isn’t difficult with 1000 of human souls all wanting their own ideal conflicting paradise.” MC tenses with the anger, and then lets it slide out. “Sorry about that-”

“Don’t apologize,” Satan squeezes the Angel’s arm a little. “You got more than the right to be annoyed with such treatment. Speak what you feel.” MC looks up at Satan with bright eyes. 

“If I have to sing in another chores for God, I will scream.”

“You should! Screaming is cathartic.” The talk the whole way to the museum and through it. Both have more than enough to say, and genuinely want to hear the other. Satan has carefully made opinions and seems to be educated in every topic under the sun. The Niches of thing MC thinks of Satan can keep up with. He also seems to have causes at least half of the wars which destroyed the artifacts now on display. “Alexander was rather easy to manipulate,” Satan hums. “Just had to bat my eyes at him and ask if that’s what he really wanted. He would be up for anything after that.” Satan can’t keep back his mischievous grin. 

“Did you… Seduce Alexander the Great?”

“And helped kill him.” Satan smiles proudly. “He was an asshole, but fun to play with it.” Now Satan looks off with a distance in his eyes. Clearly lost in the past, where he could saunter about Rome. Arm and Arm with a brutal conquer. 

“How often do you accompany brutal killers?” MC asks with a sharp look. 

“This is where our working on opposite sides could come to a point,” Satan chuckles. “I am the avatar of wrath. I accompany most of the greatest killers. Push them to indulge just a bit more. If not me, one of my many underlings is probably there.”

“Funny,” MC says with a rather serious face. “I haven’t been given a title yet, but I spent the last century working with the angels in the peace department.”

“Oh that is some hard work,” Satan looks over to the Angel. MC had been prepared for Satan to look annoyed, but instead he looked more impressed. “Humans are so easy to manipulate with their emotions. Peace is going against their instincts.” By now, Satan and MC had entered the museum. Other demons milled about. Quickly commenting on the pieces of history elegantly on display. The explanations that come with each piece are at best wordy paragraphs. At worst, there is an essay attached. MC is saved from any reading by having Satan in toe. He knows all the information backwards and forwards, and the fact he’s more curious about the Angel. Saves MC from having to sit through lecture after lecture. Satan pauses to breath, and to hear the Angel’s own thoughts.

----- Rest of the museum date will be finished if people show interest in it.

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you have any requests for what Angel MC get’s up to feel free to ask! If people actually like this I’ll writing more parts consistently. If not more will just come as I feel like it.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

This is the Beat of My Heart

happy very early birthday to @jaskierswolf​! have some soulmates.

new soulmate mechanic: you can hear your beloved’s heartbeat whenever you feel frightened

art by the always-talented @mawbwehownets​

tw: mentions of the Trials, canon typical violence but it’s just the cave scene from Posada/Four Marks, minor emotional Geralt whump (self loathing witcher feelings), hurt/comfort with a very fluffy ending

---

Geralt’s fingers curl painfully into the tops of his legs. He’s trying to hold himself down against the rough-hewn seat of the tavern bench with all his mighty strength; there’s an irritating sound filling the small room that has activated his fight or flight response, and he can’t do either without drawing suspicion from the already antsy villagers. The haunting rhythm echoes through him, a soft but insistent thud thud thud that floods his senses and soothes his aching head. The sound is more familiar to the witcher than his own gruff voice. More familiar than his brothers’ voices, or Vesemir’s. This staccato beat has marked out every terrifying moment in the witcher’s long life.

The sound that pounds against Geralt’s ears is his soulmate’s heartbeat.

The poor, ignorant fool he’s meant to match in every way is wandering around this shit-hole tavern in Posada, totally unaware of the sad, unsavory fate that Destiny has bestowed upon them. Geralt never thought this day would come, really. Being bound to a witcher was bad enough but being in the same room with one, feeling the subtle pull of forces far beyond your control meddling with your life… drawing you towards danger and death...

It will be better for both of us if I leave as soon as possible, Geralt thinks to himself. He takes a quick inventory of his purse and swords and finds them all accounted for. At least I can spare them the tragic end they’d no doubt meet at a witcher’s side. They would likely hate me if I ever sought them out.

They must be terrified of him, whichever one of these people Destiny has saddled with the other half of Geralt’s soul. They’ve heard his heartbeat, too, in their moments of fear. As well as Geralt knows his soulmate’s giddy, fluttering pulse pattern, they have lived with his slow mutant heartbeat in return. Were they even more frightened when they heard how slow it was? Did the connection serve its purpose, calming them down and reassuring them of his presence, or had it made things worse, elevated their level of terror? How cruel it was for Destiny to chain this person to a living firebrand, to create them to be the perfect other half for someone who’s no more than a monster.

That heartbeat, vibrant and steadfast, is what had kept Geralt alive and fighting for survival during the worst of his Trials. When the poisons and tinctures and potions had crawled through his veins, turning them from black to red to black again and twisting his body into something other, that glorious beating had been there for him. The sound of his soulmate’s fragile mortal heart had measured out the seconds, giving him something to cling onto. That heartbeat had given Geralt something to love. To hope for in his worst moments. When they had dragged him back into those dark, musty rooms, seventeen and screaming with what little was left of his voice, all Geralt could do was pray for his future soulmate’s heartbeat to return to him. To comfort him.

In the relentless pain and terror of those added experiments, Geralt had kept that sound buried deep within his very being, like a candle in the center of a pitch-black room. Even when they said the Trials would take his emotions from him, that the additional testing would obliterate his humanity entirely, the sound of a stranger’s heartbeat never failed to stir the strongest feelings of love and safety he’d ever known.

Can ever know, perhaps.

Regardless of what might have been in another lifetime, Geralt keeps his fingers clenched and his muscles taut. He focuses all his energy on keeping himself sitting. He would have been content to stay there in the corner, his eyes trained on the grain of the worn wooden table before him, ignoring Destiny’s desires entirely… except…

Except for the damned bard. The novice bard swans his way over to the witcher’s corner table, lashes fluttering and face flushed. Geralt catches a faint whiff of arousal and writes it off as a boyish reaction to the rush of performing. The young brunette opens his mouth and the sweetest voice Geralt has ever heard playfully says: “I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

“I’m here to drink alone,” the witcher grunts. He can practically feel his fingernails biting through the leather of his gloves. The heartbeat is louder now, closer, and it’s driving Geralt mad.

“Good,” the bard nods, still leaning against a support beam. “Yeah, good. Nobody else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance except-” he takes a slow step forward “-for you.”

The bard is probably barely old enough to order his own vodka, and the bright, sparkling blue of his eyes makes the deeper blue of his doublet look incredibly washed out. Geralt tries to keep his face impassive, rolling his eyes and remaining silent. He’s still thinking about his soulmate… trying to block out the rapid thrumming of their all-too-human heart.

“C’mon,” the brunette urges. “You don’t want to keep a man with… bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me; three words or less!”

Geralt hears his soulmate’s heartbeat growing louder, more irregular and more excited, regardless of his efforts to ignore the hurried drumming. The scent of happiness grows thick and hazy in the air as the bard continues to grin and Geralt realizes, with a tiny jolt of horror, that the origin of the life-altering sound is sitting directly across from him. Geralt matches the rabbit-quick jumps at the junctures of the bard’s wrists to the soft rhythm thumping at the back of his head and finds them to be a perfect match.

It’s you, the witcher thinks, eyes widening slightly against his will. He takes a moment to tamp down his more obvious emotions, trying desperately keeping his expression neutral and under control. The bard is the one whose heartbeat kept me breathing in my very worst moments. Kept me fighting. Kept me…

Geralt suddenly remembers that he needs to answer a question: “They don’t exist.”

“What don’t exist?” the bard asks, eyebrows furrowing. The expression is halfway between a pout and an offended grimace, which infuriatingly verges on being adorable. Geralt’s heart lurches traitorously in his chest. He has never known such horrible yearning in all his many decades on the Path.

“The creatures in your song.”

“Why would you know?” the bard scoffs. Geralt prepares to stand, finally releasing his death-grip on his own legs. His fingers and palms are cramped and tight from holding himself still for so long; the bard is really testing his patience. The witcher is less than two seconds away from revealing the big secret and ruining both of their lives when the young man continues, eyes shining, “Ooooh, fun! White hair, big old loner, two very very scary looking swords…”

Geralt stands from the table and collects his purse.

The bard glances up at him, blue eyes wondrously wide and cheeks flushed pink.

“I know who you are,” he practically breathes. He stands, following Geralt halfway out the door. “You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia!”

Geralt’s fists clench again. The retraction of his muscles keeps him from grabbing the foolish human by the collar and dragging him from the room for a proper chat about manners and soulmates. Thankfully. As the disoriented witcher hurries from the tavern’s main room, he hears the bard shouting after him: “Called it!”

---

Geralt snaps back into consciousness with a grunt. As frustration and fear weave themselves into a web of anxiety at the center of his chest, that soft thud thud thudding fills his ears. It soothes him and helps him focus; he is in a cave, it is midday or a little past, and the bard, Jaskier apparently, has been bound against him, back-to-back. He tugs at the ropes that bind their wrists again but it does no good. Behind him, the bard says quietly: “This is the part where we escape.”

Geralt fears for his soulmate’s wellbeing more than his own. He’s technically responsible for this stupid, fragile person who refused to stay behind despite his warnings. He lowers his voice, “This is the part where they kill us.”

“Unfortunate,” the bard sighs. The witcher listens, confused and a bit shocked, as Jaskier slowly starts to even out his breathing by matching his inhales and exhales to Geralt’s slow, methodical heartbeat.

“How can you hear it?” he asks without thinking.

“Hear what?” Jaskier replies, whispering.

“Your breathing,” Geralt says, as if it’s obvious. “You’re matching it to my… to my heartbeat. You don’t have a witcher’s enhanced hearing so how are you matching the rhythm so perfectly?”

“I was matching it to-”

Their conversation ends abruptly as an angry elven woman storms into the cave. She kicks at them furiously, spitting in the Elder tongue, “Beast!”

“Quick, Geralt!” the bard urges, “Do your witchering!”

“Shut up!”

“No!”

The woman doles out more swift kicks to the chest. One for Geralt and one for Jaskier. More muttering in Elder, insults that even the bard manages to understand and toss around. Geralt grimaces as he’s beaten by Toruviel and hears the thudding even louder than before. The witcher smiles when he notices that he can feel Jaskier’s heartbeat against his back, pulsing through the thin material of the bard’s light woolen doublet. It’s so much more intense, close up like this.

“Leave off! He’s just a bard.”

He’s so much more than that, Geralt’s own thoughts remind him. He’s everything to you.

A wave of urgent protectiveness swells within him and Geralt diverts the attention of the Elf King away from the foolish human, whose mouth has run away with him. Eventually Filavandrel tires of their chatter and pulls his short blade. The Silvan rushes forward, arms outstretched to stop his sovereign, “Wait!”

“Torque! Stand aside!”

“The witcher could have killed me,” Torque rushes to explain. “But he didn’t. He’s different, like us!”

Geralt watches with mild trepidation as the battle-hardened King pushes his subject aside, fury blazing in his clear blue eyes. He understands that this may be his final day alive. He wishes that Jaskier would have listened before and stayed at the tavern below. He wishes, with what may be his final moments alive, that Jaskier were safe and not bound to him this way. Literally and figuratively.

“If you must kill me, I am ready,” Geralt intones. “But the Sylvan is right… don’t call me human.”

The witcher tilts his head back, eyes open but unseeing, his entire being focused on the feeling of Jaskier’s racing heartbeat thudding against the back of his leather armor. The killing blow never comes. Instead, Filavandrel cuts the ropes that bind their wrists; Geralt ignores his initial instinct to check Jaskier for injuries and instead ushers the bard onto his feet and towards the mouth of the cave. “Wait!”

The witcher freezes in his tracks and glances back over his shoulder. Filavandrel holds out a gorgeously crafted lute with a beautiful gold design painted across the front. “My apologies for the loss of your instrument.”

“Your Majesty,” Jaskier gasps. “I couldn’t. You’ve already lost so much.”

“Then promise me to do right by him,” the elf nods at Geralt. “And consider it payment.”

“I swear it,” Jaskier nods, tone serious and face grim. Filavandrel lets his eyes flicker between the two unlikely companions and Geralt prays that the Elf won’t say anything out loud, if he indeed understands the bond between them.

“Be on your way, then, before I change my mind.”

Filavandrel winks conspiratorially and disappears back into the shadow of the caves. Jaskier pulls the lute strap over his shoulder and beckons for Geralt to follow him. “Your horse is probably worried.”

---

It takes nearly six months for Geralt to break down and tell Jaskier the truth about their seemingly uncanny partnership. If it weren’t for the rapid approach of harsher winter weather, he probably never would have said anything at all.

But on one particularly frosty evening, two weeks after Samhain, the witcher sits Jaskier down beside their fire and tries to remember how to speak from his heart. The bard is patient, warming his hands over the flames and waiting for Geralt to gather his words. Jaskier has never rushed him, and for that Geralt is eternally grateful. Taking a hint from his companion’s hunched shoulders, Jaskier speaks first. “What’s on your mind, my dearest White Wolf?”

“I… I have to tell you something and I don’t want you to be angry.”

“Did you spill ink on my new doublet?” Jaskier teases. “Because if you have, I promise to be very cross with you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt half-smiles. He’s terrified, and he can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat surrounding him from all sides. “No, I’m afraid it’s more complicated than replacing a doublet.”

“Oh, is this about us being soulmates?”

Geralt’s eyes snap up to meet Jaskier’s and his mouth drops open. “Wha-? When did you- When di-”

“You said it in your sleep maybe two weeks after we first met,” Jaskier explains quietly, like he’s the one who’s been holding back a secret all this time. He blushes furiously as he tries to apologize and extrapolate all at once, “I thought you were just muttering to yourself, really, or I would have woken you up! I swear! You were just…”

Now it’s Geralt’s turn to wait as Jaskier fumbles to speak.

“You hadn’t been resting well and I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so happy and content that night, with your hair all loose and the moon so bright…” he shakes his head and giggles nervously, “Anyway, not important. You rolled over and reached for me. You chuckled a little between snores and said A bard for a soulmate, how lovely. It sounded happy, when you said it like that.”

“Was that… the only time?”

“No,” Jaskier smiles. He pulls his knees against his chest and rests his chin atop them, “You reach for me all the time in your dreams. Sometimes you say my name or call me soulmate or beloved. It’s rather sweet and I-” tears brim in his eyes and Geralt’s heart skips a beat “-I know that witchers don’t feel things the same way humans do. I didn’t want to get my hopes up and then-”

“I love you,” Geralt says. He takes Jaskier by the hands before he can stop himself and pulls the pale knuckles against his lips for a soft kiss. “You… You have saved my life so many times.”

“Geralt!”

“I mean it,” the witcher nods. “I know that the Path is treacherous, and I wouldn’t ask you to join me on it and risk your life, but I do love you and care about you. Ever since I was young I have marked my steps by the beat of your heart. I would be happy continuing to do so, whether or not you accept me in return.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier sob-laughs, flinging himself into the witcher’s embrace. Geralt falls backward, shocked, his arms full of emotional bard. His face is peppered with kisses between hurried words: “I love you, too! I thought you didn’t want me that way. I thought it was just… a witcher mutation thing.”

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen for the winter, Julek. You can learn more about my kind; you can meet my brothers and the old swordmaster for the Wolf School, my adopted father of sorts. We’ll protect you and I-” Geralt clears his throat. “I will hold you every night in my arms, if you so desire.”

“I would like it very much if you were to hold me,” Jaskier grins. “And of course I'll come with you to your witchery keep for the cold months, dear heart. I’ll never part from your side again.”

Geralt presses a firm kiss to Jaskier's forehead, their heartbeats echoing faintly in the witcher's trained ears. Something in his chest settles into place, contented at last. He presses another, even gentler kiss to the bard's chapped lips and feels his heart swell when Jaskier smiles into it. He breathes out his promise as they pull apart, "Never."

[novelconcepts]

I’m sure I’m not the only one hoping you’ll expand on your earlier post about the greenhouse “flat above the pub” flirt-o-Rama if Flora hadn’t...gone and been possessed and all.

“You know I live above that pub, right? Told you that already. Got a little flat right above the boring little pub.”

She knows what she’s doing, is the thing Jamie can’t quite wrap her head around. She absolutely knows what she’s doing. Where on earth is the woman from five days ago, the one who looked at her with such bruised eyes and swollen lips and tried plaintively to pull at her jacket? Where did she go, and who is this bold version in her place?

Dangerous, probably. Already, she’s lowering whatever meager defenses Jamie had managed to craft over the past week. Already, she’s blowing right past them as though never there at all, and Jamie doesn’t fully understand this. She’s never had trouble blocking someone out before--at least, not someone like Dani, who makes her feel...makes her feel...

Good. Makes her feel like the brightest thing in the room, most days. Makes her feel like no one has ever wanted her there so badly before. 

The woman’s only kissed her once, and already it feels like she’s made a home for Jamie somewhere in her heart. Somewhere under all the bad she’s carrying, under all the flinching she’s done, all the death and loss and fear, there’s a place for Jamie. If she wants it.

She’s looking at Jamie now like she’s proud of how she walked in here this morning. Like she’s proud of how closely she’s standing, how she’s biting her lips now to hold back a grin so enormous, Jamie can’t help but return it. Five days away, and she returns to someone who knows what she’s doing--and what she’s doing is flirting so hard, it’s a wonder the table doesn’t catch fire.

Did that on purpose, she thinks wonderingly. What the fuck is happening. 

***

The coffee, in its own way, worked. Not that she thought Jamie would actually like it, because honestly, it’s bad coffee--and Jamie is just too British for words--but the thing is, it was never meant to be liked. It was only meant to make Jamie smile.

Which it did. Eventually.

Or, she did. Is doing. Right now, as the words tumble out of her--Would you wanna get a drink? Away from the house. Away from all this. That could be kinda boring, right?--a part of her is desperately terrified to realize, she is doing this. She is leaning against this table, clutching a mug of truly toxic coffee, watching Jamie suck in her cheeks like it’s doing a damn thing to erase that smile. She is saying the words she’s been playing over and over in her head for five days running:

“You. And me. Could get a boring old drink. In a boring old pub.” God, her heart is sprinting. It’s entirely possible she won’t get out of this sentence, with all its halting hesitation, alive, much less this greenhouse. “And see where that takes us.”

And this is the part where Jamie will melt, she hopes. Swoon, even. The part the coffee laid road leading to, a glorious red herring approach. Here, where Jamie will see that she means what she says, and she’ll grow faint with whatever affection Dani has earned, and this will all be--

She’s grinning. Jamie, not quite facing her, is grinning. 

“You know I live above that pub, right?” This is not, Dani recognizes, exactly what one might call a swoon. This is the expression of a woman who has done extremely quick math and come up with a calculation Dani had sort of hoped she’d swing right past. When she’d swoon. 

She is not swooning. She is, instead, leaning slightly back, eyebrows raised appraisingly, reminding Dani in one fell swoop that there are people who are eager to flirt and people who are good at the art. And that Jamie, for all her glower and loner tendencies, is very, very good at the art. 

“Told you that already, didn’t I?” Her voice is almost soft, definitely teasing, her expression perfectly arranged to say this is my territory, Poppins, and you had best be careful how you tread in my garden. “Got a little flat. Right above the boring little pub.”

And then she’s...turning back to the work. Turning away, not a blush to be found, not even the hint of a swoon. Dani’s expression, so carefully schooled into neutrality, is breaking into the biggest grin of her life and Jamie has the temerity to not even keep eye contact.

“I mean--you maybe...mentioned it--”

“Only,” Jamie goes on, still focused on the task at hand--which Dani does not in the least understand, though there’s something to be said for Jamie in profile: head bent, eyes attentive, hands working into soil. Jamie never quite looks so alive as when she’s working, as though it is only in garden or greenhouse that she truly allows herself to flourish. 

Would she look that alive, Dani wonders with unbidden curiosity, anywhere else? Maybe in the boring little flat, maybe with me, maybe--

“Only,” Jamie repeats, darting a small glance her way. Dani realizes she’s staring, closes her mouth. “I figure there are plenty of places two people could go on a date. Which is, if I’m not mistaken, what you’re suggesting. Isn’t it?”

“It...I--yes.” No point denying it. No point trying to wash away the simple brazen fact. A boring little date. It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t have to be a big--

“So,” Jamie says, her voice still doing that dangerous thing Dani doesn’t quite understand and can’t quite turn her attention from. That dangerous half-soft, half-amused thing that is all accent, all in control, all turning Dani’s own courage back on her like a firehose. “We could do it anywhere, couldn’t we? Doesn’t have to be the pub.”

“I--” Dani resists the urge to close her eyes. She’s going to make me say it. She really is. This wasn’t the plan, exactly. The plan had been so much simpler. It had not taken into account Jamie, who is going down into this thing with her willingly--but maybe not easily. “I mean, I just--”

“Just curious,” Jamie goes on breezily, drawing her hands from the soil at last and taking a slow step closer. The space between, already limited at best, reduces to nearly nothing in that single motion. Dani swallows.

“About?”

“It’s particular,” Jamie points out. A slight shift of hips, a nearly negligible twist of the waist, and she’s got Dani backed into a corner. Or, more accurately, against a table. “The pub. Bit curious, is all, why you’d want to get me into that pub.”

***

This poor woman is going to burst into flames, Jamie thinks, and maybe they’ll both deserve it. She isn’t upset with Dani anymore--has found in the span of about five minutes that there’s no staying upset with Dani when she turns those huge blue eyes on full-force, stands just so, puts on the bravest face Jamie has seen her wear since stalking Peter Quint through the night. She isn’t upset, exactly.

But Dani seems to think this was going to be easy. A cup of coffee. A slick line. She seems to think Jamie was just going to lean into it. 

Which she is. In her own way.

She’s careful not to touch Dani, not to press in with her body to such a degree that Dani will feel trapped. She’s only standing, a tiny width of space between them, her hands loose at her sides. Only standing, polite, smiling, waiting for an answer.

“Bit curious, is all, why you’d want to get me into that pub.”

“I don’t--I think--I mean--” Dani shakes her head slowly, her eyes wide and imploring. “Do you not...want to get a drink...”

“Didn’t say that.” The last five days haven’t been enjoyable. Burning sick days, pretending to be too ill to check in on the house, had felt cowardly. The shame in her stomach, twisting like acid around the hot desire of the memory, had felt familiar in the worst way--like being seventeen again, not knowing where to put all of these too-fierce feelings. Anger would have been easier. Disappointment, shame, embarrassment--each too heavy to put down on its own--had made for the worst kind of cocktail.

This, though. Dani looking at her--not needing to tip her head back, not needing to peer down, simply looking straight ahead and making perfect eye contact--feels good. Feels better than good. Feels like she’d felt in the moments before the flinch, when Dani had grinned into her mouth and pushed hard against her like she’d been waiting for this moment for days. This, Dani drawing deep breaths, clutching her mug, feels liking picking up right where they’d left off. 

Dangerous, she thinks again. Dangerous, to let Dani in this way. Dangerous, to admit how alive she feels, teasing her this way. 

Dangerous, every time Dani’s eyes flick to her lips and back again. 

“You’re really not going to say it,” she says, shaking her head in a parody of disappointment, reaching in gently to pluck the mug from her hands and set it aside. “Poppins. Really. First rule of flirting.”

“What’s that?” There’s a challenge in Dani’s smile, she thinks. A challenge so light and so free--and so intoxicating in its authenticity--she can’t help but laugh. She makes a show of leaning close, watching Dani’s eyes darken, watching Dani’s breath catch.

“Always be ready to commit.”

***

She’s going to kiss me, Dani thinks. Here. Now. Six in the morning, she’s going to do it. 

But, of course, Jamie doesn’t. Jamie, who thought it had been her Dani was trying to get away from the other night. Jamie, who took it so to heart she hadn’t even come back for nearly a week. 

It’s been so strange, going through the motions without Jamie around. Strange and hollow, and Dani knows--the way you know you can’t keep holding your breath much longer--life will never feel quite as vibrant without Jamie in it. 

Didn’t take long at all, she thinks, remembering the shadow of a young man standing before a dying fire. Didn’t take long at all, but I can’t not know that. 

Jamie’s here now, a crooked little half-smile on her lips, her eyes bright, but there’s something she’s still holding back. Something she’s still not absolutely sure Dani won’t let fall, split upon collision with the ground. 

She isn’t going to kiss Dani. She’s just going to stand here, making her crazy, smiling exactly like that. 

“Always be ready to commit.”

And there are other things Dani could do, it’s true--laugh, push at her shoulder, make another horrific stab at imitating her accent. There is plenty Dani could do.

But just now, with Jamie standing this close, with the air crisp and this single room so different than it had felt days ago, she’s not sure she can be blamed for what she settles on.

Not sure anyone could blame her for sliding a hand around Jamie’s middle, pushing off the table, using the momentum to twist until it’s Jamie backed against the table, Jamie looking at her with genuine surprise on her face.

That, Dani thinks with terrified glee. That’s the look I was going for. 

"Consider me committed,” she says, and though Jamie had been careful not to touch her, she finds herself unable to do the same. Her hips press Jamie backward, one hand clenching at the small of Jamie’s back. The other finds Jamie’s sleeve, less for contact, more a desperate bid for balance.

“Touché,” Jamie says in a low voice--not that easy flirtation tone this time, but something less in control. “My, ah. Hands are dirty.”

“Do you want me to come back later?” 

Jamie laughs, leans forward, shakes her head. “Didn’t say that.”

It wasn’t the plan, to kiss her here. She’d meant only to apologize--or, not apologize, but make clear that she was sorry how it had gone, that there are paths she very badly wants this to take that are the right way, the best way, the way it should have been all along. She’d meant only to make that clear, to land her proposal, to make Jamie feel a fraction as giddy as Jamie makes her every damn day.

And yet, with Jamie kissing back, Jamie making a helpless sound of frustration as her hands tip backward to grip the table behind her instead of ruining Dani’s coat, it feels right. It feels like meaning what she’s said. It feels like commitment. 

“For the record,” she adds, pulling away to breathe. Jamie’s knuckles are stark around the table, her elbows bent, her chest heaving. “This is why I’d like to get you into that pub. Or your boring little flat. More of this.”

“Could’ve just said so,” Jamie says, and maybe it’s not swooning, exactly--but the flush in her face is deeply satisfying all the same, particularly when she tips her head back to allow Dani access to her neck. 

“I thought I’d be polite about my desire to get you into bed, thank you.”

“Polite,” Jamie repeats, her voice sharpening when Dani slips a hand into her hair and kisses just above the collar of her jumpsuit. “Right. Completely slipped my mind.”

“I am,” Dani insists, pushing her harder against the table, “very polite.”

She is alive, here in this greenhouse, choosing Jamie. She is alive, and she is free, and she is all but breathless when Jamie--patience giving at last like the final strand of a snapping rope--slips both hands into her coat and clenches her hips. Jamie, who is so alive with her hands at work, and so much more so now, kissing until Dani is sure they’re both going to give up the idea of a date altogether and just settle for that rumpled little couch.

“Okay,” Jamie says at last, tipping her head away. Her hands are under Dani’s sweater, tracing the warm skin of her back, and Dani finds she couldn't care less about the dirt. “Okay. You’ve made your point, Poppins.”

“I have?”

“Mm.” Jamie leans her head down against Dani’s shoulder, exhales almost shakily. “No scary-bug flinch. Very good. Best save the rest for the boring little pub, yeah?”

Dani doesn’t want her to go. Doesn’t want her to pull free, put those hands back to work with plant and seed and root. Jamie is grinning again, brighter than anything Dani has seen in days, and Dani wants to stay within sight of that smile for the rest of her life. 

“You’ve got kids to wake. And I’ve got...um...things.”

“Things,” Dani repeats. Jamie nods. 

“Important things. With...plants...the work.” She reaches vaguely for a trowel, gestures with it like she’s considering bringing it to war. “Look, it’s early, I was not prepared for any of this, Poppins.”

Dani laughs, extricating herself at last and recovering her mug. Leaving is the last thing she’d like just now, but Jamie isn’t wrong--the kids will be up soon, and the day will fall into its usual register. Except, this time, she’ll know Jamie is out here, thinking about boring pubs and boring dates and the least boring kiss of Dani’s life. 

“Would,” she says, pausing at the door to glance back, “you call what you’re feeling now a swoon, by chance?”

Jamie blinks. “I--um.”

“Never mind.” The answer, Dani decides, is almost certainly yes. 

***

Honestly, thinks Jamie, watching her stroll--stroll! as if Dani Clayton strolls anywhere!--out the door, she did every last bit of that on purpose. 

“Swoon,” she mumbles, shaking her head. “Don’t fuckin’ swoon.”

It would, she thinks as she tries in vain to remember where she’d left off, explain the vague sense she might at any moment pass out--but Dani doesn’t need to know that.

If she gets any more brazen, after all, Jamie is going to be in serious fucking trouble.

[imkylotrash]

The Art Of Starting Over (Chapter 4)

Pairing. Saul Silva x reader, Andreas x reader

Summary: When Saul finds out what happened between you and Andreas, he loses it.

Series Masterlist

TW: Violence

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @grey-girl @intoanothermind @anreeixcobra @kingunder221b @lflores2008 @alexiapayne12 @quuenofblacks @quarterback-5 @estelmei @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @artsyle​ @baueoud @glowingatdawn @shadowhuntyi @alice-the-nerd

Saul.

His shirt drops to the floor before you have time to form a coherent thought. That's the moment you feel it. A shadow lurking in your mind pulling the strings of your body.

"Stop," you whisper trying to remember what you came in here for. It's like trying to wipe the foggy mirror but never seeing a clear reflection.

"I came back for you. I need you to choose me." He tries to kiss you again but this time you're fighting off the magic clouding your judgement. You slap Andreas right across the face feeling your cheeks burn from embarrassment.

"I'm not falling for your mind tricks, Rosalind. You'd do best to stay out of my head." Only a moment passes before Luna reveals her and Rosalind standing in the corner. You keep your face neutral but pure rage is coursing through your veins. You refuse to let them have the satisfaction of seeing you distressed.

"This would be much easier if you just let it happen. It's inevitable," Rosalind says with that sickly smile that you're sure will haunt your nightmares. You take a step towards her clenching your fists.

"You don't know me yet but I assure you I'm not one to fall for your mind tricks. You try it again and I won't be as forgiving." This right now has proven to you that you can't play their game. To you, this an act of war and you feel much more comfortable having it all out in the open rather than moving in the shadows.

"Is this you being forgiving?" Luna asks but you're not even going to give her the time of day. She's the queen of Solaria and she dares to choose the wrong side of history. You're not wasting time on her.

"Love, I'm-"

"You do not call me love. Whatever you think we had when you pretended to be Dan is done." You storm out feeling the reality of what just happened hit you. Sobs escape you but you can't fall apart. You rush back to your room allowing yourself to crumble. That's how Saul finds you. You watch his eyes darken as you explain what happened. You never meant to hurt Saul and now you've done the worst possible thing you could do.

"I swear I didn't mean to. Rosalind tried to take over my mind. I'm so sorry," you explain worried how he might react.

"This isn't your fault," he replies kissing your forehead. You're thankful that he doesn't blame you but you still feel guilty. You should've fought harder, you should've never trusted Andreas to play fair.

"I love you. And that's why I need to go do something right now." He gently cups your cheek before heading out the door.

"Saul?" you call but he doesn't turn around. You follow him to the front halls where Andreas is. Saul doesn't waste any time. He grabs Andreas by the arm dragging him outside and you know where this is going.

"You don't ever touch her again," Saul threatens but Andreas has already seen it coming. You can tell by the smirk on his face.

"You don't get to talk to me. In fact, you shouldn't even be breathing after what you did to me. I left you alone as a courtesy to Y/N but that's done now." It's like watching a car crash. You want to look away but you can't take your eyes off it. Your trance is broken when Saul throws the first punch. This will not end well for any of them.

"Stop it!" you demand. Saul looks to you and Andreas' uses that opportunity to land a punch himself. It knocks the air out of Saul but he recovers quickly. Andreas' blocks the next punch but it doesn't stop Saul. You reach out splitting the earth between the two of them in an attempt to tear them apart. Vines build a wall between them.

"We have to go," you say urgently watching the many students standing in the doorway and watching through the windows. You spot Sky in the crowd and the fact that he didn't stop Andreas tells you everything you need to know about his alliances. It's too much to ask a teenage boy to go against his own father.

"Saul, now." You take his hand to make sure he follows you.

"We can't leave the students behind," Saul argues and while you have no intention of letting anyone behind, you need to get Saul away right now. It won't do anyone any good if they beat each other to death.

"We're coming back. I promise."

[donaidk]

Marcus Armstrong - Almost Home I.

In advance: This is getting a Part 2 for sure. I don’t want to leave it here, but at the same time I felt like it would be really long if I left it in one piece. Turns out I have a whole lot of inspiration for Marcus fics right now. 😂 I also wanna let everyone, who’s waiting for their request, know that uni is starting next week for me. It means less free time, but I will make sure to finish every one of them in the next week or so, and then focus on all the series I started. There’s gonna be slower updates to them, but I’ll make sore to have one or two per week at least. Hopefully they won’t try to kill us in the starting weeks and I will finish up the Lando one so I could start posting that every week and just add some parts from the others to the queue 😊

Thank you Anon for requesting this one though, and sorry for the wait. Hope you will enjoy it and as it’s almost the next day here, have a really happy start to your Friday everyone 🧡

Kind of Taglist: @mickschumcher​, @art-gp​

Title Song | Masterlist | Taglist/Queue | Request

With the Australian GP knocking on the door Melbourne filled up with tourists and fans even more than usual. The first time I got to witness it in 2017 was actually scary in a way for someone who didn’t know the city well yet. Getting from one part of the city to another was a hard task already, and all the shouting and crazy fans weren’t of much help when I tried to get some usable info out of them so I could finally get to my destination and get off the streets. It almost held me back from choosing Melbourne’s university, but I had to remind myself that it was just once a year and I shouldn't give up my plans because of it. Melbourne was beautiful and their schools were highly rated, giving me everything for a stable future. Luckily I was never disappointed by my choices as it was easy to get used to the life here and I even found some new friends who helped me every time I felt homesick. It wasn’t the worst usually, as I was truly content with how my life was going, but sometimes it just hit me out of nowhere and in those moments they were always there for me.

It was now the third year when we lived through the race weekend, meaning we finally had a working schedule with which we still followed our usual plans but stayed out of the bigger crowds. Although we were in the middle of the semester we always found time to enjoy the still warm weather and spend most of our free time outside. Usually our choice was the beach for the afternoons as even though it was packed until noon, the tourists never stayed for long. We usually arrived in the late afternoon and stayed well after the sun went down, and the temperature went down a little finally. The water usually stayed comfortable until later in the evening making it bearable for almost a whole 24 hours if you weren’t squeamish. Even if you were after spending a few weeks at the beach, everyone got used to it.

As soon as everyone finished with their lectures we got our things together and took the 5 minutes walk down to the beach. We had a favourite spot which was luckily never taken when we got down there. For a few minutes we just sat down, talking about our weeks. I shared a dorm room with two other girls, but we had a few friends who had their own apartments or lived with their family a bit farther away from our university. We usually had one or two days every week to catch up with them as in between lectures we were either too tired or didn’t have the time to do so. But most of the afternoons were ours fully and we used it the best we could to relax but still use that time to make memories for the few years we’re spending together. We could say it’s gonna stay the same after we graduate but everyone knew we would move to different countries as soon as we weren’t connected to Australia. Even I planned to go home, although I enjoyed living here and getting to be independent without my family behind my back.

“ Are you coming? ” One of the girls asked me, as they were already walking down to the water, while I was still standing around our towels with my phone in my hand. I was in the middle debating which sunset photo I should post from my gallery, but her voice made me look up.

“ Just a second. I’ll catch up. ” I smiled at her before looking back down at my screen. In the end my finger finally tapped the posting button and I pushed it aside while I got the sundress off that was on over my bikini.

Right before I would have ran after the girls, the device was back in my hands so I could check that the picture uploaded without a problem. A smile got on my face when I saw a reaction from one of my family members but as soon as it showed the whole list of the people who looked at my story, it faded away. For the past few months whenever I posted something he was always there in the first few seconds or at least minutes. I couldn’t understand what changed that he showed up in my life again, but I didn't really want to give him space in my thoughts either. It has been almost 4 years since we last talked and could call each other best friends, but I wasn’t about to take the first step and message him after he forgot about me until now. I just dropped my phone back into my bag, closing it and then caught up with my friends so they could make me forget about him again.

We spent quite some time in the water, swimming a few laps back and forth before just standing around and enjoying the last rays of sunshine while we chatted away. My thoughts were already in a different direction thanks to all the different topics that came up between us. Sometimes it was harder to make me forget time and time again, but turns out today I only needed some distraction and everything was set for an enjoyable night. With the sun completely off the sky the temperature dropped quickly and it was getting a bit chilly  for my liking in just a few minutes. When it was truly uncomfortable I gave up and walked back to the shore, sitting down on my own blanket and draping my towel around my shoulders. It immediately brought enough warmth over my body that I stopped shivering and could wait for them until they would get cold too. Until then I just went onto my phone to go through some posts of my friends. Sometimes I looked up to check on them just so they wouldn’t leave me out of something. One of those times I saw a person coming my way and although I didn’t mind too much attention to it, when he continued and there was no one else in my close proximity I felt like he might be coming to me. In the end I was right as he turned right towards me and then stopped just a few steps away from our blankets.

“ Never thought you would exchange our lovely and perfect red stars for ugly white ones. ” He spoke up and I could recognise the voice even though his face was almost unseeable thanks to him standing with his back towards the moon. My jaw dropped immediately and I felt like I grew roots into the ground as I couldn’t move my body. “ If you want me to fuck off, just tell me. It’s okay. I just thought we could maybe talk, and from the pictures I saw that you’re here. Hoped you didn’t go home yet so I could catch you and... ” He started rambling but I was quick to finally push myself up and hug him immediately. I always imagined our reunion with me being angry at him, but somehow I couldn’t get myself to feel that way now that he was standing right in front of me.

“ You idiot. ” I told him not leaving any space for questions and I could feel as he finally relaxed and hugged me back. “ The biggest in the whole world. ” I added with a sigh, closing my eyes as my brain started functioning again and I had an urge to kick his shin at least.

“ I can live with that. ” Marcus let out a laugh and I could feel as my heart jumped a little at the sound. It was something that always reminded me of our home and spending every possible second together. “ I’m sorry for disappearing. ” He let out a sigh, letting go of me only when we realised my wet bathing suit soaked his shirt, although even he didn’t care about it for too long.

“ What are you doing here? I thought F2 wasn't coming here. ” I asked him confused, knowing that we wouldn’t be in this situation if he traveled here for one of the races in the past two years. “ Not like I’m complaining, but I can hardly believe my own eyes and senses. ” I shook my head a little before looking up at him again. He changed, quite a bit since we last met and even though I saw pictures of him it was different in a face-to-face situation.

“ Ferrari invited a few of us so we could gather some experience. The speed I accepted the offer with might have raised some eyebrows. ” Marcus hid his face in his palm, making me chuckle as I could see the situation unfold in front of my eyes like I was there. “ Thought I would DM you and ask if you wanted to meet up maybe. But I realized it would be better offline. ” I had to roll my eyes at his first idea although I knew he wasn’t lying and it for sure went through his brain as a real possibility.

“ You’re lucky you didn’t. I would have blocked you forever I think. My plan was connecting my fist with your face if we ever meet again, right until you showed up here. ” I shook my head with a smile, as I wasn’t proud of what I wanted to do to him. “ I was really angry when you just stopped talking to me. I tried so hard to reach you, but it felt like you didn’t even exist anymore even though they were talking about you almost every week. ” I sighed, sitting back down and leaving enough space for him too.

“ Would have been deserved actually. ” His fingers scratched at the nape of his neck and I could see the tint of purple traveling up his neck. I watched him as he sat down, pulling his legs up and resting his arms onto them. “ I really am sorry. For a part everything got busy with all the training, races and studying, but at the same time I know damn well a message here and there should have been possible. I messed up, everything. ” His eyes shined even in the minimal light of the moon, and I could get myself to look away. Even feeling the burning stares on my back from my friends didn’t get me to turn around.

“ I won’t say that it’s okay, but I accept your apology. How could I not. ” I let out a breath that I realized was still stuck in me since the initial surprise took over my body. “ It feels like we didn’t even skip over like 3 years of each other’s life. Only difference is that you’re finally taller than me, but the baby face’s still there. ” My hand went up to his cheek to pat it gently like my grandma did for him all the time when he came over for lunch. He always hated it but knew that it was a gesture of love from her and a way to show Marcus that she considered him part of our family.

“ Yeah, I guess it’s going to stay forever. ” Marcus huffed, moving his head back a little to avoid my attack, although he failed miserably. “ I almost forgot, congrats for uni. I remember how hard you were studying to get in. Everyone home was ecstatic when I told them about it. ” His hand slapped his forehead, making me laugh with his expression at the slight stinging he caused himself.

“ Thank you, but it’s nothing compared to your second place last year. ” I shrugged a little but as soon as his lips pulled into a slight smirk my eyes rolled on their own. “ Surprise, surprise, I followed your career. Just as much as you followed my life for the past few months. ” I poked him in the ribs with my finger, making him wince for a second before we both started laughing at the little sound he made.

“ Fair. I still hate how Instagram shows who opened your stories. ” He shook his head a little and both of our heads turned towards the water when we realized the background chatting was getting closer and closer to where we were sitting. They were just a few meters away when my eyes landed on their figures and I sensed when Marcus stood up from next to me, making me push myself up too.

I didn’t feel too anxious about him meeting my other friends, although I knew what this meant for my evening at the dorm with them. They would have an immense amount of questions both about him and us, even though I already mentioned him when we were bringing up our past. A few of them even knew about my past feelings about him and how him reappearing on my socials played with my emotions, but they only saw a few photos of him. This was another level and I knew he would be the topic for at least the next week between us, for one reason or another. Depends on how we get on from this point and if we manage to keep in contact when they have to fly away again.

“ Oh, I knew it wasn’t just my imagination. I told you someone was coming here. ” My roommate spoke up as soon as they got close enough to make us out from the darkness. “ You’re Marcus, right? ” She stepped right in front of him, reaching her hand out while introducing herself. I always admired her boldness even in front of strangers.

“ Yes, although I didn’t know so many people knew me from here. ” Marcus let out an uneasy chuckle, looking at me a bit concerned. I just shook my head dismissively, almost telling him that it was just a ‘Girl group’ thing. Relief washed over me though that I didn’t share a lot about him, behind his back.

I watched from the sideline as everyone introduced themselves to him and for a second it felt domestic as all of them shot me a concerned glance towards me. It felt like they would pounce at him if they saw that I was uncomfortable in his presence. While it made me feel loved in a way, I also didn’t want them to really chip on the situation. It was something that better dealt with in private as I felt like we had to talk lots of things through to get back to the friendship we left behind years ago. This wasn’t the setting for a conversation like that.

“ We should probably get home before it gets really late. School won’t wait in the morning. ” I spoke up before any of them could start questioning him. We would never be able to get going then. “ Maybe we can catch up sometime before the race? I’m sure you will have enough to do during the weekend. ” I turned back towards Marcus who looked just as relieved as I did seconds ago.

“ Yeah, that would be better. Maybe lunch, or a coffee in the afternoon? Whenever you’re free of course. ” He nodded a little, still glancing at the girls who were either packing up or staring him down behind me.

“ I’m up for either of those. Surprise me. ” I grinned at him, feeling the pull on my arm when everyone was ready. “ Is your number the same? ” I asked him, already taking a step back, but waiting for his answers.

“ Yes. Never changed. ” Marcus nodded again, a little smile playing on his lips at the idea that we’re going to meet up again probably. At least I hoped so. Why else would he stalk me down and come up to me for a chat?

“ I’m gonna text you in the morning when’s my last lecture. We can meet up after that. ” I told them, before turning around with one last wave and catching up to my group. I could only hope that they would at least let me sleep before the questions start pouring out of them all at once.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Writing Tag Game

Thank you so much for the tag @noire-pandora! <3

Time to show people just how much of a baby I am in the fanfic world~! >:3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

A total of ten! Mainly because I lump drabbles together for easy access!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

....273502 words so far. :3 I like words. Words are good. Words are friends. 

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Emerald Eyes Amidst Golden Vows (the very first rendition!) - 48 kudos

Emerald Eyes Amidst Golden Vows - Bound Brighter - 24 kudos

A Dragon’s Hope - 15 kudos

Dragon Drabbles - 13 kudos

Poetry of Wolves - 11 kudos

(Honestly, the progression of style change in each of these fics is terrifying to me. I look back on the last one, and I’m like, ‘Oh my god.’ X’D) 

4. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do, on occasion, respond! Though I may use a lot of words while writing, when it comes to communication? I suck. XD But, I do get extremely, extremely excited whenever I see a comment in my inbox, and I do go back and re-read them when I’m feeling down about my writing! I usually respond when a person asks questions, but I try to read them as rhetoric since I don’t want to spoil too much! X3 So, to everyone who has left me comments on my fics: THANK YOU. I do really appreciate and adore them. :3

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Many of my short fics (those ranging from one to two chapters) all end relatively happy. I like angst, but I also enjoy making characters that are usually somber and stressed a little lighter. :3 If we want to get technical, then the first several chapters of my main fic all have rather angsty endings because the beginning of Fane’s journey is...heh. It’s not easy, and it’s not supposed to be. 

Although, now that I look, a very old fic of mine called ‘A Dragon’s Guilt’ has a rather angsty ending. Basically, Solas’ frescoes in the rotunda send Fane into a momentary spiral, and it was me playing with Adamant possibilities before he was ‘set in stone’. Panic attacks and mixed memories galore! :D

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

*rifes through my fics* Uhhhh... All of them? :3 Okay, okay! No, if I had to choose it would have to be...one of the short stories in ‘Dragon Drabbles’. It’s a four part story (and my first hand at smut >:3) that’s titled ‘Existence is Not a Sin’. It starts off angsty, but by the end it’s so sweet, so sickeningly sweet that I’m like, “...How did I write this?” X’D ...I’m actually thinking of re-writing a lot of my previous fics just to see if I’ve improved with writing! :D

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I do not write crossovers, but I’m open to the idea! Sadly, my brain hyperfixates on one thing at time, so my imagination is limited. X’D

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I haven’t, and I’m very grateful that I haven’t. To be honest, when I started writing and posting, I expected to get hate (prepare for the worst, you know?) because I was doing something that wasn’t really the ‘norm’ for a lot of people. After all, people are entitled to their own interpretations and mine some times don’t link up with someone else’s. I understand that, and I respect that, but some people...don’t offer the same courtesy. All I’ll say is, if you don’t enjoy my content, don’t read it. We’re all adults, so shrug your shoulders, say, “Not for me”, and move on. Just know that if you do leave a hate comment, you will receive no reply, no fuel. So, don’t waste your time and don’t waste mine. Simple as that. I’m here to share and make people smile, not argue. :3

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I have. Once, and I for the life of me can’t figure out how to do it again. X’D I’m very into soft intimacy; gestures and actions that speak a thousand words. Close positions (missionary, straddling, etc.) and a lot of eye contact with some healthy crying in the mix. *winks* I’m kind of inching towards a theme of ‘body worship’ when it comes to Fane and Solas because those two.. *sighs* They really need to shown that they are beautiful people; inside and out.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I have not. Thank God. XD All I’ll say is this though, you steal my fic, my son and claim them as your own? *gets close to the screen* I will track you down and demand a talk. Don’t steal other’s hard work. Don’t. Writing is not easy, and it takes weeks, months, years for authors to pump out their inspiration, so don’t steal that labor just because you want to say you could. Same goes for drawings and pieces of art. Don’t.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I haven’t! English is my first language, but I understand some French! :D 

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I haven’t, but the idea is intriguing to me sometimes! I’m just a tad unreliable due to how my mood ebbs and flows. I have very long dry spells. X’D

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Solavellan! >:D While I write solely M!Lavellan/Solas, I do support all genders and orientations for the ship! Because I didn’t get into the ship because of what I saw, it’s what it meant to me. 

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

*side eyes my main fic* LISTEN. It’s coming! I swear. I’m just having intense writer’s block with my main fic, and I’m not sure why. That’s why I’ve been messing with prompts and drabbles. X’D There’s also my modernAU, too.. *sweats* TIIIIIME! WHERE ARE YOU?!

What are your writing strengths?

Describing emotions. I like emotions. Emotions are nice. :3

What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. Mainly because Fane...doesn’t speak much at the beginning of his journey. He’s very curt, short, so I have hard time incorporating other’s reactions to him. I’m getting better though, I think! :D

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’m for it! Sometimes that little splash of altering dialect can draw someone in and establish a connection! Language connects us, and it’s never too late to try and learn so as to reach out to another! :D

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Dragon Age, my beloved~ 

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

A short story of mine called ‘Blood in the Snow’. It was one of my very first fics and it was the first time I was like, ‘This Lavellan is my muse. I can do so much with him.’ It was just so fun to write a vulnerable moment for Fane, but still keep him locked up. ...It was also where I went, ‘Oh. This is Solavellan Hell. I wasn’t meant to go there, but I DID.’ X’D

Tagging: @oxygenforthewicked @little-lightning-lavellan @dreadfutures @the-dreadful-canine @rosella-writes @aymayzing @drag-on-age @varric-tethras-editor and anyone else that’d like to play! (no pressure, of course! <3)

[mjsakurea]

If Words Could Heal Scars (Fic)

"I'm sorry and thank you"

Wei Wuxian allows those words to convey every unsaid emotion, every word he cannot say. He has learned these phrases are the most important words one can say in one's life. He would utter them like a prayer for the rest of his life and it would still not be enough to make up for the pain Lan Zhan has endured on his behalf, but he can start with saying them thirty-three times.

Dedicated to @zelkam

Based on their absolutely amazing and heartbreaking art that just left me so inspired to write a fic. It broke me out of year’s worth of writer’s block so thank you so much for making it! I hope this fic can capture the same feelings the art induced. 

Read on AO3 or continue reading below

Wei Wuxian knelt in front of his makeshift lotus pond. He had just finished hauling buckets of water to fill it. It would be time to plant the seeds soon. The weather was growing steadily colder by the day which meant he had to work tirelessly to get them planted before it was too late in the season. As he looked at his pond—less a pond and more a mud puddle—he sighed. It would be a miracle if any of the seeds sprouted, but, attempting the impossible was what his—well, his former clan was known for. If he thought too long about his brief visit with his adopted siblings, he knew he would start to get homesick for Lotus Pier. He knew he would most likely never return there and see the endless lakes filled with lotus blossoms ever again. Best to get to work and not dwell on the fact, Wei Wuxian thought.

“Wen Ning,” he shouted, “hand me that trowel.”

Wen Ning’s head perked up from where he was helping bag fresh turnips. “Yes, Young Master Wei!” He snatched the hand trowel and jogged over to the lotus pond. As he was about to hand it over to Wei Wuxian, his foot caught on an exposed root and he fumbled with the trowel. It slipped from his hands as he attempted to regain his footing. It missed Wei Wuxian and landed in the mud pit with a spalt, slashing some mud up on Wei Wuxian’s face and robes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Wei Wuxian heard Wen Ning repeatedly mumbling as he flicked the mud off his face. He reached into the shallow pool and delicately lifted the drenched trowel between his thumb and middle finger.

“Wen Ning,” Wei Ying said to interrupt the still muttering man, “it’s alright, no need to be sorry.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Wen Ning said looking down at his feet.

“Now what are you sorry about? Stop saying sorry so much, there’s really no need.”

“Sister says, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thank you’ are the two most important phrases you can say,” Wen Ning admitted.

Wei Wuxian smiled softly. “Well, your sister is very wise, but don’t tell her I said that,” he said.

“Tell me you said what?” Wen Qing said, appearing out of nowhere to catch Wei Wuxian at the worst possible moment as she does best.

Wen Ning greeted his sister excitedly while Wei Ying tried to escape admitting he ever paid Wen Qing a compliment, trowel incident and apologies forgotten.

He takes it back now, Wen Qing was not wise, she was an idiot, an absolute fool. Wei Wuxian writhed on the stone slab which served as his bed in Demon Subdue Palace. He fought desperately against the toxin flowing into his body through Wen Qing’s needle, keeping his body stiff and limbs immovable. Wei Ying screamed at Wen Qing and Wen Ning as the siblings revealed their plan to him. They were going to turn themselves in. They would be executed without a doubt. They knew this, they must have, so why, why would they want to face certain death and leave him all alone.

His screams slowly turned into sobs. Wei Wuxian begged them not to go. He should be the one to go instead. He continued pleading as Wen Qing knelt next to him and flicked a sleeping spell on his forehead. His eyelids suddenly felt heavy. He forced them to stay open with fading strength.

“No, Wen Qing,” he said weakly.

“I didn’t tell you many times, but today, something needs to be said,” Wen Qing began. Wei Ying shook his head, pleading with his eyes. “Or from now on, I won’t have a chance.”

“No,” he said, feeling his eyelids droop closed against his will. He could no longer fight the spell pulling him to sleep. Her final words drifted to him as though from afar.

“I’m sorry, and thank you.”

  Wei Wuxian leaned up against a tree to catch his breath after running into the forest with Jin Ling. His eyes flickered across the surrounding terrain. Despite Jin Ling telling him Fairy would not trouble him, he still had his doubts. After all, dogs could not be trusted, even this so-called wonder dog. He had a feeling Jiang Cheng bought the dog for Jin Ling just to spite Wei Wuxian. After his run-in with Jiang Cheng earlier, it was clear his hatred had not abated in these 16 years Wei Ying had been dead. Jin Ling confirmed that as he told Wei Wuxian of the numerous times his uncle had caught those under suspicion of being the reincarnated Yiling Patriarch.  Luckily, Jin Ling’s skepticism saved him from Jiang Cheng’s wrath for now.

“I tell you, you have saved me indeed, but I won’t thank you,” Jin Ling shouts at him. Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes. It was his fault this kid grew up without learning any manners, he supposed. If he must, he would try and teach him some himself.

“Young man, in a person’s life, he must learn to say two phrases,” Wei Ying began, stepping in front of his nephew.

“Which two?”

“Thank you and sorry.”

Jin Ling scoffed at him. “I just don’t want to, what can you do with that?”

“You will say it while crying someday.” Trust me, I know from experience, left unsaid. Wei Wuxian paused, taking a deep breath. “Jin Ling, I’m sorry.”

  Wei Wuxian struggled with his words. His heart was full with all he wanted to say to Lan Zhan. After his enlightening conversation with Zewu Jun, he regarded Lan Wangji with a different light. He had resented Lan Zhan’s constant criticism back then, back in his first life. But now, he knew Lan Zhan’s actions were out of love. Even now, every little thing—bringing him Emperor’s Smile, playing this soft, familiar melody on the guqin—was done with love. Lan Zhan loved him. Wei Wuxian chuckled at the revelation, gazing absentmindedly out at the glittering snow falling on Cloud Recesses. That realization should have shocked him, he thought, but if anything, it calmed his racing mind. He realized with perfect clarity, as well, that he loved Lan Zhan. Wei Ying did not know what words could possibly begin to convey all his love, his adoration, his regret, and his sorrow. However, he took a swig of Emperor’s Smile and made an attempt.

“Lan Zhan, I’m sorry, and thank you,” he whispered from where he leaned on the doorframe of the Jingshi.

Lan Zhan glanced up at him briefly with the barest hint of a smile before returning his eyes to his instrument. No, that would not do, Wei Wuxian thought. He took a step inside the room and turned to pull the doors to the Jingshi shut, barring out the cold winter air. Swiveling back to face Lan Wangji, he took a few steps forward while reaching behind to tug off his belt. Wei Wuxian knelt next to the low table, set down his jug of Emperor’s Smile, and shrugged his outer robe off his shoulders. Lan Zhan regarded him quizzically.

Wei Ying stepped over to the other side of the table. He knelt once again and gripped Lan Zhan’s shoulders, guiding him to stand. He slid his hands down the other man’s arms before clutching at his wrist with one hand. Gently, he pulled Lan Wangji towards the bed. Wei Wuxian sat down whilst pulling Lan Zhan down to sit in front of him. Reaching up to the back of his neck, Wei Ying delicately swept Lan Zhan’s silky hair to the side so that it draped in front of his chest. He smoothed his hands over Lan Wangji’s broad shoulders before softly gripping the top of his robes.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan questioned.

“Is this okay?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said with a slight nod, still seeming confused, but willing to go along with it.

Wei Wuxian nodded back even though he knew Lan Zhan was facing the wrong way to see him. Gripping the top of his robes, Wei Ying gently pulled them down, exposing Lan Zhan’s back. Wei Wuxian gasped as the scarred skin was exposed. He had seen Lan Zhan’s back from a distance in the Cold Springs but seeing it up close—even in the dim light of the Jingshi—was heartbreaking, especially now he knew the origin of these thirty-three whip scars. Each of these scars represented someone Lan Zhan protected Wei Ying from. Thirty-three people from his own clan, his own family who he fought to save him. Wei Wuxian idly traced the outline of a few of them with his fingers. Tears welled up in his eyes. Lan Wangji dropped his head down.

“Your brother told me what happened,” Wei Wuxian admitted. “Lan Zhan, I—”

“Wei Ying, it is—”

“No,” Wei Ying interrupted. He could guess Lan Zhan’s intention to say it was okay or it was fine. “Just—just let me—.” Wei Wuxian was not entirely sure what he was asking Lan Zhan to let him do, but Lan Zhan nodded his head anyway, glancing at Wei Ying over his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian lowered his head to rest his cheek against Lan Zhan’s back. He felt Lan Zhan flinch under him as he felt a cold tear slip down Wei Wuxian’s face and onto his exposed back. Then, he froze as Wei Ying turned his head and pressed a faint kiss to one of the scars.

“I’m sorry and thank you.”

Another kiss.

“I’m sorry and thank you.”

Another kiss.

The routine continued for each individual scar. Wei Wuxian pressed his lips to the raised skin and whispered his endless sorrow and gratitude. With every utterance, he conveyed unspoken words from his heart. He spoke with unbridled reverence and worshipped every scar with each kiss.

I’m sorry you were hurt because of me.

I’m sorry I left you behind.

I’m sorry I took so long to come back to you.

Thank you for waiting.

Thank you for protecting me.

Thank you for loving me.

Wei Wuxian could think of a unique reason behind every single apology and thanks. He owed Lan Zhan everything. Thirty-three sorry’s and thank you’s could barely scratch the surface. He could scream it from the clifftops for the rest of his life and it still would not be enough.

After the last scar, Wei Wuxian lifted his head up while letting his hand linger against Lan Zhan’s back, rubbing in lazy circles. He stared, but his eyes were unfocused.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, sensing his troubled mind.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said. He paused before continuing, “You could have died.”

“I did not,” Lan Zhan stated.

“But you could have! Lan Zhan, I’m not going to ask you if these hurt because I know you’d lie to me, I know they must have hurt. You were in so much pain. All this for me, and you might not have even made it out alive. I’m not worth it, Lan Zhan. What if you died. It would have been my fault—”

“If I died, it would have been fine.”

“Lan Zhan—”

Lan Wangji twisted around to fully face Wei Wuxian. “It would have been fine because I would have been reunited with you, Wei Ying,” he said, staring directly into the other’s tear-filled eyes.

Wei Ying laughed softly and swiped a tear from his eye. “Lan Zhan, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Wei Ying, I—”

Wei Wuxian put a finger up to Lan Zhan’s lips before he could continue. “I know,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I love you too, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s face shifted in a genuine smile, one that to anyone other than Wei Wuxian might not have even been noticed as a smile, but Wei Wuxian saw it for what it really was, a smile brighter than the sun. “Then,” Lan Zhan began, “you should know that there is no need for apologies or thanks between us.”

Wei Wuxian sighed. “I know, I know, just let me get it out of my system.” He reached up to delicately hold Lan Wangji’s face between his palms.

“I’m sorry and thank you,” he said for the last time before he closed the distance between them and kissed Lan Zhan. He worshipped his lips as he worshipped his scars, kissing Lan Zhan tenderly. Lan Zhan kissed him back just as passionately, yet not rushed. Sorry’s and thank you’s behind them, they had all the time in the world to prove to each other that those words were no longer necessary between them.  Even so, Wei Wuxian would know the importance of those two phrases for as long as he lived.