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cleanlenins · 3 years ago

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Ectober Day 5: Ouija

Words Spoken at the Witching Hour

Chapter 1

AO3

Warnings: None

“Jack, please don’t get your hopes up. We disproved this in college,” Maddie sighed, flopping into her chair at the kitchen table. She had just checked to make sure that both of the kids were snug in their beds. Danny had gotten into a concerning habit of sneaking out at night. Jack fiddled with the candles on the table, lighting them one by one.

“I know. But now with the portal open, maybe it will actually have a chance of working,” Jack set the planchet in the middle of the board, before turning out the light.

“Ouija boards don’t work, Jack,” Maddie huffed as the light clicked off. The light from the candles was the only illumination. She could just barely make out the thick salt circle around the ouija board, and blinked to try and adjust to the low lighting as well as stay awake. It was well after three am.

“Yes, but communicating with ghosts is a common practice across many cultures. It was all in my great-great-great-great-um-some-amount-of-great grandfather’s book,” Jack said. “Think of it as an archaic version of the ghost gabber.”

“The ghost gabber didn’t work, sweetie,” Maddie said.

“Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Jack grinned at his wife. He thumbed an ectoblaster on the table. Maddie smiled at her husband fondly.

“So, who did you want to try to talk to?”

“The ghost boy, of course!” Jack boomed. “If we can somehow trap him here, it will be so much easier to drag him into the lab.”

Maddie nodded along to that thought. She didn’t believe this would work, but it would make Jack happy to try. Almost all of the things written in the Nightingale journal were nonsense in her opinion. Why would ghosts be afraid of random flowers? The man also went on about witchcraft, which was complete foolishness. Magic didn’t exist. Everything ghostly could be explained with scientific fact.

Even so, she had humored Jack into doing her best on this. She had found an older talking board, one before the commercialization of the late 1800s. One that, honestly, deserved to be in a museum. As she had researched this board in particular, she couldn’t even pin down what kind of wood it was made with. Technically, it wasn’t a Ouija board. It didn’t have the same layout as the popularized version. Instead of using English letters, it used Ogham. It was an ancient way of writing Irish script she had studied back in high school when she was learning more about her family history.

The elderly lady she had bought this from had given her a long spiel about how the board works, what to do to protect yourself from spirits. A lot of it was superstitious nonsense, but Maddie had written it all down anyway. Hopefully, if they followed it to the letter Jack would concede defeat when it didn’t work.

“You ready, Mads?” Jack asked, pulling off his glove. Maddie sighed and followed suit.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Maddie pulled out a sterilized needle. She pressed it into her finger tip and squeezed a few drops into a divot on the board. Jack followed suit, grinning wide. The two of them reached for the planchet, a worn old stone piece that was so dark it seemed to absorb the light of the candles. They each placed only the bloody finger on it, lightly so as not to push it by mistake.

“We invite the spirits of the other side to speak with us today,” Maddie said, trying not to roll her eyes. The candles flickered dramatically. “We wish to speak with the ghost of Phantom. Phantom, will you speak with us today?”

The two of them sat in the dark waiting. The candles continued to flicker, but the planchet on the board did not move.

“Ask it again, Mads,” Jack prompted. Maddie complied.

“Phantom, we would like to speak with you. You can move the planchet to tell us anything you have to say,” Maddie said again. She waited a moment more before huffing. “Jack, I told you-”

The candles all went out. The two of them sat in pitch darkness for a breath before the candles reignited. They glowed with a fell light. Maddie couldn’t describe the color. It was impossible to look at, but left her with the impression of a corona from a solar eclipse. She couldn’t bear to look at it.

“Maddie, it’s working,” Jack whispered, a childlike grin on his face. Maddie swallowed convulsively.

“Phantom? Is this you?” Maddie asked, listening in the room for the characteristic childlike voice of the Amity Park scourge. Instead she felt the little planchet under her finger move, her eyes snapping to the board. It rolled over different symbols before stopping.

“What does it mean, Maddie?”

Maddie tried to parse it out. Ogham wasn’t made for English, but this was only one word and she translated for Jack.

Yes

“Phantom, where are you right now? We can’t see you,” Maddie gulped as she watched the spirit board.

Sleeping .

“Sleeping? How could you be sleeping? You are talking to us,” Maddie scoffed. Of course, the ghost was probably lying. Why would ghost’s sleep?

Dreaming

“So what? This is the equivalent of sleep-talking?” Maddie was getting irritated.

I don’t know

“You don’t know,” Maddie deadpanned. “How could you not know?”

I have never done this before.

“Ask him about why he is in Amity,” Jack prodded. Maddie nodded.

“Why are you in Amity Park, Phantom?”

Amity Park is my home

“You are dead, Phantom. The Ghost Zone is your home, not Amity Park,” Maddie said. She watched the little stone cursor flit around the board.

Amity Park is my home

“We’re not going to get anywhere with that,” Maddie grumbled. She tried to remember some of the questions Jack had wanted to ask.

“How did you die, Phantom?” Maddie asked. The planchet seemed to hesitate, before it slowly spelled out the words.

An accident

“What kind of accident?” Maddie urged. The planchet did not move. She waited a full minute before asking again. “Phantom, what kind of accident killed you?”

I don’t want to talk about this

“Phantom, answer the question. How did you die?” Maddie pressed.

It will hurt

“You’re a ghost, Phantom. You can’t feel pain.”

Wrong. But that is not what I meant.

“What did you mean, then?”

It will hurt you

Maddie blinked and looked over at Jack. Her husband had his brow furrowed as he met her stare.

“How could it possibly hurt us?” Maddie’s voice trembled.

You will blame yourself

“Why would we blame ourselves?”

Because it was your invention

Maddie stopped breathing. She felt a twinge of fear before it was overshadowed by anger.

“Our inventions don’t hurt humans,” Maddie spat.

They hurt Vlad. They hurt me.

Maddie felt like she was punched in the gut. How did Phantom know about Vlad? It’s true that Vlad had been injured in college. And it had been one of their inventions. Was it possible? Could they have inadvertently caused someone’s death?

“Ghosts lie, Mads. No one besides our family had even been around our inventions before the ghosts showed up. And Phantom was one of the first,” Jack said. Maddie took a deep breath.

“We won’t fall for your lies, Phantom,” Maddie said. “We are not to blame for your death.”

I know. It was my fault.

“So stop evading the question, Phantom. How did you die?” Maddie asked more forcefully. Once more the planchet paused, before it slowly started to move.

The Portal

“What do you mean?” Maddie pressed.

I was inside. When it turned on.

Maddie scoffed at the obvious lie as she translated it to Jack. But the planchet kept moving.

I just wanted to look inside. I tripped over a wire. I hit the button on the inside. The portal turned on. And I died.

“There is no button on the inside of the Portal, Phantom,” Maddie looked up to share a look of irritation with Jack. However, the man was pale as a sheet. “Jack?”

“I-Maddie. There is a button on the inside of the Portal,” Jack’s voice trembled.

“What?” Maddie gaped at her husband. The man swallowed.

“I put it in at the last minute. I thought it would be useful to have a failsafe if one of the kids-” Jack suddenly froze, a horrible expression on his face. “Maddie. Ask Phantom where he is sleeping at. Right now.”

“Phantom, if you are asleep right now, where are you?” Maddie’s voice shook.

In my room

“Where is your room?”

Upstairs

“Phantom...Are you Danny? Are you our son?” Maddie whimpered. The planchet moved once more.

Yes

The two parents sat in horror, staring at where the planchet rested.

Maddie grabbed her gun and blasted the board to ash.

#Ectober Month 2021 #Ectoberhaunt 2021 #Ectoberhaunt trick #Danny Phantom #My writing #Cartoons #identity reveal

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

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Dreams, Chapter 16

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 16

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1754

Summary: Some of Sam’s efforts to ‘nest’ in their new life together reveal new possibilities.

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, swearing, s l o w b u r n

Water laps at the weather-beaten wood of the dock underneath you slowly and the rhythm feels like hypnosis with the sun beating down a blanket. You sense Dean at your side without opening your eyes.

“So…was he any good?”

You can’t help but laugh, hearing the echo go out over the small lake, and get up to your elbows. It’s bright enough that you have to squint over at Dean where he lays next to a couple fishing poles and a cooler, t shirt hitched up to show a sliver of his stomach with his arms behind his head. His smile is devilish, made even more smug with eyes closed against the sun so his lashes cast an inch-long shadow on the dusting of freckles across his cheeks. “You can’t ask that!” you giggle.

His lips flatten into a knowing line. “So that’s a no?”

“Jesus Christ, of course it’s not a n—you know what, I’m not talking to you about this,” you smile, laying back down.

“Ooh, so it’s a yes,” he teases as he turns on his side to face you. “Go Sammy. That mean you two are, like, going steady now?”

You let your head loll over to him and roll your eyes. “Are you done?”

“Not yet. Is he going to let you wear his letterman jacket? Take you to junior prom?”

“I’m giving you ten more seconds.”

Dean laughs, free and easy. “Fine, okay, I’m done. Wait—did he wrap it?”

“DEAN!” you yell, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Okay, alright, okay.�� He’s still chuckling when you open your eyes to look over at him and reaches over to slip a piece of hair behind your ear. “You, ah, you seem happy.”

You search his eyes for any hidden anger and find only the softness of calm affection with a pinch of solemnity. Where his hand lingers in your hair you turn into it, pressing your lips to Dean’s palm. “I am.”

Dean smiles, straight teeth a perfect row of pearls so white you think for a second they might ‘ding’ with sparkle like a cartoon, and he looks relaxed enough as he puts his hands back behind his head that it calls up images of a kitten falling asleep in a sunny spot like this even as he keeps his eyes on you. “Took you guys long enough.”

“And you’re still okay with this?”

“Yeah, hell yeah. That’s the best I could ever ask for, you two happy. So, what do you say? Want to see if we can catch some fish?”

Spring was a blessing; clean greenness breaking through the grey and white purifying the air and breathing new life into you, Sam, and the community you’d come to be a part of. The cabin was that much nicer with the new hours of sunlight pouring through the windows and all the upgrades you had put into it, to the point that you began to feel truly comfortable there. You even invited the Kaisers over for dinner a few times, feeling more like equal partners in your burgeoning friendship with them.

You started to feel stable enough to get things; picked up a bookshelf at the combination flea/farmer’s market that happened in the K-12 school’s field every Saturday morning and got higher quality spatulas to cook with, the kinds of nonessential stuff you never would’ve bought before knowing you were going to stay in one place long enough to get good use out of them. Sam, in turn, kept building: changing the locks to sturdier ones and erecting a shed big enough to hold a lawn mower.

You’d been cooking on an early Sunday afternoon when Sam came home and crossed the cabin in a few strides, giving you a kiss on the cheek before setting a thick paper bag down on the kitchen counter. “Smells great, what’re you making?”

“Ratatouille!” you buzzed, placing a slice of eggplant carefully into its slot. “I’ve never had it, but I’ve always thought it looks so pretty. Hopefully it’s good. Where were you?”

“Hardware store. I thought maybe I could build a greenhouse; see if we could grow anything. Might be enough to work against the cold.”

You raised your eyebrows in appreciative surprise. “Look at you! What’re you thinking? Poppies? Platinum OG? Purple Haze?”

Setting a box of screws down, Sam rolled his eyes through a smile. “My plan was more along the lines of tomatoes or something, but I’ll, uh, take those suggestions under advisement.” You had a sudden urge to twist a gentle finger into the dimple that stayed on his cheek as he unloaded the rest of his supplies but didn’t want to embarrass him, instead sweeping some garlic skins into your hand to throw into the small bucket Sam kept under the sink to collect scraps for the compost pile. When the bag was empty he refolded it and took off his jacket, passing by you to put it on its hook by the door. “Want any help?” he asked, sounding about as breezy as you’d ever heard him.

“It just has to bake for about an hour. Does a late lunch work with your construction schedule?”

Sam leaned over to slip a hand around your waist and kissed the top of your head before grabbing an armful of stuff to take outside. “Definitely. Just yell when you’re ready for me.”

You giggled and waggled your eyebrows suggestively. “I’m always ready for you.”

He tried his best not to blush but bit his lip in spite of himself, looking up at you with a bashful twinkle in his eye. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

In response you held up a spare slice of zucchini that Sam readily accepted, opening his mouth like an obedient puppy and chewing as he went out the back door.

You loved watching Sam work on his greenhouse in the weeks that followed, getting so excited about the tiny shoots sprouting up from the soil that he sometimes woke up early to check on them before starting his day. After a few weeks he woke you up one morning with a cup of coffee, bare-chested under slightly sleep-tangled hair and the hems of his flannel pants sloppily half inside his boots. “I wanna show you something,” he said, throat still gravelly. You accepted the mug and got out of bed, following him drowsily and jamming your feet inside your shoes at the door, too tired to worry about the laces.

He led you into the greenhouse with its clear plastic walls and pointed down at a petite bud on top of a green stalk. It had the telltale waviness of a basil leaf, and when you bent down to look closer at it the plant already smelled herbaceous. “It’s so cute!” you hummed. Sam practically glowed with satisfaction, an unbridled smile the perfect accessory to the broad span of his chest where it was backlit by the fuzzy light through the greenhouse walls. You straightened and rubbed his back in congratulations, staring down at the plant together with your coffees like parents on Christmas morning. Tucked in the corner of the greenhouse behind the basil, a scattering of bitty white flowers caught your eye against the burnt umber soil.

“Wait, you already have stuff flowering in here? What’s that?” you asked, tiptoeing around the wooden stakes in the soil to get closer.

“Oh—I, uh—” he stammered behind you.

At arm’s length the flowers looked vaguely familiar and you stopped short. “Is that—?” You turned back to Sam, who seemed not to be able to come up with anything to say, his face the kind of blank surprise that indicated he didn’t know whether you were about to be upset. “Really? Where’d you even…how did you get some?”

He tucked his hair behind his ears to stall for even a half second. “I—well, I found a guy who got me—got us—some.”

“You still have an African dream root hookup?”

Sam’s lips pressed into a well-practiced silent ‘I guess?’ and he reached back to ruffle the hair at the nape of his neck, the movement stretching his side distractingly enough that if you hadn’t been so startled by the discovery of a plot of dream root literally in your own backyard you might’ve forgotten what you were talking about altogether.

You raised your eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to explain.

“I made some calls, found someone in Milwaukee who got his hands on some and he mailed it here. I didn’t want to, uh, tell you in case I couldn’t get it to grow.”

All kinds of possibilities and frustrations raced through your head. “So you’ve had this for weeks? That’s why you built the greenhouse?” Sam didn’t answer fast enough. “Never mind, I don’t care,” you found yourself saying, and surprisingly, actually meaning. You took a deep breath to stop the words from jumbling together. “Do you think it’ll work?” you breathed, knowing he would understand the real question: would we be able to see Dean together?

“Only one way to find out.”

For whatever reason you’d gotten freshly showered, made up, and dressed before brewing the tea with Sam on your next day off of work. It felt like there should be some level of pomp and circumstance about it, this giant undertaking that might be able to change your whole life again, even knowing that your prep wouldn’t translate into a dream. You were giddy with anxiety and almost wished you could reasonably put it off, the idea of this new possibility being yet another dead end making you nauseous.

“Your place or mine?” you asked, trying to put a little sheen of humor on your nerves.

Sam chuckled but you could tell he was nervous too, rubbing his palms dry on the knees of his jeans over and over again. “You haven’t done it before, right?”

You shook your head. “Is there a learning curve or something?”

“Honestly it’s been long enough that I don’t really remember. Hold on—hold still.” He reached out and very gingerly swept a finger across your cheekbone, drawing back to show you an eyelash stuck to the whorl of its pad.

You straightened where you sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s as good a sign as any. Cheers, I guess.” Sam dropped the tiny hair into his mug and touched the ceramic to yours, his eyes hopeful and reassuring as you took tandem sips.

And then you were off.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 17

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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yichens · 4 years ago

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pingxie thoughts (and prayers) bonus 2/2

continuation for this post where i try to make sense of all the visuals offered to us in the amazing bazaar photoshoot. had to divide the bonus part of this series into two bc of the amount of photos and my own tendency to write novels (even while excluding the video clips). hopefully these can offer you all at least something (more than just an eyeroll at my pretentious poetry).

side note: the photos from the digital magazine (the ones without a watermark) belong to @/thosch3i who i very much want to thank you for all the updates and translations ♥

The Bazaar Photoshoot – Future Dream

As stated in the first part of this “analysis”, the theme of this photoshoot was the Pingxie ten years reunion. I already managed to get through the “ideal reality” photos, so now it’s time to delve into the “future dream” in the remaining ones. These seem to offer a deeper look into Pingxie’s actual relationship during the reunion and how their past and future meet in that moment.

(placing under cut bc this gets long with all the photos!)

These photos really challenged me to think outside the box. Bc the obvious answer would’ve just been me screaming “Pingxie married!” on top of my lungs but that’s not really something I’m aiming at quite yet. So I decided to call this pile of photos “the (future) dream” instead, which I think suits it quite well. Just let me try to explain why.

Beginning with these two teaser photos where we first see their matching rings and then their matching necklaces. A lot of eternal promises and unbreakable bonds and soulmate symbolism here (my left brain: but Pingxie married!!! me: shush, not now). I feel like these photos in general show many of those themes, try to catch their bond and the deepest essence of their relationship. This is some type of core, them in their purest form, far outside of actual reality now.

The black and white colors make these photos feel even more like they’re part of a dream or a fantasy or a memory almost. Maybe it is about the things they now have and the things they have lost. Maybe it’s black and white bc things have changed but they still want the same things; they still have their bond and things still make sense. (Maybe I sob about this bc I’m just so weak and Pingxie soulmates, it’s confirmed now!)

Also gotta mention here – bc I will allow myself this one moment of gushing – that Pingxie in black and white, ZSX and XYL in these suits (both suits), is sinful. Absolutely sinful. But also stunning. And so soft. And well, what else could be more symbolic than making Wu Xie wear white and Xiaoge wear black? Tho I think that together, they have always been turning a bit gray. (And how many times did I read that as “gay”? Which,,, still true but. Not the point here.)

At this point am also fighting against my urge to talk about the video clip that dropped with the weibo update on the 1st of March and all the hand action we got in that. Bc I just loved how they played with each other’s hands and the snow and kept looking at their hands together in that clip. It felt like an inaudible love confession. And maybe these photos are just that; a voiceless, wordless way to say “I love you”. Neither of them is good with words anyway and the love is so loud am going deaf. I hope they’re happy.

But if we forget that video, I want to pay attention to the poses in these photos. They are sitting or lying down together, Wu Xie’s head on Xiaoge’s shoulder, Xiaoge’s face almost buried in Wu Xie’s hair or at least turned his way. It feels domestic. There is nothing but them. There is nothing else to care about in this world than them being together and this closeness they share after all the time without it. It’s what they want; this very intense focus on each other (and if that doesn’t scream love to you then I don’t know what to say). It’s a little bit like the ideal reality I talked about in the previous post but even more intense and somehow so much more open which makes me think about this as a “dream” or at least a fantasy of sorts.

Then in the two photos above, we again have Wu Xie looking at the camera while Xiaoge is focusing on him. It feels almost like Xiaoge is a prop here, all the focus placed on Wu Xie who is, unlike in that intense photo in the previous post, smiling. Slightly, but still. He looks soft, content, happy. He’s okay to be the center of all this attention bc he knows that it will take it away from Xiaoge (and omg I know yall whine now that such a thing is impossible with XYL’s beauty but just humor me for a bit). He’s so relaxed bc he knows that Xiaoge is content right next to him. (He might also be a bit smug bc he has a man like that but can anyone blame him?)

I have to note then that, after gushing about their outfits and how good they look in them, there also seems to be a deeper meaning to these suits. Because I don’t think it’s an accident (or a thirst trap) that in these whole-body pictures where they lie in the snow, we see their chests and they’re bare-footed. It feels like this is them being bare in general, open. Their chests show bc their hearts are open, feet are bare bc they are vulnerable (and when you google symbolism for being bare-footed, Wikipedia hits you with childhood and innocence so yes, they are innocent here, pure, like they wish to be). This is them being true and honest with each other, offering all those parts of themselves to the other to look at which they never previously had the courage to show.

At least that’s true in this dream, in this future they hope will become reality one day. In this future that, for now, ignores all the difficulties and obstacles between them (bc they have a lot of stuff to sort out and then Reboot happens and. Yeah well, the future never goes as you planned anyway).

Sitting and shoes on now, we then have Wu Xie offering this almost angry look to the viewer. He might be sitting slightly behind Xiaoge and lower than him but he’s the one who seems powerful here. Xiaoge looks almost childish (which might be just XYL’s personality showing through lol) and is focused on his own hands, the ground, and his shoes/legs. It feels like this is Wu Xie being the one aware for once, being the one who carries their worries, the one who sits there protecting Xiaoge so that Xiaoge can finally focus on something else. So that Xiaoge can be free and a little careless. That he can focus on himself and what he wants after giving so many years away for Wu Xie and his (at this moment non-existent or at least tainted) innocence. This is their dream; or at least Wu Xie’s dream bc somehow this whole photoshoot seems to focus on him instead of Xiaoge (like I stated before, he seems like a prop sometimes haha).

In contrast to that thought and the previous photos, this one actually puts Xiaoge on display tho. He’s at the front, in the middle of the photo, and if you don’t get distracted by Wu Xie’s eyes (hard, I know), then you most likely focus on Xiaoge and get stuck there. It feels intentional, like Wu Xie’s strong protective instinct is somehow left a bit hidden? Behind Xiaoge? Who is usually seen as the protector? Which is interesting imo bc at this point Wu Xie has learned to be very brutal, and in Ultimate Note (and before that), we see him being very fierce when it comes to him protecting those he loves. So this setting between them feels a bit like a dream too, a dream where Wu Xie has been able to pull away a little bc Xiaoge is alright while facing the world again. Xiaoge is not as vulnerable as someone who doesn’t know who he is and who to trust. He has found his place to be.

Then the two photos that confused me the most bc at first they felt like they didn't fit at all? They just felt... weird, even if they look absolutely stunning. Here we have Wu Xie and Xiaoge dressed in their second pair of suits (if these can be called suits?) with Xiaoge in this long cape thing and his arms half bare. Wu Xie’s outfit seems almost too simple compared to everything else he’s worn, and they are both now facing towards the same direction while previously they were either looking at each other, away from each other or, in Wu Xie’s case, the viewer.

Maybe these pictures were why I finally came to think about these as “the future” instead of just some type of “dream”.

Because in these pictures it feels like they are actually looking towards the future. Especially in this last photo they are both facing the light, side by side, in these clothes that feel almost like they’re… I don’t even know. Purified? Divine? Heavenly? Please excuse my lack of words but this just feels like that, like some kind of final peace where even their clothes are somehow on a higher level. It’s a dream-like future where they both can stand strong and be together forever, finally. (Also makes me think about how we see their rings in these pictures, like a sign of the bond they have formed and the bond they want to form (my left brain again: Pingxie married!!!! and this time am tired of arguing against that).)

And if we add the other photo up there, where they are slightly turned towards each other, sharing a look almost, it feels like they have decided to go. Like this is a mutual choice of walking forward, some kind of turning point like the last photo was in the previous post. They are going and the future is at their reach and it’s going to be amazing (or at least I believe so, once again, bc they deserve their happy ending).

What are we then left with? With a future that includes them being at peace, being content with each other and the surrounding world. A future that is, probably, more from Wu Xie’s point of view than Xiaoge’s but still so utterly loving for the both of them (bc what else would Wu Xie want than happiness for Xiaoge?). And then if we connect this to the other photos in the first part, this feels almost like that ideal reality coming to life in their future, that closeness and joy and basking in the other’s presence stretched to cover an eternity. It’s so soft and gentle and sweet. Just like Pingxie are always. And I’m not even surprised that their future includes all of this bc what else could they wish for than the final relief of being together?

#dmbj #ultimate note #pingxie #oh jesus this is a novel #i still hope any of this makes any sense #i lack words and a brain #but also just #this is my love letter to this photoshoot #bc bazaar is doing amazing #and i just have so many thoughts #and i realized so many things #while doing this #pls hit me with your thoughts #if you have anything to add or another view on this #am so curious #pingxiethoughtsandprayers

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sir-subpar · 4 years ago

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His Translator Part 5

Boss fell down a cliff? Does he even have a chance to survive that? Burt thought after being filled in on the story. He could only imagine how painful that was for Henry. Burt sat alongside Reginald, RHM, and Ellie as they waited outside the medical ward. It had been several hours, and they still hadn't heard anything about his condition yet.

They waited, anticipating how bad the damage was until finally a doctor emerged with an explanation. Ellie immediately asked "Is Henry okay? Can we see him?" "You may. Come with me, I will explain his condition." They all awkwardly shuffled into the room to see Henry. To everyone's relief, he was alive, although he had clearly seen better days.

"The chief has sustained a number of injuries, so I'll start with the lesser ones then move up to the more severe ones, alright?"

Everyone nodded.

"To start off, he's heavily bruised, that will heal with time. He has some gashes that we have stitched up, he will recover from those as well. He has a concussion that we will be monitoring, and finally… "

The doctor took a deep breath before she walked to her desk to pick up a small stack of papers, presenting them to the group. Upon closer inspection, it was clear they were x-rays.

"As you can see on these x-ray photos, his spine had broken. We couldn't fix it, so we had to.. Replace it using cybernetics. Much like we did with you, Right. So, overall, Henry Stickmin will make a full recovery. He's lucky you brought him here when you did, he probably wouldn't have made it if you brought him in any later."

Holy sh*t. We could've lost him just like that? Burt thought, he looked at Henry. His bruised, beaten face. Clearly some of those marks weren't from the fall. Who would go so far against one man? Burt's heart sank slightly. He thought about the scars Henry showed him. Looks like you'll be adding some scars to that list boss. Burt inquired internally.

If this had happened a year ago, Burt wouldn't have cared that much, but he was getting to know Henry. He cared what happened to him. He wanted to talk to him. He wanted to see him. He just wanted to spend time with Henry and get to know him more. Burt's train of thought was interrupted by Ellie's voice.

"Poor Henry… I hope he'll adjust well to his metal spine..." Ellie's voice was laced with a mix of pity and awkwardness.

"We should find a way to thank him for his help!" Reginald remarked, RHM hummed in agreement.

"Maybe we should start by giving him a "get well soon" cake." Ellie suggested.

Burt paid her little mind as he walked to the side of Henry's bed, observing the unconscious man. It felt weird seeing him like this, his usually silly and welcoming demeanor was absent. He just looked so tired and hurt. Then suddenly, he began to stir, a groan of pain escaping his throat. Burt's eyes widened slightly, a bit of excitement bubbling in his chest. Henry blinked his eyes open. "Hey boss, good to see you're awake. How are you feeling?" Burt asked quietly, he was sure to keep his tone gentle not wanting to overwhelm the pained man. Henry remained quiet as he made eye contact with Burt through half closed eyes. Ellie and the others turned towards Henry's direction after hearing Burt speak. Ellie walked to Henry's other side, eager to talk to him. "I'd give you a hug if your body wasn't riddled with injuries." Ellie semi jokingly declared. "Henry! Goodness, you have us quite a scare!" Reginald remarked, a mix of excitement and nerves in his voice. " 'Ello Henry. 'Ow are you feeling?" Right's voice interjected, a serious tone prominent in his words. Henry drowsly looked around, he seemed to notice they were there but he wasn't responding. He seemed out of it like he could see them but their words weren't getting through to him. It made sense, he did have a concussion after all, not to mention he also just had surgery. Burt decided to try another approach, sign language. Burt slowly waved his hand in front of Henry's face, gaining his attention. Burt signed slowly, keeping the messages simple as to not overwhelm Henry. 'How are you?' Burt asked, not sure if Henry could really understand him at the moment. To his surprise, Henry signed back. Albeit slowly, 'Hurts' Henry replied. 'I bet it did' Burt commented.

"What's he saying?" Ellie asked. "He's just saying he's in pain. I'll translate as we talk so you guys can follow." Burt replied.

'We were worried about you' Burt mentioned, speaking out loud while he and Henry conversed in sign. 'Can't feel inside back' Henry signed. "They had to remove your spine." Henry immediately had a look of panic, quickly signing 'They stole my bones!?' "Your spine was broken, they gave you a new one." Burt said in attempts to calm Henry, realizing that Henry was probably still slightly loopy from pain meds. "Boss, calm down. They gave you a new spine. You will be fine."

'So they didn't steal my skeleton?'

"No boss, they didn't steal your skeleton."

'Ok good. I like my skeleton.'

Burt and the others chuckled.

"Skeletons are good to have." Burt replied, deciding to humor Henry a bit.

The group continued to spend time with Henry until he fell asleep again.

The group finally left to let Henry rest, parting ways. Ellie took charge while Henry recovered. Reginald and Right decided to enjoy being reunited without interruption, and Burt went to get some work done. They would all visit Henry again the next day, hopefully by then he'd be less loopy.

To be continued...

#henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin #toppat henry #burtstick #henry x burt #burt x henry #burt curtis #stickcur #burtry #toppat ellie #ellie rose #reginald copperbottom #right hand man #copperright #his translator

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origami10 · 4 years ago

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Ajin ch 86 thoughts

Okay, it’s been a little bit! Thoughts and spoilers under the cut! (Warning, this is very long)

Writing this in a word doc because a) I don’t want to risk going on tumblr and b) I don’t want to risk the post getting deleted in the middle [note from the end: this ended up being four pages long in a Word document, so I’m sorry]

Ahhhh, last time buying the digital magazine >< Until... if... Sakurai starts publishing something new...

It seems kind of unfair not to have Ajin be the cover feature if it’s ending DX I guess they’re just starting with a new series, though. Is that how that works? (It has a main character with white hair so I might be interested...) It’s at the beginning of the mag.

Okay, yeah, pages 111-175. Aggghhhh I’ve always put off reading the end of series, but I think this is the first one I’ve been up to date with when it actually ended. Promised Neverland was close.

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

ooh completely new characters...?????? whoops overshot the starting page by a few ughhhh it’s definitely the last one... I mean we knew that, but still..... OMG NO IT’S IZUMI AND TANAKA ISN’T IT?? jeez woah I can’t wait to hear other readers’ reactions [edit: yes this was about clover, and she recorded her reaction, which was beautiful ;u;] also omg they’re at least appearing together

omg Sakurai’s author’s note: “It’s very cold, isn’t it. Everyone, I hope you don’t catch a cold.” YOU’RE NOT EVEN GOING TO ACKNOWLEDGE IT’S ENDING?

okay, so at least some time skip Tanaka: New identity, who dis Ooh, Izumi called Tanaka “anta” – the rude/familiar version of ‘you’, rather than the polite one. Honestly I don’t remember but it’s probably what she called him previously. And then turns around and called him anata the next page X’D Okay, I’m glad that not being consistent is okay in Japanese, I always worry/wonder about that ooooh so Tanaka doesn’t have a new identity YET. I wonder how long it’s been?? omg Tosaki prepared it?? Was he thinking that far ahead? Or is he not dead.... ??? okay so he made it ahead of time oh, and Izumi was the one who asked him for it??? Oh wow, Izumi has yet another change of identity. I wonder if she’s back to (omggg I forget D: her original name... Tainaka [hah]) Also another great shot emphasizing their height difference X’) lmaoooo I always love when there manages to be some humor oh, they’re only about three years apart! I wonder if that helps pin down the timeline at all??

Aw, Izumi still respects Tosaki lmao “I’m going home.” “You really have places to be?” Oh I guess that wasn’t quite it- she really was wondering if he was had a living location... so he has been kinda on the run >< [Sakurai. Sakurai, happy ending. There is, right? Right?]

Oh dude I really didn’t think we’d get any resolution on that ship and like, idk if this counts as resolution but it sure looks like it does right now okay I’m really sorry but part of me is like ///we’re using so many of the remaining pages on this/// although oh I guess it’s only been 10 pages... it feels like so many since the chapters have been so short lately...

heyyyyy I mean we kinda knew the U.S. ajin would be back or else what was the point of introducing them Ogura not being dead at the end of the series is extremely impressive (also hopefully Kai :prayer hands: as in I think he survived) so Ogura didn’t tell them he was coming back huh ... with the crew??? :eyes emoji: lmao AND they thought he was dead, I’m cackling oh okay so they had heard he wasn’t dead the close up of Jim’s face reminds of Kai somehow I guess this manga isn’t so long (and the U.S. ajin left enough of an impression) that at least we’re not like WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE “I’ll kill you!!” “Go ahead!!” HA Winnn I think the people in this series need to get their idea of ‘fun’ checked I don’t really understand what he says in the bubble after that... I’ll have to check the English did he like, metaphorically die because he’s out of FKs? I’m not up on my cigarette brands enough to know if that’s an FK or not... I think it’s what the brand turned into...? oh no what’s this omg is it gonna be Kai? Are they all gonna be in there? Kotobuki?? also this is already super sad that not everyone got out of jail free... unless they did and I’ll see... but also it’s realistic so all for the best I guess? i have no idea OH HA I thought it was the juvenile detention center but it’s Takahashi ! o_o not entirely sure I understand what Takahashi says to the guard either at least everyone’s having... fun??? KAI KAI KAI gahhhh this looks exactly like how ch 69 started and agh they’re both in juvie but ahhhhh they’re together?? I’m already scared to read and actually find out –o- oh wait they have dates to get out! and they said plural ‘we’ “That was fast” I feel like that panel represents what this chapter means to me somehow lmao they just want them to be not their problem anymore... that really wraps it up nicely, hilariously, and realistically I’m glad I’m not translating this because there are really a couple lines where I don’t completely understand them “something happened that day” um, yeah WOW I did NOT think we were going to get an answer to whether Kai was an ajin now or not, but I feel like that definitively answers that question????? also that’s terribly funny HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW KEI REVIVED HIM?? -punches a wall- Kai’s whole personality is ‘I don’t really remember that happening’ >_____________________________> Kei... gave Kai a reason to live... because he almost died...? I still kinda have faith in this wrapping up well but GOD Kai is not a character to invest all your emotion into, laughs cryingly Kotobuki: “You literally never make any sense, man.” oh no “ano natsu” GAH

I just realized that this almost certainly means Kai and Kou never met. There isn’t enough keysmashing in the world to express my desire to throw my laptop at a wall right now

In no way shape or form did I ever expect to get closure on Akiyama, even on him getting out of the barrel

Manabe definitely stole whatever it is he’s holding but it was probably some kind of personal effects...? [my powers of prediction suck most of the time] he really looks beat up now ;u; Izukyū-Shimoda... Win, that’s not where you traveled, is it? Maybe I saw it on the Sunday NHK travel program... but it’s also the end of the train line and has ferries going out into the ocean islands. Is he getting away, or going home.......? or to Hirasawa or something...?

well that was an extremely abrupt shift are they really shooting Satou up into space they’re not using him as a test subject are they that sounds like an even more awful idea than I ever could have come up with okay... oh jeez can we please please not have Satou be Captain America you just KNOW he’s going to make trouble again, ,, , , ,!!

oh jeez Eriko! I didn’t expect to see her but it’s nice! it’s really sinking in that that’s all the closure we’re going to get on Kai isn’t it Eriko tsundere as if that needed confirmed okay cool, so she’s out of the hospital (for now)

It does seem appropriate? Likely? That Kei didn’t go home. WE BETTER SEE KOU THIS CHAPTER oh, it’s fall (or winter? Izumi said it was cold...) oh phew

Sakurai said RIP KeiKai shippers I guess.... but they still influenced each other so that’s still shippable even though they’re not together? sigh not everything is so straightforward and I guess it’s good it reflects that

Kei looks happy enough was Kei working a blue collar job with Kou or something? That’s 100% unexpected Kou adorable omg what is his new name gonna be Also ;-; so they’ve giving ajin rights but everyone’s still staying undercover...? or Kou isn’t I guess, that’s sweet oh wow we admit Tosaki’s great I guess last chapter’s statement that they found his remains must have settled whether he’s alive or not ‘iroiro atta na’ YOU THINK also pretty sure that’s Kai’s line from the drama CD what’s with that Kei face??? OMG PERF also that is scarily close to what I wrote in a fic, but also pretty much to be expected crap I guess at least Tanaka and Izumi are with each other? KAI’S MOON JACKET WITH THE SMILIE we really messed up characterizing Kai as the sun haha he’s out he’s out he’s out is he going to meet someone literally zooming out on everyone (like at the end of last chapter too) is kinda messing with me Like they’re still around and doing stuff but we aren’t (don’t get to) watch them anymore Kou saying ‘let’s all meet again’... my heart is warm ;0; LMAO

we can at least rest assured that everyone stayed in character

I can’t I can’t I can’t [note, this was when I thought Kei saying ‘nah’ was the last page]

O MM FRICKING GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

omg Sakurai you’ve done it again bwahahaah a coworker hit him and is like ‘oh cool fine nevermind’ this is WAY more hilarious than I was expecting for this chapter How do I always forget that Ajin has so much comedy not remembering what page number the chapter ends on is nice

Tankobon releases May 7th in Japan Elizaaaaaa Kei’s got a Shion coat

alright uh well I guess that’s good, in a way, we still get to imagine whatever we want

Finishing it hasn’t sunk in yet, I’ve have to get back to you on that one.

#Ajin #Ajin spoilers #ch 86 #ahhhhh

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baconpal · 4 years ago

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talkin bout fuckig manga

hey it’s me, haven’t had internet for over a week and i’ve been sick and uni and blah blah blah time for a rant about manga

this time its about "Soredemo Machi wa Mawatteiru", tl;dr, good manga read it idk

lots of bullshit below the cut

Before anything I say gets too confusing or I go off on an insane tangent, just know my recommendation is that you read "Soredemo Machi wa Mawatteiru". It's not very easy to find online since it has an official English release (which my recommendation extends far enough to suggest I might pick up in the future, just to have it, but I am very stingy), but there's an alright torrent of all the volumes on your local anime torrenting website, and is at the very least worth the trouble of reading as such. There is also an anime that gets better as it goes, but the manga is my primary recommendation. Beyond this point I'm not gonna give much regard to what I write, so get ready for anything, read the manga and see if you agree with me, or don't and see if I care:

BOUT THE ANIME: The SoreMachi anime is one of those rare comedy anime you find where the animation and overall production is just really extra the entire time. Hopefully you know what I mean because I won't really be able to explain it any other way, it's simply one of those shows where the jokes are decent and it's a fun time for the most part. Unfortunately, the anime makes a couple of critical missteps that kept me from getting far into it when I first tried watching it about a year ago, and in retrospect seem even less reasonable.

Starting with the good, as an adaptation it does a good job with most chapters it covers, it properly sources where each chapter comes from incase you intend to read the manga and skip around to catch up, and the anime adapts some sections to have additional jokes that fit very naturally in to the story. It also covers up some of those problems only manga can have like having a concert segment without any actual music involved, until they invent mp3-paper it's just something we'll have to live with. Translation work was pretty good (I watched the [WhyNot] release for those who care), which is extra important for something as difficult to translate as jokes from another language. The set of episodes they chose to end on was very good, and was expanded to be a lot more impactful in the anime. If it wasn't for the last episode being as strong as it was I may have given up on finding the manga when I saw it wasn't super easy to read online.

As for what the anime fails in, some episodes feature some really blatant over-acting that doesn't really help make characters believable, and there's this obnoxious gag that continues the whole where through where most scenes have a few seconds long line from what is essentially a forced mascot character, which usually mean nothing and only serve to harm the pacing of many episodes (there isn't even any sort of equivalent bit in the manga so I really don't know why they did it, most of the anime original jokes are pretty good so I just really don't get it). The biggest issue the anime faces is that the source material is about 140 chapters, while the anime is only able to cover 24 chapters. This comes with a LOT of problems, the first being what I'd call the "required reading". SoreMachi is not a 1-note simple comedy where you can skip to any chapter and be completely okay; There are many small but meaningful subplots lying beneath, and characters have a fair bit of development throughout. What this means for the anime is that the first 3-4 episodes are just the first few chapters of the manga, which are a bit rough and not as good as the majority of the work, which is true of a lot of comics (god fuck I promise there will be more than a first chapter of my comic I promise it'll get better fuck). In terms of the anime by itself, I'd say episode 1 is decent, 2 is middling, and by 3/4 their still taking a while to introduce members of the cast, and I didn't immediately want to finish it. I put the show down for a long time until my internet started dying and I wanted to watch something fun. Slapping it back on at episode 5 I immediately had a great time and watched the rest of the show pretty soon after. While I understand the reasoning behind doing this, the anime does not pay off this structure, as beyond the first few episodes, the chapters start being presented out of release order and out of chronological order, kind of destroying any consistent throughline. This decision in and of itself isn't the worst, since the comic isn't always chronological, and the volume ordering is a bit different from the release ordering, but the inconsistency makes the first few episodes feel lessened without reason. The other large failure that comes with only animating about 1/7th of the entire work is that many themes and concepts that are core to the manga are not represented in the anime well at all. One of the biggest is the rare but unnerving supernatural chapters, of which only one is animated, and not a particularly good one. In order to talk about these themes I'll have to transition into talking about the manga itself, since they aren't part of the anime.

DA MANGA: So one last recommendation that you read the manga, the whole damn thing. Cus we're gettin into themes and character moments that take a long time to pay off, and obviously is all part of my interpretations, so if that stuff means anything to you don't let me ruin it for ya.

The title of the manga is, in essence, the entire manga's "punchline" in that every chapter could meaningfully end with simply the text "And yet the town still turns..." (My translation of the title, fuck "And yet, the town revolves" or "But the town moves"); by this I mean most chapters end in an anti-climax where a mystery is left unsolved, or a mystery is solved and undercut by the realization that life simply keeps on going without much change. This is used to essentially force your eyes open to all possibilities when reading, as the main character spends her time acting like a detective, and these mysteries end up as either misunderstandings, secrets, riddles, and sometimes something out of the ordinary happens that makes you unable to pin anything down firmly. Similarly, these endings aren't always read-and-forget scenarios. Several chapters come back in the form of a continued joke, a continued mystery, or contribute to some greater purpose later. Readers are properly rewarded for keeping everything they can in mind, while also tormenting such people with loose ends.

I enjoy Hotori as a protagonist due to her character being defined not in flaws and strengths, but in mindedness. Hotori seems like a simple "haha she's dumb" character to start, but consistently throughout she proves that her strengths are in memory, observation, and deduction, while lacking in some more common sense and abilities. Her brain works in strange ways that some people may or may not understand, such as her need to think through even the most trivial fictional scenarios, which I relate to deeply.

The art and paneling throughout are wonderful. Ishiguro Masakazu is one of those artists who draws very simple characters, but knows how to use details and depth to breath so much life into the artwork. He also clearly uses the occasional supernatural happenings as an excuse to draw what he loved, as all sorts of artistic depictions of the supernatural come out that simply look satisfying. These parts obviously meant a lot to him since he's been working on a primarily mystery-action manga that has a lot more of that stuff in it. (Also, as hindsight is 20/20, if you've read any of his new work you'll notice that the main character of it is eerily similar to a character who shows up very late in SoreMachi that the author obviously fell in love with, cus she just keeps coming back and even ends up with a really unsettling end to her character arc despite only being introduced as a component in a harmless mystery. Feel free to call me out for the same shit 30 years from now when I'll probably do the same shit)

I'd like to get into some of the major themes of this work, as a lot of them hit very close to my mind (which I guess is true of any theme you recognize for yourself, you wouldn't really "get it" if it didn't mean something to you...).

The simplest theme, again, comes from the title. The main character, Hotori, expresses a desire that the town she lives in continues going on, unchanged forever. This is obviously a fear of change, which ya know, same, but also an exploration of what it means to fear change. Hotori actively tries to keep businesses from closing down, keep friends from leaving, and keep relationships from changing, while simultaneously making all sorts of new relationships and solving mysteries. Hotori even comes to realize that simply learning the truth about something changes the world through your own perspective, and that such changes can't be undone. In spite of this, Hotori mostly gets her wish, any time she fears that a large change will impact the town, its resolved about the same as any other issue. Whether its a message that even time can't keep you from your loved ones and that change isn't worth fearing, or a concession that large changes to the setting would be a bad idea in terms of humor, I can't really decide. This theme reaches it's conclusion in what is one in a series of "ending" kinda chapters at the end of the series. Hotori is faced with a supernatural ethical situation, save her town from destruction at the cost of her existence, or live through the disaster, knowing her town and the people in it will forever be changed. While the actual result is that nobody disappears and nothing is lost, and the event may have simply been a strange dream, Hotori confidently decides that sparing the people in her town from a life altering event is worth giving up her memories with them. A kind of bold spit-in-the-face to the idea that change is okay, where we find that Hotori didn't fear change for herself, but rather for the people around her.

There's another major idea in this manga, which takes a very long time to pay off, and completes its arc at the very very very actual end of the series, the idea of "leading someone to be something". A character that rides that line between main and side character, Shizuka, is a writer of detective novels, who feels the best person to judge her works would be a version of herself without the bias of being the author. She tries to achieve this by leading Hotori to be interested in detective works (including her own) and generally be just like her, starting from a young age. The end result is a young girl dead set on being a detective herself (or at least another novelist), while Shizuka keeps her identity as an author secret. She then uses Hotori as a scapegoat for herself, attempting to see how she would solve various mysteries and use that as inspiration, and this is depicted as though Shizuka were some sort of villain, which she may feel like she is. The end result of it all, though, is that Hotori was likely already a detective-minded person, and that even if Shizuka pushed her down that path, it was Hotori's decision to continue down it, and the very end of the manga is a scene revealing that Hotori figured out Shizuka's secret at some point, and even still respected Shizuka and aspired to reach her, and the two accept each other for who they are. I enjoy this ending a lot, since as an artist I've worried that some of my love or aspirations for and from other artists came with an ulterior motive of wanting a better community for art to exist in, but people are people and will make their own decisions, and some day everyone may be able to become equals in a truly meaningful sense, where everyone is inspired by and guiding each other together.

So that probably didn't mean shit to nobody and I didn't even really talk about anything in the comic like most of the main characters or any of the shit goin on but ya know fuck you go read it, and thanks for reading this.

#long ass post #also gonna have finals on my birthday this week so awesome #im having a good time this year h-haha

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gryffindormischief · 5 years ago

Note

Kiss prompt: number 16 and jily. Thank you!

16. when one person’s face is scrunched up, and the other one kisses their lips/nose/forehead

A/N: so basically @petals-to-fish and I wrote this in a text message thread and then copied it into a doc. Truly a surprise partnership event so if you enjoy it was both of us and if you don’t like...I was gonna say bug petals but I can’t do that so I guess fight me? We had super fun writing this so I hope it translates to reading too.

FF and Ao3

meme

____

Lily Evans is not happy.

Which is odd because generally speaking she’s a pretty genial sort. But even the most devil-may-care among us occasionally face circumstances that dampen their spirits. And as it turns out, the stock market, asinine comments from professors, and a general overuse of the analytical bits of her brain in recent days have led her to the current grumpy state of things. Complete with wrinkled forehead, scrunched nose, and slim shoulders risen to ears.

And if there’s one thing that James Potter cannot abide, it’s wrinkled forehead, scrunched nose, shoulders in ears Lily. Not because of any issues with attraction or supportiveness. James Potter is two things wholeheartedly - one, perpetually infatuated with one Lily Evans and two, fully supportive of her slightly crazed focus on intellectual pursuits. In fact, the second relates back to the first in worrying degree.

Still, when he begins to think he can actually see the knots forming in her shoulders and the ‘crazed focus’ turns to ‘stressed ball of rage,’ he’s physically incapable of not stepping in.

So on one such Tuesday evening, James Potter tugs her rolling desk chair back from the kitchen table (a horrible interior design combination that sets his artistic senses roiling) and presses a short kiss to her crinkled forehead. “Alright, Evans?”

In return, he simply receives a grunt with no visual or audible response beyond. Even her eyes, normally sparkling with some sort of lovely emotion, are dead.

That just won’t do, so he leans in for a quick peck to the tip of her nose.

This finally brings a bit of clarity to her expression, like the clouds clear from her ‘limpid pool like’ green eyes (there was a time she definitely slugged him for saying that) and then her lips part and she lets out a low, terrifying growl. “Fucking memes. Who the bloody hell says ‘more memes’ as damn academic feedback?”

James scratches the back of his head, face twisted into a confused grimace. “I dunno. Maybe your professor doesn’t get all this stuff either?”

He gestures vaguely toward the textbooks, printed outlines graffitied with scrawled notes, color coded flash cards, and more than a few empty packets of jelly babies. Enough of the latter that James is fairly certain Lily’s veins may by flowing with a slightly more gelatinous version of lifeblood. That’s how it works, right?

Lily slumps and lets her head droop backward so the weight of it sends her chair rolling aimlessly. “He said my last presentation was ‘boring and out of touch with reality’.”

James scoffs, “you’re the most in touch with reality you’ve ever been but I will agree that you are a bit boring.”

Lily shoves him back in retaliation, “I am not boring!”

“You talk about the stock market at tea now.”

Her face pales, “oh God, I’m turning into my sister.”

It’s James’ turn to wrinkle his nose, “you are most definitely not your sister.”

“Do you know anyone else who talks stocks at tea?”

“Yeah, your sister's husband.”

Lily smacks her hand on her forehead, “oh God, I’m becoming Vernon!”

It’s really too funny, and if Lily could pull herself from the haze of academic frustration and massacred gummy candies, she’d probably find the whole situation amusing. But in her current state, one which James has come to know arises from time to time when the rigors of her degree rear their ugly heads, he’s learned laughing matters do not always allow for laughter. Not if one wishes to keep one’s head in place. So he opts for dry humor that hopefully provides the appropriate level of commiseration combined with lightness that will bring Lily back from the brink of murdering her professor in the car park. “Memes are known as the gritty, worldly representation of our times. A true academic would know this instead of obsessing over understanding the stock market.”

She blinks at him, no break in her grumpy demeanor, and he knows his joke has fallen flat before Lily even speaks. “Excuse me, I understand it just fine.”

Fix it James, fix it before you’re the one being murdered in the car park. “I mean me, your cute, befuddled and artistically inclined fiance.”

That turns her from blind rage to a lower simmering anger, one that allows for her contemplative and plotting wheels to begin turning. And then she focuses on him with single minded purpose. “You should be making me memes.”

James blinks and dusts his knuckles over his t-shirt, which would seem much more posh if the image of an iron on Keyboard Cat didn’t rest just inches below his fingers. “I charge for commissions you know.”

Lily spares him half a glance before she shoves to her feet and clicks the kettle on a bit more vehemently than strictly necessary. “It’s bloody dividend cuts, James - HOW COULD MY PROFESSOR MARK ME DOWN BECAUSE I DIDN'T INCLUDE CARTOONS IN A GRADUATE LEVEL PRESENTATION?”

When he reaches to turn her from angry contemplation of the rain streaked window, she’s little more pliant, even tilting her face to his when he nudges her chin. Accepting the press of his lips to hers, just a short, sweet thing.

James brings his brow to hers while his palms brace on either side of her hips. “Lily I am trying to understand, but also I think it’s clear that I do not understand.”

For the first time, she does grin and some of the clouds seem to clear from her eyes. Ah, best not to contemplate those long enough to travel back down the ‘limpid pools’ route, especially when progress is being made. Lily pats his cheek and resumes her work preparing tea, pulling mugs, spoons, and all other necessary implements from their hiding places in the tiny kitchenette. “It's OK James. You’re the looks and I’m the brains.”

Choosing to accept the jibe as a compliment - no one said James had a problem with confidence - he nods and pushes himself up onto the countertop. “I will be the first artist in history to claim my own undeniable beauty as inspiration for my greatest works.”

“James you draw me more than anything...”

He shrugs, busying himself with opening the honey jar. Lily’s apparently not content to let it drop. “Especially my tits.”

“Only because I don't have any,” James supplies easily as the hot water blooms dark and the air fills with the scent of bergamot, “Because if I had tits they would be amazing.”

At this pronouncement, he finds Lily’s movements have stilled, spoonful of sugar hovering over her mug while she stares at his chest. Like she’s trying to picture him as is, just with the addition of breasts. For all his mind is creative, he can’t quite decide what size breasts he’d have and for some reason, it seems like Lily’d be the best person to answer the question.

Though this is almost certainly something drunk Sirius has contemplated and decided with absolute certainty.

Lily shakes away the cobwebs and stirs sugar into her tea, eyes wide and expectant. “So the meme thing?”

James swirls honey into the dark depths of his tea and shakes his head, rueful. “If I do free consults my artistic brand is worthless.”

Snatching the pack of custard creams off the countertop, Lily storms toward the living area and grumbles back over her shoulder. “Fine...well I no longer do free artistic head scratches.”

James follows in her wake, pausing only to ensure the kettle’s been flicked off. The only thing worse than the stress of academia is the flat burning down around your ears. “Your threats are as meaningless as these memes you need for a PowerPoint.”

Lily’s frown deepens into a scowl, though it’s comfortingly aimed at the world in general and not James in particular, as she grumbles around a mouthful of tea and biscuit. “It’s a graduate level class James, graduate level. It’s supposed to be boring!”

He wrenches apart the custard cream with an expert twist-then-pull motion and dunks the custard-free half in his tea. “Lily these are nerd memes we’re talking about...it’s still boring.”

Eyes narrowing, Lily’s formerly generic anger is definitely all James all the time right now. “See now you’re going to lose tit privileges.”

“But my nude study!”

Her grin is feral and dangerous. It would be enticing if he weren’t watching his actual muse drift away like errant crumbs from his custard cream, lazily abandoned to the nap of their grey-beige carpet. “Yes...all ‘nude studies’ will be suspended.”

He’s not completely artistically focused though, and certain bits of James are forever susceptible to the wiles of Lily Evans (hopefully Potter once they’re both graduated) and he can’t help leaning forward with a lilt of flirtation in his voice. “Are you trading your body for memes, Lily?”

“We live in the darkest timeline James,” Lily says with a sigh, though her voice is a little strained, eyes warm with want.

Perhaps their foreplay really is as odd as Sirius says.

James leans backward, tossing one leg over the arm of the couch and doing that little eyebrow quirk Lily’s angrily admitted makes her feel things. “I guess I’ll have to go old school and have Sirius pose nude.”

Lily’s cheeks warm. “And the breasts?”

He’s positively eating this up now. “I have an imagination Lil.”

“That you use to picture Sirius with my breasts?”

“As you said, we’re living in a dark timeline,” James ruffles his hair and pushes his mug onto the end table so it settles in the ring stained into the surface the second day they owned it two semeseters ago, “the stock market could crash tomorrow and we might have to live off my commissions.”

“Ah yes,” Lily slowly licks the exposed cream from her cookie, gaze never leaving his, “rake in that dough with custom stock market memes.”

He kind of can’t breathe and he may be having a heart attack. Still, his sass ability will be pried from his cold, dead hands. “People need laughter and I am a connoisseur of humor.”

There’s a sense of triumph in his chest when Lily makes the first move, rising from her chair, dish in hand, and leans over to breathe in his ear, “Hey connoisseur of humor, start drawing me some memes.”

She’s gone before he can get his brain to grind into gear which quells the victorious feeling of only moments before. He’s such a sucker. So soon enough he’s following her into the kitchen like a needy puppy, “I need inspiration.”

Once she’s deposited the first round of dishes on the counter, James crowds her back against their rainbow sticky-note wall. It’s got everything from running grocery lists, to ‘gag worthy’ love notes, to James’ half arsed doodles that Lily gets oddly sentimental about. She stammers a bit, neck craned to look up at him, before she eventually gathers herself. “We’re living in a pandemic. The market is the lowest it’s been in decades. There’s your inspiration.”

He tries the kiss thing again, forehead, nose - this is where her eyes flutter shut and he knows progress is being made - and finally her lips. When he pulls away, Lily nearly moans at the loss as he murmurs, “See now you’re just making me sad with things I don’t even really get - low market?”

She laughs and he feels the rumble as he picks his way over the delicate skin of her neck, nuzzling, nipping, teasing. It’s not until he reaches her collar bone that he continues, “I understand it’s bad but also why? What are these numbers Lily?” his hands push the hem of her jumper and with a little help Lily hooks her leg around his waist, “Who makes them up? What the hell do bears have to do with any of it?”

“It’s math, James,” Lily sighs, rolling her hips against his.

James returns his lips to Lily’s and she deepens the kiss, only to be thwarted when he wriggles enough to request removal of some clothing. She divests him of his t-shirt and then quickly begins exploring his newly exposed chest. Part of him would like to just table the discussion for later (or never) but he’s got two motivations for continuing. First, Lily will be truly enraged if he goads her into abandoning her work too soon, and second, there really is something to their weird not-really-foreplay foreplay that makes it all the more satisfying when they go for it. So he continues running his fingers over her skin in circuits and extends the conversation, “I skipped all of maths and my teacher passed me only because she never wanted to see me again.”

“It’s a good thing I love you or I’d hate you sometimes. Damn artsy jock getting passed because of nepotism,” Lily growls.

“I dunno, I think you enjoy posing,” James laughs against her lips, “And the physical benefits of my ‘jock’ superlative.”

“Of all sports, Hockey really shouldn’t make me all hot and bothered,” Lily grunts as her hands squeeze his buns, “But you’re just so obnoxiously attractive with all the skating and the muscles and the hair.”

James muffles his moan against her shoulder, taking a long, steadying breath that somehow provides the super human ability to pull away. Which is difficult on a personal desire level and also in terms of his inclination for self preservation because Lily truly looks like she might off him.

“I’ve heard the obnoxious bit from said maths teacher,” he slowly disentangles them, “But the attractive note is a nice addition.”

“Where are you going James?” Lily practically whines and hell she’s quite hard to say no to.

But he must, for the sake of future James’ continued inhabitance of the land of the living and also Lily’s GPA.

So James grasps her hands in his and pushes his forehead against hers. “I never thought I would say this, but before we shag, you need to work on your meme library.”

With an almighty groan, Lily complies, and James puts the kettle on again. One mugful’s worth of caffeine is not going to get them through the evening.

While he prepares their tea once again, this time swapping out Earl Grey for Oolong, Lily settles back in with her laptop and notes. It does seem that the mini break loosened the muscles in her shoulders, brought them down from round her ears. She’s chuckling as she scrolls through Google when he wanders over, steaming mugs in hand.

James claims a seat next to her, setting their mugs down before tossing one arm over the back of Lily’s chair so he can lean in close and offer his artist’s eye. Although in meme territory his penchant for immature humor is probably more useful.

It’s all quite relaxing and even a bit fun as they nudge each other, drawing attention to particularly funny ones that Lily begins saving to a folder marked ‘mArKET MemES FOr CRaZY’. Until Lily clicks to load the next section and James’ gasp results in still hot tea rocketing its way up through his sinuses.

Luckily, he manages not to spray the honeyed drink all over the computer, but it does take him a moment to recover. LIly’s staring at him wide eyed and patting his back comfortingly when he finally manages to choke out, “That - that meme is from a damn porno!”

She offers him a tea towel and once she’s content he’s not having a seizure, turns back to the indicated image. “Uh do you know this from personal experience or was that something you discovered from context?”

James swipes at his nose before removing his glasses to clear the lenses. “I’m reading between the lines, Lily.”

“This is a meme. There’s two lines and a picture.”

“A picture’s worth a thousand words.”

Lily rolls her lips, contemplative, then takes a long drag from her mug. “I wonder,” she taps her chin, “I wonder if you could make the ‘in front of my salad’ meme fit my presentation,” she turns to him, distressingly gleeful, “I could see how many porn memes I can shove in here before my professor drops me from the course and I get called to the Dean’s office.”

A laugh rises from his chest like a surprise and James can’t help but goad her, “The virtual Dean’s office you mean - getting suspended is much more fun if your face looks like a potato.”

Lily saves the ‘porn meme’ and continues her scrolling, “Are you somehow speaking from personal experience?”

“Nah, just that good ol’ imagination of mine at work again,” James says, tapping his temple and leaning in close.

Eventually, she reaches the end of the stock market memes, which is odd because it feels like the internet is infinite, and also not too surprising because how much more niche can you get. She’s pulled up PowerPoint gets the slides opened in mass editor mode and pauses to survey them like a brooding monarch assessing the troops. “Okay but how many memes per slide is too many?”

James shakes his head, “The limit does not exist.”

Lily’s eyes light, “Damn you, that’s a good meme too. I’m putting it on the stock market crash slide.”

Elbowing her side excitedly, James nearly prods the screen in his haste - only stopping at Lily’s ‘don’t put your mitts on my baby’ look - and indicates the tab for transitions. “You should do some flashy animations - imagine Caveman Spongebob flying in from off screen - oh shit can we add cheesy glitter clip art?”

Her grin matches his own, oh hell she would have been a worthy comrade in primary, “Yes. Also I’m definitely citing every meme in full APA style.”

James smacks a kiss on her lips and she smiles even wider, “My citation slides alone will make up half the slideshow.”

He gets swept up, throwing out ideas and pulling up photoshop on his computer to craft some truly horrendous comedy in meme form, mind whirring with ideas. “Ok picture this...ending with The Most Interesting Man in the World - ‘I don’t always use memes in a presentation, but when I do it's because my professor is barmy.”

“You’re fucking brilliant James - you get to stay.”

And he does stay, well into the early hours. Past one when Lily inhales an entire bag of crisps and begins ranting about inflation, and half past two when she bellows louder than a fog horn in the moment she believes her entire presentation has been deleted, and finally quarter of four when she finally hits save, confirms her Most Interesting Man meme has in fact been removed, and finally re-titles the presentation, forgoing the original moniker, ‘here’s some memes arsehole.’

In all that time, he does spell and grammar checks, offers the ‘layman’s’ point of view, rubs shoulders, brews tea, even finds a roll of cookie dough in the back of the icebox and bakes it up fresh. They consider the presentation from all angles, test it out, and even set it to auto play like they’re watching a film, complete with fresh popcorn.

After, he expects a long lie in, late and very unhealthy breakfast, some sort of afternoon frolic in bed - or maybe a revisit of the whole wall bit - post-late breakfast, and then probably a kip in the fading sunlight like they’re a couple of prissy cats.

He does not expect to wake at ten-oh-five in the morning with Lily’s mobile pressed against his nose, blue light sending his already haywire eyesight into worse disarray. “Uh Lily dear. I can’t read a word.”

She shoves his glasses into his hand and he drags them onto his face, smudgy but good enough to do the job.

Still, it takes a moment for his gaze to focus and when he does, the laughter that bubbles out of his chest must be a mixture of post-all-nighter insanity and complete incredulity at the state of the world.

Right there glowing at him in boring Arial font on Lily’s school email app lies a message from her professor. No ‘Hello Lily’, no ‘Dear Ms. Evans’ not even an auto signature. Just four uncapitalized words like she’s shoved a bored academic already skidding on a banana peel into a midlife crisis right over into the despair of an old crusty man - ‘no more memes please.’

#Anonymous #from petals to gryff #blarg writes things #jily au #jily au fic #James Potter x lily evans #James x lily #blarg writes eavesdrop #technically #but this is a standalone magic fic from the coolest cats #tadaaaaa

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ghostly-cabbage · 4 years ago

Text

Frigid (Chapter 2)

Genre: Horror, Angst

Chapter Rating: M (Language, gore)

Word count: 4,391

AO3 FFN

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Today is really stressful, but hopefully this makes someone out there feel better. Enjoy and tell me what you think!

Danny flew through every room in the school, even the basement, but the unidentified ghost was gone. He pushed a gloved hand through his hair and swore under his breath. Just his damn luck. At least he’d caught the mountain lion ghost in the thermos. At first glance he’d thought it was Bertrand and Spectra, but that theory had been dashed. The big cat had got him good but it didn’t seem to have any intelligence beyond a wild animal.

He’d looked long enough that the ghost alarm had been turned off and people started heading back into the building. It was also long enough that his wound had melded together, and the stains on his gloves were the only evidence he’d sustained an injury in the first place. That too would be gone the next time we went ghost.

He slipped through the wall of the bathroom and dropped down into a stall to transform back. He poked his head out through the door of the bathroom to make sure no one was paying attention. Everyone was too busy trying to figure who’d seen the ghost to care. It was normal for people to hide in the bathrooms during an attack anyway. Right. First things first, he had to put the thermos back in his locker. Classes would resume in a few minutes.

Sam and Tucker were waiting at his locker when he got there. They perked up when they saw him.

“Who was it this time?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know, it was a new ghost,” he said, trying to seem less troubled than he was.

“Ghost Gage readings put it at a level six,” Tucker reported, turning his phone around to show Danny the readout graph that did in fact place its power level around a six.

“What was the reading on the other one?”

“Let’s see…” Tuck fiddled with his phone for a second before finding it. “Four and a half? A five at first.”

“A new ghost, huh? That hasn’t happened in awhile,” Sam pointed out.

“Tell me about it,” Danny unlocked his locker and set the thermos on the top shelf, safe until after school when he could flush the ghost back into the Ghost Zone. “She didn’t seem to know who I was, which is a good thing I guess.”

“Well, hopefully they won’t come back after you send ‘em back into the Ghost Zone.”

“Yeah…” He rubbed at the back of his neck as he closed his locker. “About that. I sorta only caught one. The level six hightailed it before I could get her pinned down.” Danny started to walk towards his next class.

“So what’s her deal?” Sam fell into step on his left, and Tucker on his right.

“I don’t know, I didn’t get much from her. She had one of those stick things that sheep farmers have though.”

“A shepherd's crook?” Sam supplied.

“Yeah, that. She didn’t say anything to me either, just... screamed.” It wasn’t that odd that a ghost wasn’t very talkative, but something about her was rubbing Danny the wrong way.

“Creepy,” Tucker said. “I’ll start a file on the ‘Shepherd’ then.” He tapped on his phone as they walked, not even bothering to watch where he was going. Danny reached out and grabbed Tucker’s elbow to phase him through a trash can just before he toppled into it. “Wait, was the scream anything like your wail?”

Danny shook his head. “No, that’s the thing guys, she didn’t directly attack me. Just her lackee mountain lion.”

“Huh. Well, with any luck, the next encounter will get us some more solid data. Cause right now we’re lookin’ pretty sorry. She wasn’t around long enough to get a read on her core type either.” Tucker's face was wrinkled in concentration.

“We’ll take what we can get, thanks Tuck.”

“I should really start charging you for my services. You know how much work all this is?” He waved his phone at them.

Danny laughed. “You wanna do my job instead?” Tucker was quiet for a second.

“Yeah, not a chance.”

“You sure? I could go find Desiree for old times sake,” Danny suggested with a shit eating grin. Tucker narrowed his eyes at him.

“Dude. Low blow.” His tone was good humored and easy. One of the perks of being friends so long. They shared a smile and Tucker punched his shoulder. “Alright, I got History, see you guys,” he gave them a two finger salute and peeled off.

“Did you do the algebra homework for today?” Sam asked as Tucker left. Danny felt his breath seize in his throat.

“There was algebra homework already?” He squawked.

“Relax, I’m kidding,” she laughed.

He put a hand over his heart and let out a huge breath. “Sam, don’t do that! Gave me a heart attack, are you trying to kill me again?”

________________________________________________________________

After algebra Danny had chemistry. He said goodbye to Sam in the hall and headed to the science lab. When Danny got to class Wesley was already there. He was sitting at their table staring a hole into the white board at the front of the room.

Danny thought back to the last time he’d seen him, cornered against a locker and eyes filled with terror. He dropped his textbook on the table and Wes jumped so violently Danny was surprised he stayed on his stool. His expression morphed from fear to annoyance as he looked at Danny.

“What’s wrong, man? You look like you saw a ghost,” Danny said. A part of him almost felt bad for going for such an obvious jab, but Wes had made it clear on day one that he didn’t like him. So why be nice? Danny used his foot to drag his stool out and he slumped onto his seat.

“Ha ha,” Wes replied, voice brittle. He resumed his staring contest with the whiteboard. Danny shrugged, unbothered. Kids came in and took their seats in small groups. Valerie was in this class too, and came in two minutes to the bell. The two still had an unspoken truce that translated into mutual respect. It was pretty close to a friendship. At least when he was Fenton. She came up to stand next to his desk, books tucked in the crook of her arm.

“Hey, Danny. Did you see the ghost today?” From the corner of his eye he saw Wes glance towards them. Val seemed to notice the attention too. “Just curious, from what I can tell not many saw this one. Which is weird for us.” In his last class all the students had been buzzing about the ghost attack, it was the first one of the new school year after all. Everyone had been speculating on which ghost it was and whether Phantom had shown up.

Danny shook his head. “Sorry, Val. I was on the other end of the building and evacuated with everyone.”

“Hmm. Okay, thanks.” Danny could see the gears turning in her head, probably frustrated she didn’t get her hands on it /or/ him, but she didn’t say anything else, and went to sit down at her table. Danny could feel Wesley’s eyes on him, and he sighed, turning on his stool to look at him. He was probably going to regret this.

“Lemme guess, you have questions.” Wesley looked reluctant but no less pissed.

“Everyone just… Accepts that ghosts are a thing here?” He said it in a low voice, like he was afraid of being overheard by someone.

“Uh. Yeah? Pretty much. Most people anyway. It’s been like this for like two years so… Yeah, people are kinda used to it by now.”

Wes looked confused and conflicted. He was silent for a beat, before he asked his next question. “What can you tell me about this Phantom guy?” If Danny had been drinking something he probably would have choked on it.

“Uh. I don’t know, what do you want to know?”

“Who is he? Why is he here? What’s so special about him?”

Danny blinked at the barrage of questions and struggled to find words. “Well, he’s—” the last bell rang and Mrs. Merriweather stood up from her desk. Danny almost sighed with relief. She pushed her rounded glasses up, and soothed down her pencil skirt.

“Alright kids, find your seats and settle down. We’re going to review lab safety today, and tomorrow we’ll be starting our first lab. Also the scheduled ghost drill will still be taking place, and because I detest the regulations I’m going to go ahead and tell you it'll be around 2:15 during this class.” She walked across the classroom and flicked off the lights. The projector hummed from its place hanging from the ceiling and Mrs. Merriweather wasted no time hopping to her powerpoint presentation on proper lab etiquette. Danny took the opportunity to shoot a text to Sam and Tucker about the ghost drill. At least this way they didn’t need to be on high alert. Besides, Danny had practically grown up in a lab, he knew this stuff backwards and forwards.

Wes glanced sideways at him, but said nothing. Danny shoved his phone back in his pocket and slouched forward onto the table. He stifled a yawn and struggled to keep his eyes open. A nap sounded fantastic at the moment, he’d been up half the night trying to talk Kitty through her recent fight with Johnny. Jazz said he should try and be helpful and build trust so they were less likely to take out their lovers' quarrels on him. Not having to get smacked around was all well and good but he wasn’t a ghost therapist. That was way more Jazz’s wheelhouse. He’d never say it out loud, because he’d never hear the end of it, but he missed her.

“Mr. Fenton.” Mrs. Merriweather had her hands on her hips. Crap.

“Yeah?”

“What did I just go over?”

“Uh… eye protection?”

She sighed. “Danny, what part of this seems unimportant?”

“None of it! Er, I mean, all of it? It is important, but I mean it’s not like I can even use any of this stuff anyways so…”

Mrs. Merriweather pinched the bridge of her nose. “And why do you think that is?” Annoyance squirmed in his stomach. “Not because I don’t know anything about lab safety. I know how to be safe in a lab, it’s not rocket science.”

“Well, since you know everything there is to know, then you’ll be happy to hear that I’ve just decided to give the class a quiz tomorrow on this powerpoint.” There was a satisfied twinkle in her eyes, and Danny swore she loved to torture kids, and being a teacher was the only legal way she could do it. The class broke out into groans.

“Nice going, Fenton!” Someone spat from behind him. He wanted to phase through the floor and just go home.

“Pay attention or get detention everyone!” Mrs. Merriweather warned them. It was her favorite thing to say. She turned back to the slide show and continued her spiel.

The ghost drill was nothing unusual. Despite knowing it was coming, most of the class still jumped when the alarm started, Danny and Wes included. They all evacuated the building and stood outside in the school yard the exact same way they would a fire drill. It was a waste of time, especially since they’d already had a ghost attack today.

Thankfully, Wes had slipped off to stand with a guy that looked like his older brother, if the resemblance meant anything. Wes probably didn’t want to be seen talking to him if there was any other option. Danny had to hand it to him, he caught on fast. What that also meant was he didn’t have to try and fumble his way through an entire conversation answering questions about Phantom. Danny just hoped Wes ended up asking someone who had a more progressive opinion on him, someone like Paulina, or hell, even Dash.

Danny spent the last of the drill hanging with Sam and Tucker. The obnoxious sirens had shut off at least. Danny hated those things, his parents had recommended and got approval for the installation at the start of school last year, along with a state of the art ghost detection gadget. After the third “false alarm”, courtesy of him, they got rid of the ghost detection in favor of the manual alarm buttons. That had been a rough week. Danny hadn’t known a peaceful ghost fight at Casper since.

Eventually the drill was over, and the teachers started ushering kids back into school for the last period.

“So, what’s going on after school?” Sam asked as they were funneled into the entrance.

“I’ll probably swing by my house to drop my stuff off, then I’m gonna look around town, see if I can’t find that new ghost hanging around anywhere.”

“Pizza at my place after?”

“Aw hell yeah, Sam! Wings too?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Yeah sure, Tucker, you can order wings. Just keep them away from me, will ya?”

Danny snorted. “Sounds like a plan, I’ll text when I’m on my way.”

“Or if you need help with that ghost?” she added sternly.

“Yeah yeah, fine. That too.” He waved a hand dismissively at her.

_______________________________________________________________

Tucker and Sam walked home with him like they normally did, exchanging goodbyes and “see you later”’s at his front steps. They continued down the street as Danny pushed into his house. He took a deep breath, relaxing into the familiar smells of home. It was weird, not seeing Jazz on the couch with twelve open textbooks taking up all the space on the coffee table. He headed for the kitchen, his empty stomach not willing to wait for pizza later. He dropped his bag by the banister so he could pick it back up on his way to his room later.

When he walked into the kitchen, his mom looked up and brightened. She had a bunch of papers all laying out on the dining table, some in piles and some splayed out in an order that probably made sense to her at least. She didn’t have her goggles on, instead she had them pushed back like a headband.

“Hi, sweetie! I didn’t even hear you come in. How was your day at school?”

“Fine,” he said with a noncommittal shrug. Danny walked past the table to the fridge. As he passed he noticed that the papers were readouts and raw data sheets. Some looked like her own notes which featured the words “ghosts”, “core”, “ecto-signature” and the like about a dozen times. It wasn’t exactly abnormal for his parents, but it did peak his interest.

He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a can of strawberry soda and an apple, enjoying the feeling of the cool air on his face. He nudged the fridge door closed with his foot and turned towards his mom.

“So,” he took a bite of his apple, “what’re you workin’ on?” Normally his parents kept all the research down in the lab, unless of course they were close to figuring something out, and were running out of counter space down there. He walked back over and pulled out a chair to sit.

Over the years he’d gotten somewhat closer to his parents. Well, he was more confident in his secret keeping ability now, which was what it boiled down to. Plus, it was advantageous to try and keep track of whatever ghost obliterating tech his parents had come up with this time, which was easier to do if he acted interested in their work. Especially now that Jazz was gone.

His mom’s grin got even wider at his question and he could tell she was bursting at the seams to talk about it. She put her pencil down, and swept up her mug to take a quick sip. It was white with Fenton Works plastered across the side.

“Ghost cores!” She set her mug back down, and pulled her goggles off her head. It let loose a few locks of her red hair that she quickly tucked behind her ear. “So, as you know all ghosts have power cores,” she shuffled around in her research, looking for something in particular. “Except, all ghosts have different power core ‘types’.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded along as if it was all new information. He took another bite of his apple.

“So! Your father and I are working on not only a better method of categorizing ghosts that takes into account their power level but also the type of elemental core they possess. We think if we can find more commonalities and differences it will help find more exploitable weaknesses.” She found the page she was looking for and offered it to him, standing to lean over the table. Danny set his snack down and took the page to skim over it. It looked like a bunch of data on ghost’s with their power measurement, core type, temperature, ectoplasmic density, each a value that was plugged into an algorithm that spat out a number for a final threat level.

“See, before, we would base an ecto-entities power level solely on the output of the ectoplasmic energy, but with this algorithm, we can have a more in depth understanding of the possible damage a ghost could do and how to counter it.”

“Hence the ‘threat level’ rather than just ‘power level’?” he said glancing up at her.

“Exactly sweetie!” Her eyes softened as she looked at him. “Oh, you and your sister, you’re both so smart.” She came around the table to brush his bangs out of his face, and squish him in a one armed hug. “I couldn’t have asked for more perfect kids,” she said and kissed the top of his head before releasing him. He forced a smile. She said that now, but she didn’t know what he was. Who he was.

“Now, the issue is trying to find all the core types.” She leaned a hand on the table to look over his shoulder at the paper he was holding. “So far we know about fire, electricity, ice…” She held her chin thoughtfully. “And despite what the core may be, that doesn’t always mean their powers are a direct derivative, the applications of a core type can be extremely varied with only a thin connecting thread,” she muttered. Danny almost didn’t know if she was still talking to him, or just thinking out loud. “I’m doing research on what determines a ghost's core type. So far the leading theory is based on how they died. We think it’s the main contributing factor but I need more subjects to find anything conclusive.”

If that were true, he’d have an electricity core. The thought made his breath stick in his throat and a cold sweat break on his forehead. Danny went to open his soda— or he would have, had it still been liquid. Instead there was a thick layer of frost on the outside of the aluminum where he’d been holding it, and the contents were frozen solid, bulging the top and bottom of the can. Yikes. He shot his Mom a panicked look, but she was thankfully too absorbed in her thoughts to notice. He handed her back the paper before he froze that too.

“Sounds pretty cool, Mom. Welp, I gotta go do some reading for class so—”

“Danny-boy!” Boomed his dad’s voice. He winced and turned to see his Dad coming up from the lab.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Helpin’ your Mom with some good ol’ fashioned ghost research are we?”

“Actually I was—”

“Maddie, I did what you asked! I tore the whole lab apart, but I still didn’t find the Fenton Ghost Gage anywhere.” Uh-oh. Danny slowly got up from the table and went to make for the door.

“That’s odd, I swear I left it by the control panel a few weeks ago...” It was quiet for a moment. “Danny—” he turned back around, feigning ignorance with every ghostly molecule of himself. “—have you seen the Ghost Gage sitting around anywhere?”

The New and Improved Fenton Ghost Gage was a relatively new invention, which actually worked pretty well. Except of course for the glitch that registered a level ten plus ghost in the house. His Mom had theorized that it was because of the proximity to the Ghost Zone that it was giving the off the charts false reads, and left it sitting in a tub of inventions to be tweaked. It was now safely placed between the drywall and plumbing of Casper High, sending it’s readings directly to Tucker's phone. Of course they’d already made the modifications for it to read core types, thanks to Tucker.

“Nope, sorry. Have you checked the couch cushions? Or the fridge?” he suggested.

“Of course! The couch! Good thinking, Dannio!” His Dad clapped him on the back with so much force the soda can flew from his grasp, and promptly exploded on contact with the tile floor. Right. Frozen soda explodes. Idiot.

The outside had been completely frozen, but apparently on the inside it was slush, which was now all over the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and the three of them. It looked like a sugary crime scene. He quirked a nervous smile.

“Oops?”

________________________________________________________________

Thankfully the soda caused only minimal damage to his parents research papers, but by the time he was done helping clean, the soda on his clothes had dried and gone sticky. Looked like there was no easy phase clean for him. He excused himself upstairs under the false pretense of doing homework and was gone the next minute.

Time to find that ghost.

The wind whipped through his hair and whistled past his ears. It was getting colder by the day and he loved it. The leaves on the trees would start turning soon, turning Amity into a collage of colors. If it weren’t for school, he’d love fall.

He made it to Casper in a minute flat, and started his search there. The weight of the thermos was a constant reassuring weight on his hip as he circled outward. If she was lurking anywhere, his ghost sense would let him know. He flew up and down streets, block after block, but he was getting nothing. Well, unless he counted the people on the street that whooped and pointed at him as he flew past.

He’d just gone by the Nasty Burger when a crackling bolt of energy zipped past him and punched a hole through a billboard. He recoiled and adrenaline flared through him; or whatever the ectoplasmic equivalent was. He flipped around to see a familiar ghost hunter.

“You never learn your lesson, do you, ghost?” Valerie growled.

“I’ve never been the best in school, so I’m gonna say no,” he said with a grin. Another blast shot past him, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of flinching.

“Shut up, I know you were at Casper today. What can you tell me about the new ghost?” Danny huffed. He and his friends weren’t the only ones that had the school bugged.

“You probably know about as much as I do, Red. She was gone almost as soon as I got there.”

“Like, I’d buy that!” Despite her helmet he could tell she was just as pissed as ever. He splayed his hands in a placating manner.

“Honest, why else would I be out here combing the city?”

“How should I know what you’re planning? You’re probably out here waiting for the opportunity to ruin someone else’s life.”

Danny groaned. “Seriously Red, I said I was sorry like two years ago, you need to learn to let stuff go.” Danny liked to think that deep down she knew he wasn’t there to hurt anyone. She certainly didn’t like him, but she had at least started giving him an opportunity to explain himself before trying to waste him. Baby steps he supposed.

“Back at’cha, ghost.” She lifted her blaster and it whined as it charged. Welp, decorum was over for the day. He went intangible and rocketed through the billboard. Once on the other side he went invisible and tore off in a different direction. He knew she could track him, but it was worth the few seconds it bought him. The sound of her jet sled roared as she gave chase.

Pink charges of ecto-blasts peppered his flight path, near misses and wildly inaccurate alike. He zig-zagged, holding onto his invisibility and intangibility as he slipped through buildings. This was the easiest way to lose her, she had to take the time to skirt around huge objects, or waste the time to go straight up allowing him to widen the gap. Not to mention, while intangible the lack of wind resistance put his speed at around 130 Mph. Last time they’d checked at least.

Once he was sure he was far enough away from Val to have dropped off her radar, he turned and headed for home. He phased through his window and transformed back, flopping onto his bed. He’d been all over town and hadn’t got a single whiff of the new ghost. At least Valerie was on it too. Still, it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

He glanced at the clock on his nightstand which read 5:10. He’d check for the ghost again after dinner with Sam and Tuck, maybe then he’d at least be able to avoid Valerie. For now, he could really use a break.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #fanfic #danny phantom fanfiction #phan phic #phandom #frigid #my writing #wesley weston #wes weston #kyle weston

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lukatheselkie · 4 years ago

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HMC - Body Swap

@hetaliamondaychallenge

I’m sort of back. I still don’t feel well enough to strictly use canon characters, so have this cute oneshot of Prussia and one of my OCs.

College AU where they’re still countries and personifications. Arthur leads the Soulmate Body Swap Program.

Pairing: Prussia x Alrik (OC; Fika)

Headcanons: Gilbert often wears blue contacts to change his eyes from red to purple. The pain given from touching a scar depends on the severity of the situation that gave it, and sometimes who gave it.

Content Warning: Cussing, scars, specific sex toys mentioned but not used.

Alrik grunts quietly when his phone blares an alarm at him. He rolls over and pokes at the screen, turning it off. He doesn’t recall setting an alarm, as he usually lets the sun wake him up, but sometimes he does stuff without realizing. He sits up with a sigh, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his sleepiness. He furrows his brows when his hair doesn’t hit him in the face. What’s with that? He opens his eyes slowly when he hears an unfamiliar voice nearby. “Where the hell am I!?” This is not his room! The door flies open and a concerned Ludwig hurries in.

“Gil, jou’re at home, not jour dorm. Jou drank too much last night und passed out.” That explains the headache. Wait… Ludwig? Gil? He tosses his head back and groans loudly. “Gil? Are jou okay?” The gentleness in his voice infuriates Alrik.

“Nej! Jag är inte okej! Jag kan inte tro att din dumma bror är min själsfrände! (No! I'm not okay! I cannot believe that your stupid brother is my soulmate!)” Ludwig’s eyes widen and he stumbles backwards a bit. Only one person would yell at him like that.

“Alrik…?” He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Who else?” Ludwig stares at him for a long moment. “Don’t just look at me!” He turns his head away, cheeks flushed in both anger and embarrassment. He will never admit it, but Ludwig is pretty attractive without his hair gelled back. “Go call Arthur! I’m going to make sure today isn’t Berty’s day as well. What a pain that would be.” Alrik sighs, and grabs for Gilbert’s phone. He grimaces when an ‘enter passcode’ message pops up. “You don’t happen to know his passcode, do you?” Ludwig shakes his head slowly.

“Nein. But he should have fingerprint ID on.” Alrik places his thumb over the home button, keeping his expression cautiously neutral. Thankfully it works, and he navigates to the calling app. He types in Albert’s number with ease; it’s one of three phone numbers he knows by heart. The other two are his own and Berwald’s. He lifts his head up to glare at Ludwig when he hears him part his lips to say something. The German holds up a hand and backs out of the room.

“Hallå?” Alrik sighs in relief when he hears his brother’s voice.

“Berty.” He puts as much love into the name as he can. “Is that you?” He can almost see Albert’s brows furrowing.

“Ja.”

“Oh thank goodness. You didn’t swap today. This is Rikky.” Alberts makes a quiet, shocked noise. “I know. I was hoping to have more time too. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Listen—Gilbert is in my body. I’m not happy about it, but apparently we’re soulmates.” Alrik lets out a groan. “Great. I have to make up with him.” He shakes his head. “That’s besides the point. Make sure he puts my necklace on, okay? Please. Oh, also! Wake him up rudely. He uses an alarm, and my ears are still ringing from it. He’s lucky it didn’t trigger my hearing sensory overload. Ludwig is calling Arthur. We’ll have to settle on a place to meet later. I just had to make sure you were okay, and knew what was happening. Jag älskar dig.” He ends the call before Albert can ask him to stay. He’s weak to his brother, but he really needs time to process. Ludwig peeks his head into the room.

“Hopefully he didn’t switch?” Alrik shakes his head in response.

“Nej.” He tosses the phone aside haphazardly. “Did you call Arthur yet?”

“He’s not answering.” Ludwig stares at him for a long moment. “Vhy don’t jou take a shower? It vill help zat headache.” Alrik bristles.

“As if! I don’t want to- to-!” His face turns crimson. Ludwig can’t help but smirk a tiny bit.

“Don’t vant to see him naked?” Maybe he finds this a bit *too* humorous. “Jou vill see him like zat eventually.”

“I don’t want to think about that.” Ludwig shrugs. “...But I’ll wash his hair. That should help clear his head. My head? I don’t know how this works.”

“Jour head. Jou also sound more like jourself zan him. I hope Antonio und Francis don’t vant to hang out vith him today.” Alrik perks up at the mention of Francis. “Vhat? Do jou like ein of zem?” “Not particularity. I’m hoping Francis and Berty are soulmates though. That would be nice. Good for Berty, for sure.” Ludwig smiles at him. It takes him off guard. “What?”

“Jou und Gil aren’t too different. He often puts his brother—me—first too. Jou’re both run by emotions. Jou have a more feminine style zough.” Alrik’s head jerks up at that.

“He better not touch my cute clothes! I spend a lot of time making sure they’re perfectly put up! And if he even thinks about touching my makeup, I’m going to filet him!” Ludwig chuckles. “It’s not funny!”

“I know it’s not. But I’ve never seen jou zis passionate before. It’s refreshing. Und a lot like Gil. It makes sense jou two are soulmates.”

“It does not! I hate his guts!” Ludwig sits at the end of the bed quietly.

“But vhy?”

“Jou know ze answer to zat.”

“Humor me.” Alrik looks away.

“...Fine. I’ve been unfairly rude and mean to you. Gilbert is only being a good brother by protecting you. It’s my fault things get physical.” Ludwig nods slowly.

“Vhy do jou hate me zough?”

“I don’t.” Alrik closes his eyes and lays back, clearly not wanting to explain. Ludwig lets the silence stretch out between them. By the time five minutes has passed, the Swedish man can’t handle it anymore. “I’m jealous, okay? I’ve known Feliciano wouldn’t be my soulmate. But I still fell in love with him. It’s completely one-sided and that’s fine. What’s not fine is how effortlessly you got close to him! I spent so long trying… Only to be pushed aside when you came into his life. I’ll never compare to you.” He turns his head into the pillow, trying not to cry. He takes a deep, shaky breath. A surprised grunt leaves his lips when he smells something sweet yet musky. “Den jäveln luktar till och med bra! Jag hatar honom så mycket! (That bastard even smells good! I hate him so much!)”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be the source of jour pain. I don’t know how to fix zat. But I vill say Feli has already swapped vith his soulmate, und it’s not me. I hope jou can find some reassurance in that.” Strangely, it makes Alrik feel a bit better. Ludwig laughs quietly, and he shoots back up. His eyes land on the phone in his hand. “I had my phone ready to translate,” he explains. “I know jou slip into Swedish vhen jou’re angry. I zought realizing jou laid back on his bed vould make jou angry. I vas right, but I vasn’t expecting jou to say he smells gut.” Alrik flushes crimson, and stands up quickly.

“I’m going to wash his hair now! And I’m using whatever I see fit. He can go one day without proper care. I never fully care for mine, and it’s fine.” Ludwig raises his brows at him, but doesn’t say anything. He practically barricades himself in the ensuite. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief when he hears Ludwig leave the room beyond the door. He takes the opportunity to study Gilbert in the mirror.

His eyes are a beautiful, piercing red. He could swear they’re purple most of the time though… Ah, he has a pair of blue contact lenses. For some reason, the knowledge that Gilbert wants to hide his eyes makes his heart ache. There’s no need to! He shakes his head, and looks at him some more. His jaw is a lot sharper than Alrik’s. His nose is longer and more slender. He smiles, and even that’s different. Gilbert is roguishly handsome, whereas Alrik’s soft and cute. His stomach knots up; he really does look like a woman, doesn’t he? He decides to stop looking at Gilbert's facial features, and tugs off his shirt instead. He pauses at the sight of the bare torso. He had no idea he was so toned. He glances at the mirror, and feels something within him shift awake.

“Nej! Absolutely not! Stop it, mind! I am not attracted to Gilbert! Under no circumstances will I ever be attracted to him!” His mind isn’t listening to him. But he’s not listening to his mind, either. He’s too busy staring at the scars. They’re easily hidden with a shirt, just as his are, but they’re clearly there. They aren’t quite as deep as his, but most still have a decent depth to them. He runs his fingers over them lightly. Only some cause pain to shoot through him. The majority of them either ache dully or don’t react at all. He knows the ones that hurt the most are from other personifications, or a serious happening in his country when it was around. He finds himself wondering if there’s one from being dissolved.

“Alrik? Are jou alright? I heard yelling.”

“J-ja, I’m fine.” It barely comes out. He shakes his head, and turns toward the tub. There’s no point in wondering when he can ask Gilbert about them later. They have to get along somehow. Whether they liked it or not, it had been decided they were soulmates. He would try it if Gilbert was willing. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Gilbert might not be willing. He can only imagine what’s happening there. ~

Gilbert jolts awake to cold water being poured on him. “Vhat ze hell!?” He hears a quiet laughter that gives him pause. That sounds nothing like Ludwig! And why doesn’t his head hurt? He knows he drank a bit too much last night.

“God morgen, sleepy head,” says a voice he’s not entirely sure is there. He looks around the room, and frowns when he sees a white-blonde haired man. He has too many curls to be Ludwig. And he’s wearing big, round glasses. He looks vaguely familiar. “Your alarm nearly caused my brother to go into sensory overload. Du should be more cautious, when du know du could swap anytime.” Ah. He recognizes him now. Stockholm Syndrome. What’s his human name again? Al… Bert? Yeah, that sounds right! But why is he in my room? He runs over the words in his head. ...Unless he’s not in his room.

“Scheiße!” He hops up, and feels sick at how close to the ground he is. His soulmate is *at least* seven centimeters shorter than he is! He has who it is figured out before he can even make it to a mirror. The mirror confirms it though. He runs a hand over his—Alrik’s—face, then through his hair. He grimaces at the rough texture. Well, it’s not really rough, but it’s not as soft or as cared for as his hair.

“I’ll go help Berwald make breakfast.” Albert leaves the room, looking a little too smug, probably about having poured cold water over Gilbert. He goes back to his frantic inspection of Alrik. His nose is short and somewhat squat. His cheeks are pudgy, and his jawline isn’t very strong. His lips are decently plump. He runs his fingers over everything he looks at, except for his eyes. Everything about his facial features is round. That combined with his normal fashion sense and makeup? No wonder he gets mistaken as a woman. It’s rather unfortunate, honestly. He’s rather pretty, when he’s not scowling. Which he isn’t, because Gilbert’s in control. But his body can’t be so feminine people get a good look at him and think he’s still a woman, right?

“Zis feels strange,” Gilbert grumbles as he pulls off Alrik’s nightgown. The first thing that catches his eye is his semi-hourglass shape. Guess they can. The second thing he notices is the scars. He’ll come back to those in just a moment. He pokes Alrik’s stomach, laughing a bit when it moves. He’s not quite overweight, but he’s not thin either. He might weigh more than Albert. Gilbert grabs hold of his hips, and sways around a bit. Everything about Alrik is soft. Well, besides his personality. Maybe that’s why he didn’t notice how cute the man is until now.

He shifts his attention to the deep scars. They look painful. He lightly traces the longest one, which crosses the majority of his torso, flinching heavily at the pain it causes. Regret knots up in his gut. He knows for a fact he’s punched Alrik where this one is. Yet he continued to fight. He’s strong. Gilbert shakes his head and moves on to the next one, down his left side. It’s not as deep, but it still hurts to touch. He lays a hand over the shortest and shallowest one, on his right upper forearm, and frowns. It doesn’t hurt enough to pull away, but it still stings. “Vhere did jou get zese?” He stares at Alrik’s reflection, and notices another one on his inner left thigh. He cautiously places a hand over it, and promptly makes a strangled noise of pleasure. *That one hurts and causes arousal at the same time, got it.* He pokes around at Alrik’s body a bit more, and that’s how he finds the fifth scar. It’s on his lower back, so that’s why he didn’t see it to begin with. He examines the rest of his body, but there’s only those five scars.

“Gilb’rt, g’t dr’ssed. P’t his n’ckl’ce on. It’s on his n’ghtst’nd.” He comes back to his senses at the gruff voice. Berwald. His eyes dart around the room. There’s a dresser and a closet. He goes to the closet first, but quickly figures out it mainly holds dresses, skirts, and super fancy shirts. There’s a pair of cream, knee-high, heeled, open-toed boots he intends to wear though. He finds the necklace Berwald mentioned, and ties it around his neck. He searches through the dresser from top to bottom, left to right. The top shelf has sweatpants, the second has large shirts, the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth have cute shirts, the seventh and eighth have skirts, the ninth has patterned pants, and the tenth causes Gilbert to flush crimson, slamming it shut. He takes a few deep breaths, preparing himself to open it again. When he does, he looks closer at the items inside.

There’s a few boxes, each containing a different type of lube, five egg vibrators, varying in sizes and all wireless, two dildos, one of which is delightfully sparkly, one realistic thrusting vibrator, one double-sided dildo with an insertable vibrator, seven cock rings, a fleshlight, two warming vibrators, three sets of anal beads, and a large amount of suction cups to stick onto any of the dildos or vibrators with a flat or semi-flat bottom, presumably for wall or floor fun. He feels himself blushing harder by the second, but he commits the items to memory. Since they’re soulmates, he fully intends to use as many as he can on Alrik. But much, much later. There’s also a few silk scarfs in the drawer, but he doesn’t let himself think about what those might be for.

He goes backwards a few drawers, picking out some light blue jeans with a cloud pattern, a cream skirt, and a light blue shirt with a cream squiggle pattern on it, almost like stripes. He pulls the clothes on, then the shoes he pulled out of the closet earlier. He can’t help but smile when he notices Alrik’s toenails are painted a pretty bronze. He stands up, and lets out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness! He’s back to his usual height! And the boots are wedges, so they’re pretty easy to walk in. He makes his way to the ensuite to fix Alrik’s hair. When he’s done with that he looks at the makeup, and decides to put some on.

“I can’t believe him,” Alrik groans out, shaking his head at the sight of what Gilbert dressed his body in. Ludwig chuckles, but doesn’t say anything. Thankfully, Arthur let the two soulmates and their siblings skip classes for the day. Normally it’s just the soulmates that get to skip, but this is a special case.

“I heard zat, jou know.” Alrik sets Gilbert’s face in a scowl. “Hmph. Vell I think it’s sexy.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t like it. How many men flirted with you on your way here?” He hums in thought.

“Twenty? Don’t vorry, none of zem zink jou’re a voman anymore.” Alrik holds up his hand.

“I don’t want to know. Can I have my body back so I can fix… this?” He motions at the entirety of him. Gilbert places his hands on his hips and makes a kissy face.

“Vhy? Jou look gut!” Alrik shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “Fine, fine. But jou have to promise not to upset Luddy.”

“I won’t. We talked that through. I… was being unreasonable. But that’s in the past now. You’re my soulmate, not Feliciano.” Gilbert’s eyes widened slightly. Ah. That makes a lot of sense.

“I’m a better soulmate zan him anyvay! For jou, at least.” His voice goes almost soft. Ludwig and Albert give each other a confused look. Gilbert breaks out into a laugh. “Being in someone else’s body lets jou get to know zem better, so of course ve’re getting along.”

“Mm. He’s right. I feel like I know Gilbert much better than I did when I went to sleep last night.” Alrik-in-Gilbert’s-body turns to Albert. “You can go on to class, if you want. I know how much you hate missing.”

“Ah, jou too, Luddy. Ve’re fine. I promise I von’t attack him. Zat’s in ze past.” Alrik nods along to his words.

“If jou’re sure.” They nod enthusiastically. “Zen…” He holds out his arm to Albert. “Shall ve?” His lips part, and he nods after a moment. He cautiously takes hold of Ludwig’s arm, smiles shyly at him, and walks away with him.

“That was uncharacteristic for Berty. He’s wearing his gloves, but he doesn’t normally touch anyone. Today must have us all frayed.” Alrik shakes his head. Gilbert chuckles.

“Speaking of frayed… Mr. I-own-twenty-two-sex-toys.” Gilbert watches his own face turn crimson in a blush.

“I knew I should have hidden those in my closet! I can’t believe you counted them!” He shrugs nonchalantly.

“I vas super embarrassed vhen I found zem. But I knew I couldn’t pass up ze opportunity.” Alrik huffs, blushing even harder.

“Shush! I don’t want to hear anymore! Let’s just get this meal over with so we can switch back. The way you did my lip gloss is bothering me.” Gilbert grins at him.

“If jou insist. But can I kiss jou after ve switch back?”

“You have to remove my necklace first. In this body, not mine. It’s important to me that my soulmate be the one to remove it. I’ll tell you the story later, if you have to know.”

“I vould like to know. Danke for offering to tell me ze story. But jou’re right, ve should change back first. I’m vashing jour hair zough! Und getting jou product. Jou don’t take care of it, do jou?”

“I don’t really see a need to. I don’t have split ends, and I don’t even get it cut professionally.” Gilbert scoffs.

“Zat explains ze unevenness. It vas hell pulling it back, jou know! But it looks nice now. Let me take care of it if jou von’t.” Alrik makes a quiet noise of disbelief.

“...Fine.” He turns his head away. “If you promise to be gentle.” Gilbert smiles brightly. How cute. “Not because I can’t handle it! I’d just rather not deal with my sensory overload.”

“Ah, jou’re really cute vhen jou’re not aiming a punch at me.” Alrik crosses his arms over his chest.

“And you better not forget it!” He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “And you’re handsome. Don’t let it get to your head.” He opens his eyes in time to see Gilbert grin. “I said don’t let it get to your head!”

“I’m not, I’m not.” He waves him off. “It makes me happy to hear zat zough. I’m glad ve both decided to try zis.”

“I am too.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “You don’t plan on using my toys against me, do you?” The silence is deafening. “GILBERT!” He laughs loudly, getting a few seconds head start in running away. It’s no use though; Alrik’s legs are too short to successfully run from Gilbert’s body. But that knowledge is worth being caught.

“In the far, far future, okay? Nothing for at least a year.” Alrik calms down a bit.

“M-maybe before then is okay… But six months minimum!” Gilbert sticks his tongue out happily. Alrik rolls his eyes and goes back to the table, Gilbert following after. Despite their past, he’s glad Gil is his soulmate. As Ludwig said, they have a lot in common. And there’s the added bonus of two older brothers to worry over each younger brother.

#hetaliamondaychallenge #hetalia #hws prussia #hetalia prussia #hetalia oc #Alrik Johansson #Albert Olsson #hws germany #hetalia germany #hws sweden #hetalia sweden

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physical-manifestation-of-spite · 6 years ago

Text

Jam - a Doctor Who Fanfiction

Rating: General Audiences (but it has some bad words in it)

Warnings: Cursing and jam violence (they’ll see me in court)

Categories: F/M, Gen

Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor & Rose Tyler

Genre: Humor

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 5947

Summary: In the unfortunate circumstances of the universe, all the Doctor had to be was the Doctor--which was to say, absolutely bleeding Mad--and the rest would follow. “The rest” being a chemical reaction resulting in fizzling, sticky goo, the distinct smell of sulfur, trioxygen, and cherries, and Rose Tyler’s infamous Look. Or: The Doctor smears himself with jam, and Rose suffers.

Read on Ao3 (advised, because I really didn’t want to have to re-italicize everything I wrote, and so I didn’t.)

The Doctor was an odd one.

It didn’t have to take long to know this. In fact, it didn’t have to take more than a second to know this. All it took was one look.

It wasn’t that the Doctor was particularly unfashionable. In fact, one could argue that his wardrobe, all tucked safely away in the many storage rooms of the TARDIS, contained the costumery needed to infiltrate the Buckingham Palace to look like the guards, the ministers, or the royal family themselves. No, no, the Doctor was quite alright with fashion, pinstriped suit and long-coat a frequent favorite of his, the slowly-browning converse betraying the clothing’s formality. And it wasn’t any unusual shade of skin color, like a blue or mauve, that suggested his non-nativeness to Planet Earth (the Doctor often enunciated “Puh-lanet” with a pop of his lips and a cheery grin). In fact, nothing really was odd about his appearance. (Well, save for perhaps his wild hair.)

Except the eyes.

Such glee in those eyes, such a wild fascination with the unknown--or perhaps known to him, but forgotten. They glinted at the most inappropriate moments, barrel of a gun (the shape, the material, and Earthly--or unEarthly--manufacturer varied daily) pointed at his head, or spinning razor heading toward the belly of one of his companions. Their respective aggressors would say something--and they always did --and the Doctor’s eyes would gleam with a sort of unbridled excitement. Then, he’d open his mouth.

Cheers to you if you could understand even a word of it, aside from the “ands” and “buts,” and those he didn’t use often. He spoke science, physics (still a part of science), various forms of molecular theory, space-travel--the works, really. No one, not even his companions, quite knew if he was doing it as a tactic to distract their assailants or if he really couldn’t help himself, like a child reaching for a sugar cookie. If you were to ask his companions afterwards, they would comfortably say he was doing both, and if you stared at them long enough, a bead of sweat would form on their temple and they’d ask you to please leave, yes thank you, take some biscuits on the way out.

Point is, the man was Mad. So Mad, in fact, that it was principle to capitalize the M to prove that he was the chief of it, or at least to make sure people got the hint. It’s just that they didn’t realize he was the sort of unEarthly Mad reserved only for Gallifreyans (but since we have no other Gallifreyans to look toward for reference, perhaps just for the Doctor) and it took them a while after meeting the Doctor to realize he was less Earthly mad and more a sort of alien Mad. The eyes, coupled with that unnatural grin, often helped get that idea along faster, though.

Rose Tyler was used to his Madness. Well, she’d say “used to,” but a better term would be better-to-adapt-to-it-in-a-high-stress-situation-instead-of-stare-at-him-blankly. Was there a word for that? (The answer is yes, and the word would be “acclimated.” Or “conformed.” Or maybe just “patient.” If you’re not reading this in the Doctor’s voice, you should be. In the same way his Madness is a part of him, so is his wise-assery.)

Rose wasn’t particularly immune to his Madness, but she had managed to develop what they both agreed upon (nonverbally, and without any prior conversation, consideration, or even hand-gesture) as The Look--a sort of defense mechanism. The Look was rather versatile in its meanings, adapted to the many changes in mood to her dear Doctor and the many situations that they had been in, which had become so repetitive during their travels that she could almost pinpoint when their assailants would pull out the death-ray (“It’s a figure of speech , Doctor, I know they’re not all death-rays.”) and never get a chance to actually do anything with it because the Doctor would either physically or metaphorically tear it out of their grasp.

The Look meant whatever Rose needed it to mean. A selection of her most frequent translations went as followed:

“Doctor,” (and they always started with “Doctor,” in an exhausted sort of sigh,) ”I’m sure this is fascinatin’ and all that (to you and only you), but if you don’t shut your mouth and start doing that thing you said you’d do to get us out of this mess, we’re all going to die a horrible death, and when we’re in Hell, if there is a Hell, I’ll tell you what I meant to say at the start: Shut up.”

“Doctor, this person’s parent/lover/child/close-friend and or relative just passed away and it’s probably for the best if you stopped talking about the marvelous way in which they died by a long-lost technology that you’ve never seen but would much like to piece apart. Insensitive is the word, yeah.”

“Doctor, you are the last living Time Lord in existence, and this act that you have performed not only threatens your life but my own as well, not because I was in physical danger, but because I don’t think I could bear living in a universe where you’re dead and I’m alive, so if you ever want to see me again, you better start treating this with the appropriate level of gravity it deserves to be given.”

and

“Doctor, take that out of your mouth.”

Respectively, these translations were ordered in the frequency that they were used.

And whilst today was supposed to be quiet, a sort of “off-day,” by the Doctor’s description, the universe had a sort of nature to it. Drop a rock in a vat of water, the water will ripple. Flip on a switch and watch a light turn on. Eat Jackie Tyler’s homemade haslet, get sick at exactly midnight.

In the unfortunate circumstances of the universe, all the Doctor had to be was the Doctor--which was to say, absolutely bleeding Mad --and the rest would follow. “The rest” being a chemical reaction resulting in fizzling, sticky goo, the distinct smell of sulfur, trioxygen, and cherries, and Rose Tyler’s infamous Look, being a variant of both the third and fourth regularity.

Because, while the Doctor was considered one of the most brilliant beings in the Universe, coupled with his Madness, Rose Tyler found him, on more occasions than not, utterly daft.

Presently, the Doctor smearing himself with jam.

Fourteen jars of it, sold for two pounds each at the local market down William Street*. Small glass containers, three hundred seventy grams each, all stacked together and rattling haphazardly on the metal-grated floor, compact with enough pectin to maintain structural integrity and hold the London Bridge together (not naturally, of course--otherwise the architects would be using blueberry jam instead of solid concrete--but the sonic screwdriver was handy in many situations, and strengthening the pectin bonds was no difference).

It was cherry jam (only because they were out of blueberry), and when he had gotten to the register, balancing all fourteen jars in his arms, the clerk had noted unhelpfully that there were trolleys at the entrance, before she began scanning the jars. Fittingly, because of the unusual number, and because it was one of the rules in the Unofficial Clerk Handbook to ask customers questions that the clerks didn’t honestly care about, she had asked, “Wot you doin’ with all these jams?”

The Doctor had perked up. “Well,” he began conspiratorially, “if you really want to know, I’m collecting enough pectin-laden adhesives to counteract the electric flow of my ship and redirect the pulsive energy centralized on the main control panel--since, well, the central control panel sits directly above the main engine--out and back into the capacitor--that’s broken, you see, the whole thing is broken, just ca-poot--and hopefully dissolve and/or store the excess energy that leaked from three of the central components. Well, that’s for seven of the jars.” He paused to take in a great gasp of air, scratch his chin, and point to the jars. “The other seven is for me and my companion--Rose Tyler, lovely girl, likes jackets a lot--to cover ourselves in during the process so that the propulsive energy doesn’t enter into our bodies and fry the very core of us from the inside out while the TARDIS is rebooting.”

He finished it off with a sniff and a smile. He waited, not particularly for applause, but for something, maybe that sort of daunted surprise that a lot of his past companions made their first several conversations with him. The clerk didn’t give him any of that. In fact, now that he thought of it, she had that distinct look of a divorced great-aunt whose love and affection was reserved only for her cat, Fransis, while she watched the rest of the world with slitted, vengeful eyes. Not that the Doctor ever had an aunt like that, or had seen one before, but some conclusions are easier to reach than others. Besides, you couldn’t trust anyone who named their cat Fransis.

“I’m making pies for a friend’s party,” he had said.

The clerk lady had nodded. “‘Ave fun with your pies.”

The Doctor took his bag of jams, suitably subdued from the conversation.

Which led to the now, where the Doctor was smearing himself with jam in the privacy of his own TARDIS. Which, to a human, sounded odd--even to a Timelord, it sounded odd (and this time, we do not need another Timelord to compare their feelings with). But for your information, he was fully clothed, thank you--didn’t want Rose running into the main room with the Doctor in such an embarrassing, ah, disposition, even if it meant smearing his pristine pin-striped pants with jam. To be fair, however, he was in a bit of a hurry--the sharp, bitter scent of burnt insulars, for one, can invigorate one’s adrenaline levels if you had enough knowledge to know where the scent was coming from, and that it was bad --and hadn’t the time to change, so when the Doctor saw the clouds of steam (and other things, most of which humans should not breathe in) coming from all the wrong places, he all but threw the bag of jams onto the ground, several shattering in the process, and began smearing the contents onto himself, internally weeping as the sticky ooze touched his suit. He didn’t have dry-cleaning on the TARDIS.

Rose was gone. This was not particularly unusual, and he did wish that she’d leave him a note sometimes, you know, so he didn’t have to wonder about her general safety during another alien invasion that would happen in the foreseeable future (it always happened when he was around, didn’t know why), but at the moment, she was placed in the back of his mind. Alarms were blaring. The TARDIS was informing him, with the clarity of a wailing banshee, that it was eleven minutes away from exploding. Well, metaphorically. Well, the TARDIS didn’t talk in metaphorics. Well, sort of with him it did. Or he just exaggerated the stakes a bit. The TARDIS was only going to explode a little bit. The three components he had mentioned to the clerk and the capacitor (which was already broken, but he supposed it would break some more, to an unfixable state) would shatter and likely rain sparks, fire, and pulsive energy which would effectively poison him, if the sheer heat didn’t burn him alive, and then to death. Or regeneration. Which would result in another explosion.

He rammed his entire fist into another jar and scooped the contents out like an over-eager toddler, spilling half of the red jam onto the grates below. He grumbled to himself, under the din of a dozen shrieking sirens. He’d never get the smell out.

The Doctor had estimated that it would take roughly 8 minutes to arrange the jam in its suitable position, which gave him an extra three to check and double-check and triple-check the positions. In the end, it took the Doctor exactly one minute to smear himself with jam, and four to cover half of the console and two of the components before the TARDIS gave a sort of ungodly wail. The Doctor looked up in a frenzy, stared at the monitor above him, before his face become suitably pale. “Oh,” he said, as if he’d found out his sushi had eel in it when he asked for crab. He fumbled for his sonic screwdriver.

Let it be said that, when under high-pressure situations, Timelords were especially good at manipulating time to their whims. There was no actual evidence for this, but the general public assumed that there was a sort of magical--or scientific--quality to the Timelords that allowed them to live up to their names, and, if they had the will, they could freeze time itself to accompany their needs.

The Doctor felt that this was a load of bollocks. It was adrenaline, nothing more, that forced the body to work at an intense pace. And he was running on so much at the moment that he made a sort of Mad titter as he cranked several dials and sent jam flying into the Unknowns of the TARDIS (not to be discovered until perhaps three decades from now, by which the little sliver of jam will have cultivated a generous colony of rare fungus, which the Doctor won’t have the heart to disinfect). The ship gave a resounding moan, and sparks began to fly. The Doctor busied himself with throwing the rest of the jam onto the necessary components, not caring anymore about the pristine arrangement. The sonic screwdriver whirred in his hand.

Another minute. That was all he got before the TARDIS made a sound like no other, and sparks became flames. His screwdriver had gone from a wild whir to a chaotic screaming, and the Doctor made a noise that could have been intended as a curse but was drowned out by metal roaring above him. The floor rattled. The last of the jars shattered into glass. The steam was building. It was getting hard to breathe.

As Mad as the Doctor was, as much of a clever, ancient genius he acted to be, even a Timelord, living for centuries upon centuries and building his experience with humans and aliens alike, surviving unusual occurrence and unexplainable oddity, always found one constant in all his travels: he couldn’t account for all of the variables.

The TARDIS exploded.

Rose Tyler was currently walking down Queens Road, on the complete opposite side of town. She wore a pink-lace dress, white jean-jacket, and her high heels--dangling from her two hooked fingers--clacked against each other as she walked down the road. She had a half-eaten muffin in her other hand.

She looked rather peeved for a shoeless girl at 1 o’clock in the afternoon. Perhaps the shoelessness was what made her peeved, if any fellow pedestrians were to speculate. High-heels had a strange power of doing two simultaneous things: making a woman look exceptionally powerful in almost all situations, and making the woman Lord Beezlebub, the spawn of Hell that all should avoid, directly an hour later. It probably had something to do with the swollen ankles. As Rose passed by, local shopkeepers wisely strayed away. (Let’s call someone else in, they mused. I don’t think I’m ready to atone for my sins just yet.)

The truth was that Rose Tyler wasn’t angry at any of the shopkeepers, or at her shoes, or even at her muffin, even though it made an ugly brown smudge at the hem of her dress when she nearly dropped it. She was angry at the one thing that had been consistently the source of her frustration, her exhaustion, and her swollen ankles, which would often lead to her tearing her hair out of shear strain or her falling asleep for twelve hours straight, on a weekly--and more often than not daily --basis: the Doctor.

It probably had something to do with their last conversation, which was less of a conversation and more of the Doctor talking at himself and then made a sort of noise when Rose asked a question. The TARDIS had apparently done something irregular, which was hard to discern for a human since all of the sounds the TARDIS made triggered that innate human instinct that said that the TARDIS was unusual and dangerous and that meant bad and Rose should very much get out to prevent her innards from exploding. But this was part of the thrill of travelling inside the police-box-shaped spaceship. Among other things. Such as the Doctor practically leaping from beyond the control panels and surveying the symbols on the monitor (which all looked like… well, it looked like alien language to her) with the excitement of a schoolboy child just recently gone out for recess.

“Oh, remarkable!” he cried, and the TARDIS made another noise that did not sound remarkable. “‘S never done that before.”

Rose felt a reasonable amount of alarm. “What’cha mean?”

“The capacitor!” The Doctor cried, still looking at the monitor as he fished inside his suit for his screwdriver. Rose wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be an explanation or if the Doctor was just talking to himself. “It’s broken.”

“ Broken ?”

At this point Rose knew that the Doctor was pointedly ignoring her. He began to scan the control panel. “Oh, dear,” he said when one of the buttons shined a color Rose had never seen before. As in a color she never knew existed. Her human mind, which could only contain so many impossible oddities, decided that this phenomenon was not something it was willing to comprehend, and she promptly forgot that the color ever existed. The Doctor sped past her.

“Doctor, what’s wrong?” Thankfully, the TARDIS wasn’t moving, so they were under no threat of crashing and being thrown around the main control room like a sack of potatoes. But the alarms were still blaring, and Rose’s ears were starting to hurt.

The Doctor disappeared beyond the grated floor down into the winding tubes and glowing lights below, and looking more greasy by the second. Rose could hear the sonic screwdriver whirring in between the pauses of the alarms, and the Doctor said something that Rose couldn’t understand. He stared unhappily at something that was blocking Rose’s vision.

“Doctor?” she urged, a tad irritably. The Doctor’s head popped back up, hair completely wild.

“Blueberries,” he said as an explanation. He vaulted himself back up and over the railing, onto the metal floor. He was shrugging on his jacket before Rose could blink. “I’ll be right back, don’t worry. Just gonna--- market, yes, probably has the most jars-- S’no problem.” He twirled his screwdriver into the air and caught it with one hand before slipping it back into his suit. His face split into that cheeky grin that always made Rose’s chest twist, and coupled with the wild hair and soft brown eyes, she couldn’t get a word out. “I’ll be right back,” he said again, and made his way toward the door. He paused and pointed to her. “Don’t go anywhere. It’ll only take a minute.”

Rose was going to tell him that his perception of time was skewed, and what would be a “minute” for a Timelord would be more of an hour to a human, and that she wanted to know what was going on, and why she couldn’t come. What she managed to get out, however, was, “Wha--” and then the door slammed shut.

In hindsight, she should have run after him, but she didn’t. She instead stood there in the still-wailing TARDIS and waited, just like he had told her to.

It had definitely taken longer than a minute. It had definitely taken longer than five. And ten. Fifteen as well. She made a strangled sort of sound in the back of her throat by the twentieth minute, fumbled for her phone, remembered that the Doctor didn’t carry a mobile on him, and made another strangled sort of sound albeit more passionately. She stormed out of the TARDIS and decided to search for him.

This had been a poor decision because she had gone (unknowingly) the complete opposite direction that the Doctor had gone. She found herself on the other side of Bristol after thirty minutes without seeing any sign, or even a trail of the Doctor (and there was often a trail, at least of several people who looked dazed and uncomfortable and obviously pretending like there had been nothing wrong). She came to the conclusion that she had gone the wrong way and mourned her loss by buying a small chocolate muffin from a local shop. She then spun around, shoes clacking against each other (she had taken them off sometime after buying the muffin, feet throbbing and on her half-way transformation into Lord Beezlebub), and made her way back.

On a whim, she called the Doctor on the TARDIS.

He didn’t pick up.

A white cloud clung to the ceiling. Sparks were slowly dying down, sputtering and coughing out from the wires with a sigh. The alarms, once shrieking and grating against the walls, were dead. The central control panel looked scorched along its lights and buttons, covered in a sort of blackened sticky soot that smelled like charcoal and something bitter. There was a coat, thrown over the metal railings, that was edging dangerously down into the abyss of wires and engines below. On the grated floor above the humming murmurs lied a figure, more still than the machine itself, legs crookedly folded over the metal, steam still trailing from the shoes. Beyond him, a strange thin tube, small enough to hold, fizzled in the dark, its round blue stone cracked.

Inside the TARDIS, it smelled sweet.

Rose was craving candy. Specifically cherry candy, the sort that you only find on Halloween night that were given by the odd old women who were missing an eye or a finger. (They weren’t actually missing any fingers or eyes, but a child’s imagination should never be challenged, and Mrs. Thompson did have a tendency to squint a lot.) The ones that you would find in grocery stores, that had the same brand and same wrappings, tasted like cough drops. Rose had privately wondered, when she was younger, if there had been a mischievous spirit that danced along the aisles and cursed the candy into sickly-sweet medication, else the candy be too powerful and become a new form of currency.

With this, she felt a bit self-consciousness, seeing as she just finished her muffin and shouldn’t feel the slightest bit peckish. She sniffed and regarded her stomach with a frown, and then sniffed some more. She raised her head.

Something was wrong. She couldn’t quite place it, with the wind rustling her hair and throwing dust and leaves and old-Bristol air into her face, but she felt suddenly cold. Uneasy. That sort of nervous sickness that settled in your gut and stewed a hot, sweaty chill in your bones.

The Doctor had emphasized, years ago, that those feelings were good, that they were built-in sensors, much like the alarms in his TARDIS, that all humans should listen to. The mind subconsciously gathered data from all surrounding sources, calculating various patterns from both the living and unliving to form a sense of normalcy, of safety, and that twist in your gut was your mind sensing that one of those patterns was off. “Listen to it, Rose,” he had said. Not that Rose ever didn’t. It was just pinpointing the what was the difficult part. What was causing the annoying twisting and churning and chilling?

When she turned around the corner, back to the empty park, and saw the blue TARDIS with its door cracked open and the trickle of smoke, she knew.

The door rattled against the hull when Rose burst in. She sucked in the air to shout for the Doctor, but there was smoke and mist and a horrible smell, and she choked halfway through before her eyes started streaming. Nearly tripping over her feet, she ran back and threw the other door open to let the cloud of smog out, lungs burning as she tried to cough out the muck. She staggered back inside, up the railing.

“Doctor!” she tried again. She heard a faint sizzling, a sort of hissing noise beneath her feet, beyond the railing and into the tubes and electrical wires and engines. The twist in her gut twisted more. She didn’t have to be the Doctor who know something was broken. Things that were broken tended to do things like hiss and sputter and groan, so Rose took an educated guess and assumed that the pattern wouldn’t be broken amongst universes, even in a craft that transcended space and time. She surveyed the clearing fog, heart pounding in her throat, hoping.

She felt sick when she saw something dark crumpled on the ground.

“Oh my god.”

She ran for the Doctor. He was lying on his back, bits of glass scattered around him--his head, his arms, some of it in his hair--and his legs were crooked as they were splayed haphazardly on the floor. His eyes were closed, his face covered in soot, and his clothes were covered in…

“Oh my god .”

A deep red soaked his clothes, stretched along his suit in streaks. It was along his neck, thick clumps of it dotting the skin, streaked over his cheeks and crusting over bits of stubble where he had missed when shaving that morning ( “Rose, have you seen the shaving cream?” he had asked that morning. “This one smells funny, like vanilla…” God, it was just a few hours ago. She should have told him, should have said something; the TARDIS had been making weird noises ages ago and she had thought it was all a part of the design, but she should have made a fuss, should have told him sooner, maybe if he had known-- ). The red was on his hands, like paint that smelled rotten and sweet , and oh God the TARDIS was spinning from underneath her. His fingers had made a trail, bright and glittering red, grotesquely dazzling against the dull metal, and she followed it along the floor and up the control panel. Her head throbbed when she saw fingerprints smeared over the buttons and lights, strips of red in the shape of claws. He had tried to stop it. Something was wrong with the TARDIS, and he had tried to stop it.

She couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking. The floor swayed beneath her and she tumbled down, right beside the Doctor, as her head sagged down and down and down. She covered her mouth with her hands. She was going to throw up.

“Doctor?” She reached out to touch him.

The Doctor’s eyes snapped open.

Rose screamed.

“Oh. Hullo, Rose.” said the Doctor, who was covered in red and soot and smelt like burnt fruit but was clearly and obviously staring at her, awake and not possessed by a zombie parasite (or, at least Rose hoped). He sat up, which apparently wasn’t a good idea, and immediately swayed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry, sorry, excess thermal energy still coursing through. Makes me woozy.” His face twisted in a sort of exaggerated concentration and sniffed. He stayed there for a second, sniffed again, before snapping his eyes back open. “There we are.” He smiled and leapt back onto his feet. He surveyed the TARDIS, dimly lit and smog still clearing out, with an apparently satisfied conviction. “Damage not so bad, I suppose, and conveyors suitably sealed.” He leaned over the railing to stare below them. “Let’s see, one, two… and…. Three! Three components all properly contained, just in the nick of time, with some sugary sweetness to boot. I might just say…” He bent over and retrieved his screwdriver, ignoring the cracked gem as he gave it a spin in the air and caught it with a wink “An unequivocal success.” He frowned at his companion. “What’re you doing on the ground?”

Rose’s head was still spinning. “You’re covered in blood.”

“Blood? No, no, no . Not blood.” He smeared a bit of the red off of his suit and popped it into his mouth. “Jam! Not blueberry, sadly; the market didn’t have it. Which, by the way, what market doesn’t have blueberry jam? They had blueberries, of course, but not blueberry jam. Would have helped to even have some apple jam, though mind you, I don’t really expect a market to have apple jam** , sounds almost weird, apples-- You know, I don’t think the human race much likes apples. What with the story of Eden, and that one American who chopped down the apple trees, and with students bringing their teachers apples, hoping they choke--and don’t you act like I don’t know that, you can tell in their eyes-- Anyways, ” the Doctor took a breath. “Cherries! They had cherry jam, which wouldn’t be my first choice what with their lower pectin concentration, but it’s not like any of the human markets have pure pectin tubes that sit on a rack, so I had to do with the cherry jam and just aggravate the chemical bonds to--”

“It looks like blood,” Rose said.

The Doctor stared at her.“Well. Yeah. It probably does.” He scooped another swab of jelly with his fingers and examined it. “Must’ve gotten darker when it absorbed the smoke. And the pulsive energy must have unraveled the pectin bonds and… well, made it more watery to make it look… oh yes, strikingly similar to blood, yeah. But!” He popped his fingers back in his mouth, giving the jam another lick, before shrugging off his suit jacket, still smothered in sticky red, and tossed it aside to reveal his unblemished shirt. “Perfectly fine! See? No holes, no burns. My face feels a bit sticky and I think some of the residue energy is gonna settle into my calves for the next couple hours, but nothing a good bath won’t solve--”

“I thought you were dead,” Rose said.

The Doctor’s smile wavered. He glanced at the controls and poked at a few switches, the TARDIS humming around them, before he swiveled back with forced cheeriness. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about me! My biology is different from yours; blast was completely harmless--could only give me a little sizzle, like a bug bite.” His teeth clacked together, and he fiddled with the jam still on the control panel, all burnt and filled with soot. “This helped. Not just fruit preservatives. A small container filled to the brim with sugar molecules that sort of stick together, like cement--but not actually cement--that helps with not only with binding the components together and preventing the leakage of poisonous gas the TARDIS typically keeps filtered, but to also direct the pulsive energy into the jam and not me. So,” his voice light and squeaky, “I’m fine.” He licked his fingers a third time.

Rose hated this. This pretend little game the Doctor did, acting like nothing was wrong. It burned something deep inside her, something that made her teeth itch and skin crawl. His insistent independence, the unwillingness to tell her when something was wrong, drove her mad. One could even say Mad.

And as the Doctor continued to lick the jam, Rose fitted all her malcontent into the Look, and stared at his finger.

Maybe she burned it. She hoped she did, because the Doctor retracted his finger as quickly as he had popped it in. “Right,” he said. “Sorry.” He had the sense to look ashamed.

The good thing about the Look is that it was silent, and the Doctor was a smart man. All of the things Rose would struggle to say verbally was translated properly into the Look, and the Doctor understood, or at least deduced, as much as Rose intended. As said in the beginning, this time it was a version of the third and fourth variation (Don’t put yourself in stupid danger, and Don’t stick that in your mouth),*** and it seemed that the Doctor had gotten it. Slowly, the Doctor extended his arms as a hesitant invitation. Rose, never one to refuse the offer of a hug, fitted herself into the Doctor’s arms. They stayed there for some time, Rose listening to the Doctor’s double heartbeat, and silently choked on the scent of burnt cherries.

When they parted, Rose rubbed irritably at her nose. “Just,” she huffed. “ Tell me when you do stuff like that.”

The Doctor frowned. “I did.”

“No, you said ‘blueberries.’”

The Doctor made a face that said that “blueberries” had sufficed as a proper explanation, and when Rose made a Face of her own (one terrible enough to earn its own capital F), he stepped back. They both heard a crunch.

“Aw,” the Doctor whined, and looked forlornly at his feet. The remains of a small glass jar rattled against his sole, the red mush staining his converse. “That was lunch.”

They settled for a small cafe at the edge of Bristol an hour later, and after a couple of glasses of wine, they completely forgot about the jam.****

* The market in question is called plainly the Fruit Market, located on William Street in Bristol, UK. It was a bit difficult to find a proper market that had inside cashiers in Bristol, especially when all you have is Google and absolutely no knowledge of the UK. (I might have just chosen a supplier and not a legitimate grocery store.) I embarrassingly discovered later that markets and grocery stores were not the same thing and almost changed the store. But then I got too attached to the idea of a rumbustious Doctor entering a homey fruit market, looking deranged with grease smeared all over his face, complaining over the fact that they didn’t have blueberry jam, and doing a general job-well-done of disturbing the peace in this little market.

** Blueberry jam and apple jam have the highest level of pectin content, which is why the Doctor would have preferred either of them to use as a sort of glue for his capacitor and other broken things. If you couldn’t tell already, I am making up 90% of this, but within reason. I did a bit of research about the chemical bonds and makeup of jams, and how pectin are sugar-based bonds that hold the molecules together and make a jam harder or softer. If you’re actually a biologist, please don’t ruin this for me; I have a vague sense of knowing this would never work, but I’m proud of my bullshitting nonetheless.

*** After this incident, the fourth version of the Look (Don’t put that in your mouth) moved up the hierarchy to become the third version, because she had to repeat it several times afterwards. The TARDIS smelled like cherries for weeks.

**** Not because of the wine, but because another spaceship had crash landed three kilometers away from their cafe (remember what the Doctor had said about invasions happening near his vicinity? Must be another force of nature, like gravity.), and later in the day they discovered that the alcohol content was a good form of camouflage, and they had to douse themselves in several extra glasses. It was a poor day for both of their wardrobes. It was also a blessing nothing flammable was on board.

#it's a long bastard #doctor who #fanfiction #doctor who fanfiction #spiteful writings #tenth doctor #tenth #rose tyler #tenrose #dw #david tennant #billie piper #fanfic

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ain-t-bovvered · 6 years ago

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Serendipity 13

RE-POST EDITED: @waywardbaby

A/N 1: so I’m slowly getting back in the writing thing, I first need to finish to re-post this act so I don’t get overwhelmed by the others too. Bear with me while I finish this I NEED to get this done, then I’ll get back at the others.

Pairing : Dean X Reader

Characters : Dean , Sam , Castiel and Jack

Warnings : slow burn guys…slow burn . Also some fluff, humor,feels and angst.

a/n : this was my first ever spn writing. It started as a one shot and I couldn’t put it down to rest and kept writing and writing. Don’t know what else to write honestly….this is my first born and I love it, I hope you do too.

summary: You were minding your own business at work, in your little town.Your world was small and uneventful, work,studying,gym,netflix, a devastating heartbreak, the need to travel, the craving of freedom, adventure…just something different. You just knew you needed more .

Suddenly an American green eyed stranger walks in and, like someone heard your prayer ,your life won’t be the same.

Masterlist : Serendipity

catch up! : Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part7 Part8 Part 9 Part10 Part11 Part12

You didn’t sleep. Not that you thought you could, so nothing surprising there. That has been unbelievably pathetic and sad.

How in the hell were you supposed to go and meet them this morning? You groaned knocking your head on the bus’s window, too tired to drive. Almost missing your stop, you pushed people out of your way and managed to get off just in time.

It was a sunny day again but you couldn’t enjoy it. Your mood was foul, because of lack of sleep, too many people around and a massive awkward time awaiting. So if the sun was out and singing you couldn’t care less. From across the street, you saw them waiting. Sam massaging his temples and Dean faking reading the bulletin board.

“Ok, you can do it. There are monsters in this world, you fought a ghost and met a witch. You can definitely face one Dean Winchester”.

Balancing your journal and your trustful gigantic thermos full of hot coffee and milk, you took a deep breath and crossed the street.

“Hi guys!” you chirped behind them. They both spun around startled. Nope, one Dean Winchester was much more intimidating.

“Y/N, morning,” Sam said weakly.

“Oh wow! Sam, you look ….awful. I brought you coffee. You’ll thank me later”

Dean stayed silent but nodded at you, hands in his pockets.

You nodded back and said nothing.

Yeah!

What possessed you to think you could face one Dean Winchester looking like that.

Sam stared at both of you frowning. “Alright I’m too hangover for this” he sighed. “Shall we?” he motioned you to go ahead.

Once inside, Sam looked like a child in a candy store. You laughed tiredly and turned to Dean to make a joke but it died in your throat. He had stayed behind peering outside a window with a bored look on his face. Sam called after you, shifting your attention to him, and you didn’t see Dean’s gaze fixing on you.

“We should ask for this book, this one, that one and that one too…also ask if they have some of these documents and these records”. Sam gave you a long list of names for the assistant, who after reading it frowned. You laughed it off nervously, scurrying to the table where Sam was slumped on the chair, head leaning over his arm. How bad must he be feeling right now?

You took out three mugs out of the bag you had brought from home and started to fill them. The aroma filling your nose and slowly, very slowly, Sam’s head lifted as the fumes called to him. Plopping down on your seat, you let the smell lull you, giving you life again. With your eyes closed, you enjoyed the first sip, leaning your head back letting out a long groan of relief as the coffee already worked its magic. Coming back from your little moment of ecstasy, your eyes met Dean’s. He was looking at you longingly, and as he crossed your eyes he instantly looked elsewhere. Sam was again caught between this exchange and eye-rolled grabbed his mug taking a sip.

“This is great,” he said smiling contently, deciding that it was too early for all that.

“Y/N, here’s your books, and I found some of those records you asked. Anyway what kind of exam are you preparing?” The library clerk stopped by your table unloading the pile of dusty books. You paused, your brain panicking. “Uh... I’m writing a paper on how some old Italian families are connected to esoterism”

“Oh ok,...weird...but okay. Well, enjoy” he nodded at them. “Just remember to write the time you finish. Here are the gloves”

“Thanks”

You were nose deep in books and papers for hours, while Sam looked more and more like a human again, avidly asking you to translate phrases, helping you with some of the Latin and filling other blanks in your journal.

Dean…

Dean was gone. He had announced after the first half-hour that he was going to stretch his legs and breathe some real, fresh air before, ‘we could pass him the nerdiness’ he had said. Every now and then, your eyes would search for him.

“Don’t worry. He’s always like this”

“I’m afraid it’s because of me“

He snorted.

“I really don’t think so”

Sam watched you nibbling your lips and sighed,’ these two idiots’ he though. “Here, the sooner we finish the sooner we’ll join him”.

“And that should cover most of everything. I’ll let Castiel fill you in on the angel parts”

“But he’s not here. How can I ask him if he’s coming to pick you up tomorrow?”

“You can pray to him and if he’s free he’ll come”

“…texting is so 2018”

Sam chuckled while scrolling through papers and documents. You saw him freeze and he quickly got up and walked to the window. Narrowing his eyes he brought a yellowed page closer to his face.

“What is it?” you asked on your tippy-toes, trying to see. He smiled and turned the document to you, “I don’t see it”, you frowned scanning the document.

Lifting a gloved finger he pointed to the corner of the page.

“Look closely”. Squinting behind your glasses, you looked where he was pointing. In the top, right corner was a faded sigil.

“That’s not a hunter’s sign,” you said confused.

“No, but it’s a Men of Letters’ one. This proves there is a branch here too. There are a few names listed here. We can trace their legacies and hopefully, we’ll find their locations. This way …”

“-this way I’ll have someone to contact” you whispered.

This was exciting. Your heartbeat faster and you looked at Sam, eyes glistening feeling like you had actually found something to look forward to.

In the next hour you discovered there were still some families left, but if they were active or not was your job to find out on your own.

You and Sam were still discussing the best approach while exiting the library that you almost passed by Dean who was waiting for you, leaning with a bored look against the wall.

“Dude, where have you been?”

“Took a stroll in the castle and since I was there I searched for ghost activity, just in case.” His eyes shifted on you and said: “Guess what?” He wiggled the EMF device, grinning satisfied, “ No more ghosts”.

“Nice” you smiled back, and then your tummy protested and Dean’s one followed. You both looked down.

“Nice to see you two getting along again” Sam chuckled.

“So guys, when are you going to call Cass?”

You had suggested having lunch where you worked since you had tonight’s shift so starting early in order to gain some extra cash seemed like a good idea.

“First thing in the morning should be fine. We can use these few hours as a vacation. I don’t remember the last time we did this, Dean?”

“There was that time we went to that lake, that lasted what? Maybe less than a week? I don’t know”

Sam scoffed “Oh yeah! Hadn't you just come back from the dead?”

“Yeah. Which time was it?”

“Ah, no! Right! I think I had just cured you from being a demon”

“And some monsters had busted your arm”

“I swear you guys make the weirdest conversations” you interrupted, shaking your head. “Here we are. It is warm enough to sit out. Is that ok?”

Just as you started to sit down two arms grabbed you from behind and a high pitched shrill drilled into your ear as Sam tensed and Dean stood up alarmed.

“Y/N!”

Your friend squealed again in your ear “You're still alive? How did that night go? You didn’t text me back”

“Hey” you said, disentangling yourself from her tight embrace. “Sorry, I forgot. I’ve been busy “

Her smile widened dangerously, “Oh, I bet you were”. She lowered her voice a bit. “Sooo, was he that good to you?”

You blushed and looked briefly at Dean who luckily didn’t understand a thing but wore a curious expression and your blushing got redder. Her eyes followed yours and she gasped.

“Is that …?” she looked at you again, “Oh my god he was! Right? Oh my god! What the hell? He’s hot! And...”, her eyes shifted to Sam, “Who is the exquisite giant?”

“This is Dean and Sam Winchester”

You said in English so as to include them. “Guys, this is Y F /N, my friend.”

She pushed you aside, scrambling to shake their hands taking particular interest in Sam who, by now, just wanted his hand back as she leaned into Dean.

“So... Dean…I hope you gave my girl a good time”. She elbowed him and winked. He looked at her confused and then slowly smiled smugly as his eyes settled on your panicked face. “She needed it so bad, like, I think she hasn’t seen a d-”

“Y/ F/N!”, you yelled in panic, dragging her away from Dean. “What the hell?! Nothing happened!!”

“Oh. Well maybe I coul-“

“Shut up...” you snatched the menus from her hands, “...and come back in a few minutes for our orders”

You turned to the boys embarrassed, Sam chuckling and Dean casually looking anywhere but you.

“..um, sorry about that…” mumbling with your face hidden by the menu.

“That was amazing, I’m gonna miss this when we go back to our normal fast food diet” you watched as Sam patted his tummy satisfied.

“Hey!! I cook for you!” Dean said as he was still stuffing his face.

“No, please!! I can’t eat anymore” Sam whined as he saw your friend coming back with more plates.

“Don’t be rude Sammy” Dean said with his mouth full.

“Sam, please. I’m gonna treat you for helping me and as a goodbye gift”

“Is that pie?” Dean’s eyes sparkled pushing to the side what was left of his meal as Y/F/N put the plate in front of him. “Oh, hell yeah!”

“This is our region traditional pie. You all like chocolate, I hope?” The pie had a crunchy chocolate and almond bottom and the filling was chocolate biscuit soaked in coffee and light mascarpone cream. All of this covered with a thin sheet of dark chocolate flakes.

“You better order some more if you want to eat too because he’s gonna eat it all by himself,” Sam warned eyeing his brother who was cutting a thin slice, pushing it to Sam and diving into what was left, not even caring that his mouth was covered in chocolate.

“This is awesome” he said mouth full. “Sorry. You wanted a slice too?” and by the look on his face you could tell he didn’t really mean it.

“I’m good”, you chuckled, tapping your fingernail on the small cup of coffee.

“Y/N we should get the check “

“Nonsense! My treat. You spent the morning babysitting me”, you hushed Sam, looking at your watch.

“Well, this is it! I’m gonna stay here and start my shift earlier. I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your ‘vacation’”, you said tying the maroon apron around your waist.

“We could come for a drink later,” Dean said, “if you want, that is.” You couldn’t help the wide smile that spread on your face. You really were not ready to say goodbye.

“Yeah…I’d love that, we’d love that”

“Yes please do! I need something nice to look at!” your friend shouted from behind the counter as you walked them to the door.

You watched their backs as they walked away. Dean glanced back and you smiled brightly waving. He smiled back too and all seemed to be back to normal…Well, at least close to how normal these last few days had been.

Y /F/N hugged you from behind, her chin laying on the top of your head.

“Damn Y/N” she said dreamily and clearly watching their asses by the way you felt her head tilting to the side. “Where did you find them?”

You both signed.

She grabbed your shoulder and spun you around to face her.

“…what the hell is wrong with you? What did not happened with Mr Freckles?”

“…I don’t know! I froze and he only tried to take my hand.” You smiled, bitterly, shrugging. “I’m hopeless. I guess I’m still hung up on...well you know...“

“Yeah, yeah I know and the fact that you can’t even say his name is a clear sign”. Now her face was serious. “How can you still be? It’s been months!”

“After almost 7 years, I’m sorry if there’s no switch off button”, your voice broke.

“Yeah, but you are so hung up on someone that never existed anyway. He just played the part and you were too blind to see it-”.

You avoided her gaze. You knew she was right. You had said those things to yourself too.

“-and you are also doing nothing about it!” She grabbed your face.

“I know it’s hard but, you need to start living again”, her eyes softened, “he sure as hell has. You are so stuck in this hole you dug yourself and I don’t want you to suffocate in it, losing whatever chance on happiness comes your way because you are stuck down there.” Tears pricked at your eyes and you felt a lump in your throat. She hugged you tightly and whispered in your ear “I care for you too much to let you do that to yourself; you deserve the world that he wouldn’t give you. So snap the fuck out of it ”

“Okay!”, you smiled weakly.

“Promise me”, she said grabbing your shoulders and shaking you hard.

You laughed, cried, and sniffled… whatever.

“I promise!”

“Good! Now, tell me, is Sam single?”

You pushed her away laughing and went inside.

“Hey bitch! I’m serious!”.

It was the middle of a busy shift and you both were juggling around the tables, not a moment to catch your breaths when out of the corner of your eyes you saw the Winchesters coming in. They certainly stood out of the classic crowd, tall and burly, wrapped in plaid and leather. They radiated that foreign aura everywhere they went. Sam and his impressive height and long hair, Dean with his bowlegs and striking green eyes.

Yep!

The Winchesters were a rare sight and probably the most exciting thing that had happened to your sleepy town during that time of year. As you waved back at them you couldn’t help but catch some curious and envious stares from some of the customers and the brothers chuckled as you almost crashed into a chair on your way to meet them at the counter. Embarrassed, you indicated the bar stools, the only seats available.

“Hey guys! Sorry busy night, it’s going to quiet down soon”

“No problem” Sam smiled at you.

“What can I get you?”

“Beer’s fine for now”. Your heart leaped in your throat at the sight of Dean, looking as gorgeous as ever. You on the other hand probably looked like a mess, sweaty and flushed, apron covered in stains, part of your shirt wet with beer that had spilled over you and pretty sure your braid hang sad and disheveled on your shoulder.

“Coming right up”

Later you were able to spend some moments chatting with them when you heard the door opening again. Before you could turn to greet the new customers, Y/ F /N stopped you.

“Eer, don’t worry about that Y/N. I got it.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. You already have too many orders to serve”

“No I-”

You didn’t let her finish and walked away grabbing the menus.

“Oh, shit!” Dean heard Y/F/N say.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The ones that came in….Y/N‘s ex is one of them”

“Oh…”, they both mouthed.

“No, no this is bad. It’s her first time seeing him after..” she scratched her head “…after a year. Fuck!” she began panicking “I shouldn’t have let her go”

“Hey guys, you already know what you want or should I leave th-“

“Y/N”

You froze.

Shit.

“...Hey” you managed to say. You felt your entire ex-group of friends’ eyes on you.

“…w-what do you all want to order?”

You took their drink orders mechanically and turned around but he grabbed your wrist preventing you from getting away. At that moment, you crossed eyes with Dean sitting at the bar.

Dean watched how she stiffened. Even from behind, he could tell she was uncomfortable and her body screamed that she wanted to run. She still took their orders, but when she turned to walk away, the bloke grabbed her wrist blocking her as she turned around and locked eyes with him.

She was livid, her bottom lip trembled and her eyes were hollow. He wanted nothing but to go there, twist his hand and set her free, but before he could do anything, he saw her closing her eyes, taking a big breath and turning around.

“Why doesn’t he let her go? “ Dean growled feeling uneasy at the whole thing happening before them.

“I don’t know, they look like they are talking”

“Does she look to you like she wants to talk to him?” Sam asked worriedly.

“..No! I don’t know what to do. I can’t go there and pull her away in front of everyone. Her boss is here. She’ll hate me”

Dean watched as she squirmed under his grip again, more fervently and then she flinched in pain.

“HEY WE’RE DRY OVER HERE!!” he shouted. He saw her pulling free and running to them.

He barely had time to look at her expression. She looked like a hunted animal, but before he could say or do anything, she hurried past him and disappeared in the back room. He got ready to follow her but Y/F/N stopped him.

“Give her time. She doesn’t want to be seen like that, trust me”

Dean sat back slowly, him and Sam sharing a worried look.

“Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip”, you were pacing in the middle of the storage room, your chest felt tight and tears threatened to spill. Sighing, you leaned against the cold wall and threw your head back hoping the gravity would stop the tears that were threatening to spill. When the buzzing in your head stopped, you smacked your cheeks with both hands and took a long shaky breath.

“Ok girl, you got this!” You walked out and met the others.

“Hey, you ok? I’m sorry! I should have gone instead of you”

“please. This is my job. Besides, it would have happened eventually, right? We live in the same city”. She gave you a quick hug and resumed her work not before throwing another worried look in your direction. You walked behind the counter, stopping in front of the boys. You quickly glanced at them and smiling weakly, you grabbed the first bottle within reach, poured a generous amount of whatever that was and gulped it all down.

You grimaced and shivered, “That was disgusting….ok,” you slapped both hands on the counter, “So, where were we?”

“Err…Y/N you want…to talk about it?” Sam began.

You laughed. “Nope”.

Sam scoffed peering at Dean, who responded with a mouthed ‘what?’.

“So, how was the rest of your day?” you continued rubbing your wrist without thinking. Dean’s eyes did not miss it.

After talking with them you started to relax. They told you about the Men of Letters and the bunker that they call home and you finally got to ask about Jack after you had insisted.

“He sounds….nice,” you said not entirely convinced. He was still the son of Satan.

“Apparently the Antichrist likes nougat,” Dean said sipping from his bottle.

“Y/N …”

Your face fell…apparently, the boy can’t take a hint. Sam and Dean turned to the source of the voice.

You acknowledged him, “The bill?”

“Ah…yes, thanks”.

You moved to the cash register. Dean watched how you rubbed your hand on your jeans before grabbing the piece of paper with shaky hands.

“ 40 in total, cash or card?”

Dean did not understand what were you saying but your voice was steady and flat as you gave him his card back.

“Thank you and goodnight,” you said glad that this was over.

“Wait Y/N!”

“NO!!” you snapped, few heads turned your way, “no” you repeated, lower between your teeth.

“I don’t understand, I did nothing for you to be this angry”

You stared at him. You knew he was genuinely confused like he had always been. Never did anything, nothing was ever his fault; the others can’t understand, all the bad in the world was on his shoulders.

“Exactly. You did absolutely nothing”

You peered at Dean who sat closer to where you were, eyes darting between you two, evaluating the situation. “Listen, this is unnecessary…just go please”.

“God!! You haven't changed a bit”, he scoffed unpleasantly. That blow landed perfectly and suddenly it was hard to breathe and your face was hot.

“Is there a problem here, pal?” both your head and his snapped up to Dean who had turned around in his seat.

”Dean it’s ok –”

“No it’s not. I don’t understand what he is saying, but I can tell it’s making you uncomfortable, so…,” he snarled back looking at him, tilting his head, smiling coldly. “What’s up, big guy?”

He looked at Dean and then at you sneering.

“Oh I see!” he leaned closer over the countertop.

“Is this how you get off? You must be thrilled. Tell me. Do you speak in English when you get f-“

“Hey!” Dean grabbed his upper arm stopping him from leaning further into you. Sam startled, stood up too putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“You paid, time to go buddy!”

He tried to unsuccessfully wriggle out of Dean’s grip.

“Tell your lap dog to keep his hands off me”.

You put a hand on his arm. “It’s ok Dean. He’s going, right?”

Dean’s grip softened.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going”

He snatched his arm back, massaging it and walked away. He stopped at the door. “I’m sorry”, he said looking at you.

“No…No you are not. You've never been sorry in your whole life”, you smiled sadly and his face fell.

“Y/N…” you heard Dean’s voice close, but your eyes were glued to the now closed door. He put a hand on your shoulder and you jumped, startled.

“Y-yes?”

“You okay?” he asked, peering at your face.

“Yeah”

That sounded weak. You cleared your voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine”

He kept staring at you, lifted his hand to cup your face, his thumb wiping the wetness under your eye. “Then why are you crying?”

“What? I- I’m not” you backed away and touched your cheeks. You were indeed crying. Your face was wet and the tears wouldn’t stop. You maniacally wiped them with your sleeve. “I’m…I’m sorry I don’t know why…I’m sorry”. You ran past him and out the door, Dean calling after you.

He easily found you later, sitting nearby on the edge of the marble fountain facing the old church.

“Can I?”, he asked and you shrugged. He sat beside you, his warmth radiating and you suddenly felt very cold.

“So…uhm…the ex”

“Yep”

“Yeah, break ups, uh?” he bumped his shoulder into yours. “Tough sons of bitches, am I right?” he chuckled nervously.

“I wouldn’t know. This is my first”

“Oh!” his brows shot up.

“Yeah. Maybe, that’s why it’s so hard now. Maybe the next won’t hurt this much”

He signed loudly “...not sure about that kid, they all suck in their own way”

“Awesome!” you saw his hands fidget and you smiled bumping into him too.

“It’s okay. I’m okay...In fact, I think that was the closure I needed “

“What?”, his grin returning, “No car windows smashing, trash his house, poop mails?”

“Nah, I don’t need that and he doesn’t deserve it, really” He really didn’t. You rubbed your wrist again, lost in thoughts.

“Does it hurt?” He said reaching towards you but stopping. Instead, put his hand on his knee.

You peeked at his face as he was awkwardly watching some of the few people walking by and then your eyes fell to his hand. You stroked the crystal that was now constantly around your neck and holding your breath you reached and intertwined your fingers with his.

@curly-haired-disaster @time-travel-bouqet @dean-winchesters-bacon @babyimp1967 @wingedcatninja @imma-winchester-addict @ravenangel33 @maimalfoi @purpleskiesandcherrypies @marilynnlew @mariekoukie6661 @wayward-and-worn @thewinchestertales @raelady1184 @mah1c @spnskinnyballs @starfirerules @missjenniferb @hunterswearingplaid @sculptorofbeginnings @younoeatcheeseyounobefat @theangelwinchester @missihart23 @weathergirl83 @ravenhg @soloarcana @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @sexykitten253 @ackleholicwinchester @clarinette07 @biawol @snffbeebee @daskleinevolk @demonic-impala @icequeen6666 @hobby27 @sandlee44 @formulafun @linki-locks11 @tw1721boobear @thatsnotwhoifuckingam @thisismysecrethappyplace @katiecurls75 @bcfangirlthatswhy @flipperjanga11 @srsllydunnodoncare @katriel-tumbles @henrietteoaks

#serendipity 13 #Serendipity #dean winchester x reader #supernatural dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester series #dean winchester reader insert #reader insert #dean x reader #supernatural reader insert fic

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xteenwolfwritingsx · 6 years ago

Text

You Know Better - Part 33 - Final Preparations

-gif source-

Story Description: Peter and the reader develop a slow relationship.

Part Description: The pack makes their final plans to end this.

Warnings/Labels: None

Approx. Word Count: 2,000

A/N: Slowly but surely, we keep going! Things are going to be coming to a close fairly soon, but there’s still so much to come.

Story Masterpost

Peter holds onto your hand as you wait outside the hotel. The day is cold, the threat of snow tickling the air. His thumb runs over your skin, leaving a trail of warmth as it glides back and forth.

He’s on alert, eyes watching each person as they come and go and keeping you close. You’re not entirely sure if he’s holding your hand simply because he wants to, like his touch implies, or if he’s preparing to yank you back from anything that might appear and try to snatch you away. You’re not complaining either way.

It doesn’t take long for Chris to pull up in his SUV. Peter opens the front passenger side door and ushers you inside quickly, putting his hand on your hip as you climb in. He shuts the door for you and quickly hops into the backseat, sitting in the middle and not bothering with a seatbelt.

“No problems, I assume?” Chris directs his question to you as he drives away from the hotel.

“None that I know of.” You twist in your seat to look at Peter. “Your werewolf senses go off at all?” you tease.

“No.” His tone is firm, but you catch the way his lips hint up into the smallest smile. You flash him one of your own before turning back front.

“So where do we stay tonight?” you question. “Something tells me we’re not going to take this woman out in a day.” You see Chris glance in the rearview mirror to catch Peter’s eyes. It’s some kind of quiet communication, checking with him before he responds and you can feel the mood in the car shift.

“Depends on what happens.” Chris is a little too vague for your liking and you wonder exactly what answer he would have given if Peter wasn’t in the vehicle. You brush off the feeling that they’re hiding something from you, hoping it’s nothing. “If things work out, hopefully you can stay in your own home tonight. If it’s not safe, we’ll get you another hotel room.”

“And Peter?” you press, not missing the way Chris aimed his answer at you only. You turn to look at him. “Am I still staying with you?”

“At this point I don’t really intend to let you out of my sight unless there’s a damn good reason.” There’s something off about the way he says it. He tries just a hint too hard to make it sound sincere and caring and while there’s an honesty behind it, it only feels like a half truth. You lower your brow at him, a silent question which he refuses to answer or acknowledge. You swing your eyes to look at Chris, hoping to see something in him that will tell you what’s going on, but he just stares straight ahead at the road.

You make the decision not to push it just yet. You sit back in your seat and try to put any pieces you can find together to predict what kind of shoe is going to drop.

The rest of the ride to Deaton’s is quiet and slightly tense. Thankfully, the ride isn’t too long and before things start to feel awkward, Chris pulls up to the back of the clinic. By the looks of the cars in the parking lot, you’re the last ones to arrive.

Peter doesn’t take your hand when you walk in, but he stays nearby, his arm brushing yours as you walk. You almost slip your arm around his waist, but you’re not sure if you’re quite at the “public displays of genuine affection” stage yet.

Everyone is scattered around the back room, some standing and some, particularly Stiles, sprawled out in chairs. It looks like they’ve been there a while, but that could just be the tension and exhaustion of the upcoming fight weighing down on them all. You notice Derek standing next to Deaton and smile widely.

“Thank God,” you say, relieved to see him not tied up to tubes in a hospital. You break away from Peter to throw your arms around him in a tight hug. He returns it warmly. “You’re doing alright then?” you check as you pull away.

“I’m fine. Still a little sore in places, but healing should be back up to normal in an hour or so.” He pats your arms and releases you. His chin tilts up in the smallest motion, both ushering you back to Peter and giving him a greeting at the same time. It would be insignificant to just about anyone else, but it’s the first real indication that he’s accepted you and Peter as… a thing.

“Keep it that way this time.” Peter tells him in his usual fashion. Derek scoffs and turns back to the table in front of him. “We’ve got a plan as I understand it?” This is the first you’re hearing about it, but you hide your surprise well.

“Details should be worked out a little, but yeah,” Scott confirms. “We’ve got a plan.”

“Let’s hear it,” you say, coming up to the opposite side of the table as Derek, ready to get this worked out.

You spend the entire conversation watching everyone carefully, trying to pick up any signs of someone withholding information. Peter stays by your side and mostly silently, not contributing much more than occasional snark. Nothing seems to be out of place though.

“Sounds like killing this witch is going to be as simple as killing a human,” you chime in part way through. The sentence sounds strange as you say it. “I mean, she essentially can be killed the same way a human can,” you rephrase. “We don’t need a magic bullet or an ancient weapon, right? An ordinary rock to her head would even do the trick.” Peter smirks at your choice of murder, but you notice the way Scott shies away and cringes. He still wasn’t fully on board with killing, but even he saw there wasn’t another viable choice.

“Essentially, yes.” Deaton sounds just slightly amused with your way of putting it as well.

“Alright, so Peter!” Stiles points to the man next to you, volunteering him. “You just walk up to her and rip her throat out, yeah?” You find it humorous that both Hale men give Stiles the same you’re stupid look.

“Strategically, Derek and Peter need to be used for distraction.” Chris interjects, squashing Stiles’ plan to sacrifice Peter.

“Stiles,” you chuckle. “Quit trying to kill my men.” There’s a moment after the words leave your mouth that you panic and you wait for the weird looks, the surprise and awkwardness at the fact that you claimed Derek and Peter.

“They’ve both threatened to kill me before,” Stiles responds quickly not even giving the room a chance to take in what you said. “It’s only fair I reciprocate!”

The room goes back and forth for a few moments, getting off track and either scolding Stiles or giving him merits for his quip. Peter looks down at you and you see that softness in his eyes and a slight small dancing on his lips. As the conversation moves back towards an actual plan, his hand slips behind you and around your waist for a brief moment before running up to rest on your lower back. You find yourself trying not to blush at his touch.

“What about the Cerberus?” Allison speaks up. “What do we do about it?”

“Fortunately, killing the witch is actually the first step in sending it back to the spirit world,” Deaton explains. “Breaking the bond between owner and pet.” He pauses. “Unfortunately, without that bond, the Cerberus is untied and wild. It won’t need a reason or command to kill, but will likely kill anyone it comes across.” The optimism in the room starts to fade quickly.

“So, we need to contain it?” Derek speculates, looking down at the books scattered around. “Make sure it’s with us when Kayla dies so we can take care of it right then and there.”

“Preferably.” Deaton reaches out and points to a page in one of the books. “After she’s dead, someone will have to wound it with a sword laced with blood.”

“Any kind of blood?” you ask hopefully. Deaton’s eyes flash up to you as if there’s a small part of him that enjoyed leading you on.

“Hades’ blood.” There’s a collective sigh from most of the room. The Hales roll their eyes.

“That’s the literal translation,” Lydia clarifies, scowling at Deaton. “Blood from anyone who has done evil things will suffice and since evil is a loose term it can be assumed that anyone who has committed murder will do.” Everyone’s eyes, including your own, instantly drift to Peter.

“I’m not the only one with blue eyes here,” he defends, looking pointedly at Derek. “And you,” he points to Chris. “Have made a living off of killing so don’t everyone start slicing me up here.”

“It doesn’t need to be much,” Deaton assures the group. “Even just a few drops will do.”

“You can take mine,” Derek volunteers if for no other reason than to prevent finger pointing and useless arguments. “What needs to be done after that?” he moves on, leaving no room for debate.

“It needs to be encircled in these symbols,” Deaton points to another book page showing a circle of Greek lettering you don’t understand. “Ideally, if you can prep the containment area with them beforehand, then things can move a bit quicker.”

“And then?” So far it didn’t sound toobad. Maybe not the easiest thing in the world, but it was all doable.

“Recite some Latin and throw some mountain ash on it and it’ll be gone.” Deaton closes a book for what you assume is dramatic effect.

“Why does this sound too easy?” Stiles asks, echoing your own thoughts.

“Yes, because everything about coordinating two locations, a murder, and the containment of a mythical creature from hell just sounds so easy,” Lydia responds sarcastically.

“Okay, well maybe not when you put it like that.”

The rest of the meeting revolves around smoothing out details and assigning tasks, most of which it seems had been previously decided among the eldest men in the group. Derek, Peter, Scott, and Allison would be dealing with Kayla while the rest of you dealt with the Cerberus. You try to object about being separated from Derek and Peter but they point out that while Kayla would go after the Hales herself, she’d send the Cerberus for you which gave the opportunity to get them apart.

You’re surprised when Peter agrees with the plan, but you’re floored when he volunteers you to be the one to wound the Cerberus. He throws your name out so casually that it takes you a moment to even realize what task he gave you.

“Not that I’m not willing,” you chime in, cutting him off. “But why me exactly?”

“Lydia and Stiles aren’t trained with a weapon,” Peter tells you, ignoring the offended look from Stiles. “And I’m sure as hell not trusting Argent to do it right.” Chris looks down, not engaging or arguing in any way which you’d question more if Peter hadn’t turned to face you and put his hands on your shoulders. “You know how to handle a blade and I’ve trained you to evade. All you have to do is stab and run which I know you can do.”

You glance at Derek, looking for some sign of… anything, but he’s blank. He’s manipulating you. You can hear his warning from before echoing in your mind. He’ll say he needs you to do something because he trusts you, only you.You start to feel a little nervous. Something doesn’t feel right. And you’ll do it.

“Yeah, okay,” you agree, pushing down that anxious, hot feeling in your gut. “Just give me the sword and tell me where to go.” You were being paranoid. If there was anything to worry about, Derek would be pouncing all over it. And you know Peter wouldn’t do anything like that. Not after everything you’ve been through.

Peter squeezes your shoulders lightly before letting you go. His hand slips back to your waist, still keeping you close and whether he means to or not, the gesture reassures you. You look down, trying to stop that blush again, completely missing the brief, conniving look and nod between Peter and Chris.

#peter hale #peter hale story #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #peter hale imagine

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