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butchlilith · 4 years ago

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try again (and again and again); a niles/daphne fic

summary: niles has chance after chance to tell daphne how he feels, and he doesn’t keep his mouth shut. at least, not in every sense. three confessions that didn’t happen and probably shouldn’t have.

words: 7.5k

rating + warnings: pg-13. one of these is the obligatory “daphne hates sherry” alternate ending, so some discussion of sex is present.

notes: old draft of some experimentation with voice, c.a. early-mid 2019, cleaned up a little bit for publishing. possibly my first and only str*ight frasier fic? by which i mean "i don't actually know how straight people do anything, but niles is ostensibly a man in this one." also available (with better page breaks) on ao3.

part one. how it ends.

scenario 117. She leaves the next morning more shamefully than any fling’s apartment, leaves after breakfast and a real apology. Dr. Crane’s brother is a bit too eager to act as reference, and Daphne never does find out what he says that gets her placed as fast as she is. It’s not a live-in position, but the pay’s a bit better, and the patient’s wife gives Daphne a discount when she visits her shop, so she doesn’t mind. She finds an apartment on the Hill with a lenient policy on pets and swears off men for just over three years.

scenario 406. Niles doesn’t ask again, even after the divorce. He spends more time with Daphne than he’d ever hoped—he even joins her on a trip to some kind of outlet mall one day—and gets further from telling her with each hour. When he notices what they are now, Dad will give him too much sympathy, and Niles will insist that he prefers it this way, and Frasier will analyze all of it to death. There’s never a proper ending, not one that either of them can point to, but they know that something is over. They only half know what it is.

scenario 421. They’re horrible secret-keepers, and the secrecy was much of the appeal of their arrangement, whatever that arrangement was. Without it, they are Frasier’s pet project and the butt of their friends’—that is, Niles’s friends (few) and Daphne’s friends (many), separate entities, for they have no real friends in common—jokes. They last longer than the heat does, but they break just as suddenly. Eventually, they will confess to feeling the same relief, too.

part two. the “it” in question.

scenario 117. For the longest time, everything is comfortably quiet. Just the drum of the rain, the occasional crack of the fire. Dr. Crane running his fingertips along her arm. Dr. Crane kissing her. Dr. Crane kissing her more gently than she’s ever been kissed. And it’s strange, if not entirely unexpected, but it’s nice, too, in its way. Nice in the way he’s always been nice, sometimes maybe a bit too eager, and other times maybe a bit too reserved, but so impossibly aware that she can’t help but think there’s a kindness to it. But it’s really that—the awareness—before anything else. Daphne’s sure of it: She knows because he’s mirroring her. And he’s able to mirror her because she’s kissing him. And she’s kissing him because she likes it and probably because she’s a bit on the rebound at the moment but mostly that first one because Eric certainly didn’t ever do what he’s doing now, and it’s hard to call something a rebound when it’s that much better than the real thing. Hard to call something a rebound when you can hardly picture yourself wanting to stop getting closer to him. When your hands are doing everything they can to keep that from happening.

And that’s how she realizes: “This isn’t right.”

“Oh,” he says, and Daphne comes close to forgetting her morals because he’s moving his hand back to hers, as if she hadn’t appreciated (more than appreciated) what he’d chosen to do with his just before. “I can— I suppose I’m so used to—” He stops himself. He’s realized it, too. “Oh, that’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Of course,” he says.“It was foolish of me to think…”

Daphne assumes, at least at first, that he plans on finishing this thought, but he stays quiet, well after the time it could take anyone to supply the right word. So, he’s staying quiet, and Daphne has just learned what becomes of the quiet between them. She knows that it can’t happen again. “Me too,” she says.

“You?” he asks. They’re not touching at all anymore. His choice this time, not Daphne’s. She wishes she weren’t keeping track.

“Yes,” she says, and her voice is certain even as he goes on over it, because if she doesn’t admit it, there’s really no way she can go on respecting herself.

“How were you—?”

“Well, thought you might’ve noticed in the moment, but I wasn’t exactly stopping you, was I?”

“Of course not,” he says, and it’s like she’s made it worse. “How could you have? You were in my home, in my— In her— And distraught and shocked and I—”

“You were, too,” she says because he was. Those last two, that is. More than she was, even. “Didn’t stop either of us.”

“But I—”

Daphne isn’t listening. She says, “Look at me.”

He doesn’t, but he tells her, “I have been.” And then, like it’s not the fault Daphne’s third-worst decision about an outfit to date, he adds, “If I hadn’t, we would never have had this problem.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” she says. “I come into your house, and you’re a perfect gentleman to me, and when your wife’s clothes are too small for me, I find this. What else could you have thought?”

“Well, Maris has a very delicate build,” he says. This is a bit on the generous side to all three of them. Daphne can picture them laughing about it, if all of this were different.

“I could have borrowed something of yours if it were such a problem,” she says, already resenting the fact that she’s making excuses like this. “Nothing sexy about that, swimming in a man’s trousers, but I decided to try this on and—”

“No, no, I should have known—” He nearly touches her again when he says this, and Daphne nearly indulges herself in letting him, but he seems to remember what brought them to this point because he draws his hand away at the last possible moment.

“But you couldn’t have,” Daphne says. It’s too quiet. She’s supposed to be angry. At someone. Preferably Dr. Crane. “I didn’t even know until it happened, and it felt… I thought—” She sighs, and the anger’s here at last. “Well, I didn’t think, did I? I just put my—”

Daphne’s put a few too many things a few too many places, but Dr. Crane isn’t listening, so it hardly matters if she says hands or tongue or dignity because he just says, “I’m a psychiatrist,” before she can even decide which the worst of them is.

“Did you know, then?” Daphne asks.

And then he says, “I should have.”

“No, I mean…” It’s embarrassing now, knowing that he’s convinced that she’s the vulnerable one in all this, but she does need that answer. For some reason. A reason that is definitely rational. “Did you know that we…?”

“Oh, I…” He hums like he’s searching for a diplomatic answer to the question. “Only when you… and I…”

“So it was my fault.”

“Not at all. I was—”

“Didn’t think you were the type of man to… Then, suppose I did think, or I wouldn’t’ve…” She tilts her head back, resting it on the seat of the chair behind her, partly from exhaustion and partly from a fear of what would happen if she looked him in the eye.

“And now?” he asks.

“I’m not sure.”

“Of course.” He’s being too kind, maybe because he’s a gentleman or maybe (most likely, Daphne decides on the basis recent events) because he thinks she’s not as smart as he is, but he’s being kind, and Daphne wishes more than anything that he’d stop.

She says, “We really didn’t do anything.” Vaguely, Daphne recognizes his interruption (“Daphne, I—”), then goes on anyway. “You know, a kiss between friends. Bit more involved than I’m used to, but what else? Hands may’ve gotten a bit off track, but whose haven’t?”

“Mine haven’t.”

“Don’t know if you’d still want to say that, Dr. Crane.”

“Of course,” he says again. “They hadn’t. Past tense. And now they have, and my marriage is in shambles, and I certainly can’t tell Frasier or Dad or— I won’t be able to come to his apartment. How do I explain that? You spend one night in my home and suddenly— They’ll know in an instant.”

Daphne can’t help but look up. “This a pattern for you?” she asks, and she’s almost hoping the answer is yes. No, scratch almost. She’s really hoping the answer is yes. Because she can’t be interested in a man with a wandering eye. Not a wandering eye with a passport filled up faster than Mrs. Crane’s, anyhow. And she doesn’t want to be interested in Dr. Crane, no matter how much she liked kissing him.

“No, no, oh, God, no,” he says, because tonight clearly isn’t Daphne’s night. He seems ready to say more, which Daphne hopes will be something unforgivable. But tonight, again, is not Daphne’s night. He looks outside and takes off his jacket. “Would you wear this?” he asks, bringing up a number of unfortunate realities.

“And didn’t I say—”

“No, no, I didn’t—” Dr. Crane seems to regret this choice of words. “It’s cold here,” he revises, “in the house, um, particularly when it rains, and with you in so little...”

“Seems a bit like you’re implying something.”

“Oh. No, I— That was—”

“Just having some fun,” Daphne says, not entirely sure that she is. “Too fresh?”

“No, ah—Hm.” He pauses, and Daphne is forced to spend the intervening seconds guessing whether he’ll actually keep talking this time. He does: “No, I think we’ve passed the point of forwardness.”

“Soon, I mean.”

“Even better. Ten minutes?” A weak laugh. Hideously weak. “Lifetimes away.”

“All right, then,” she says. He hesitates. Daphne nods. And just like this, they are near each other again. He could lay the jacket over her shoulders. Could even hold it out for her, the way he’s done before, so that she could slip her arms inside. He doesn’t. Not this time. Daphne takes it by the collar and puts it on herself. Dr. Crane folds his hands.

It’s quiet, the way it was before, and Daphne refuses to be surprised again. She says, “I don’t have to keep working for your father.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Well, you may remember where you—”

“I remember. I mean—“ He frowns. “No, that is what I mean. You know, you really should—”

And there’s plenty that Daphne knows she should do, but she doesn’t care to be reminded, so she says, “I suppose you’re right. But that’s just the point, isn’t it? I’m going to be walking around your brother’s place, and you’ll stop by, and we’ll say hello and all that, but then what? I—” She considers redirecting the thought, then decides against it. “I don’t mean to imply anything by this, Dr. Crane, but I was getting to appreciate your company.”

“Were you?”

“Wouldn’t have come here tonight if I wasn’t,” she says. Whispers, really, if she’s honest with herself, but she’d really rather not be because, being honest, she has to admit that it’s hard to take something like that platonically.

“Ah,” he says, and Daphne swears he heard it too, because he’s nearly smiling now. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“I just don’t think it would be wise to hang about where you’re likely to drop in, after something so…” There isn't a word she can use here that doesn't mean admitting that she knew what she was doing. She doesn't use any.

“Yes?” he asks, which feels a bit hypocritical given his history. She hadn’t asked him what he’d meant after all, and not for lack of wanting.

“It doesn’t matter. I just— You know I would never mean any offense, but you can be a bit sensitive sometimes.”

For a moment, he sounds like himself again, which means that he sounds like his brother, and Daphne thinks it's over. “I’d hardly—” he says, but he doesn't continue. “No, no, you’re right, of course. I can. But to think of you... giving up your life over one indiscretion…”

“I’d say it was more than one.”

“Of course, yes, I…” He hums again, and Daphne’s back to waiting for him to say something, even if it’s not honest. Maybe especially. He doesn’t.

She says, “You think I should keep working with your father, then?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“It sounded like you were trying to convince me—”

“Daphne?”

“What?”

“Do you plan on staying?”

“Tonight?” she asks, not sure if this is the question she’d like it to be. “I haven’t got much of a choice, have I?”

“No, no, I mean…”

“Forever,” Daphne suggests.

Dr. Crane presses his lips together. He looks painfully like himself like this. Then, he’s been himself the whole night, and Daphne knows that, she really knows that, but it’s harder like this. No way to maintain the illusion now. “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t see how I could.”

“It would be difficult, wouldn’t it?”

“It’s not that I… I just think— With you…”

“With me, yes. Could I—?” He adjusts his posture so that it almost looks relaxed, except for the way it happens—almost spasmodically. “There’s been something on my mind recently.”

“Yes?”

“When I— When you came here, tonight, and you…” He frowns, like he doesn’t quite know what to say. “Daphne,” he decides. “You have a lovely name. Do you hear that often? Daphne. A naiad, wasn’t she? Daphne. Then, maybe I’ve been a bit on the Dionysian side tonight.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s the first time either of them have said it since. Daphne doesn’t know what it means. Doesn’t know if he’s apologizing for more than a misunderstanding. “I’m avoiding the point,” he says and runs a hand through his hair. The gesture lends a sort of exhaustion to his appearance, so that his exhale feels heavier than it is.”You really don’t suppose we’ll be able to forget this?” he asks.

“It’d be easier if we didn’t see each other as much, but…”

“You said, before I… Before we… This… You said that you wanted—” And, God, she finally knows where this is going, and she hates every bit of it, because she still feels so terribly close to him. Still wants someone to love her the way she thought he loved Mrs. Crane but can’t possibly love Mrs. Crane because if he did he wouldn’t have done what they’ve done, wouldn’t be saying what he’s saying. And the part of her that’s still crashing from the breakup believes him. Believes that it could be him. Wants it to be, even.

But Daphne isn’t stupid and certainly not as stupid as he must think she is, so she says, “You shouldn’t.”

“I know that, but I—” and she can feel him saying it now, and she can feel herself believing him even though she shouldn’t. And it’s not just the part of her that’s been broken up with, or the part of her that hasn’t had decent sex in six months, or the part of her that’s stuck in some childish romantic daydream. It’s just Daphne. Wanting him to tell her what he can’t possibly mean. He stops himself. He looks at her for too long, with the eyes she never noticed until tonight. He sighs. “You know,” he says, and Daphne knows the moment has passed, “you’re right. I shouldn’t. It’s late, and I’ve embarrassed myself quite enough, so… Our rooms aren’t the most comfortably furnished, I’m afraid, and, under present circumstance, I can hardly imagine… Where would you like to sleep?”

Daphne doesn’t let herself answer foolishly.

scenario 406. Here is everything that goes better than Niles predicted: Daphne is not horrified. She does not immediately flee the scene, does not reach for the phone to book the next flight back to Manchester, does not so much as flinch when he asks her. She just looks at him with the eyes about which Niles has sworn to himself he will no longer wax poetic, presses together the lips about which Niles has sworn to himself he will no longer fantasize, and nods. It could almost pass for assent.

And then she says, “You’re married.”

And this is technically true, but he says, “Separated,” because there isn’t much else he can say with the potential to right this minor detail.

“Still married,” she says, and, really, she’s right, but, really, there is very little Niles can do about this at the moment, and he doubts Daphne will still be available the next.

So he says,“I suppose I am, aren’t I?” and waits for what is probably not entirely enough time before continuing. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“You are.” She exhales in a way that almost sounds like a laugh.

“I know. I meant the other question.”

“I thought I did,” she says. There’s no way for Niles to convince himself that she’s laughing this time.

But he’s committed to his optimistic streak, even as he watches her settle onto the arm of the couch, back toward him, so he says, “Oh?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. Her voice is clear even though he can’t see her face. Insistent. “You’re married.”

“Separated,” he corrects.

“And married.”

“And married, yes But, if, hypothetically, I were no longer married—“

Daphne turns back to face him. “You’re going to divorce your wife?”

“It’s a possibility. That’s why we’re speaking hypothetically.”

“Right,” she says. She’s facing the kitchen again, meaning Dad’s chair is the logical place to sit if he hopes to conduct anything resembling a normal human conversation. He sits instead on the cushion nearest her, functionally eliminating the possibility, and Daphne says, “Well, you’d be divorced.”

“Yes, that’s typically how it works.”

“You think I’d date a man right after his divorce?”

“Well, perhaps if he—”

“He needs time,” she says, and this really is better than Niles predicted—not because it’s not a no, and not because it suggests that there is maybe, someday the possibility of a yes, but because she means that she loves him.

But Niles cannot say, “I love you, too,” because she hasn’t actually said that she loves him, and, even if she had, that may be moving at something of a brisk pace given circumstance. So he says, “Yes, I suppose he does,” because this is the nearest he can get. Daphne, evidently, appreciates the gesture, because she shifts properly this time, a full ninety degrees, so that neither of them has to contort to see the other.

“So,” Niles says, “and this is still hypothetical, of course—if we suppose that I—that he—were divorced, and he’d been divorced for some time, and he’s completely over Maris—his wife, I mean… Would you…?”

Daphne grins and it is, for a moment, as if nothing has changed between them. As if they’re still dancing, or talking about her brothers, or watching the last half The Shop Around the Corner. “You’re asking if I’d ever date a man who’s been married before?”

“Yes.”

“Any man?” she asks. In another, better world, the first half of their conversation has not happened at all, and Daphne is asking this hopefully, longing for Niles to at last say how he feels. But in this world, which naturally is worse, Niles has already said it, and Daphne has already declined. No, not declined. Something softer, enough to make Niles go on.

“Well,” he says, “hypothetically, say it were me.”

Daphne smiles again. “In this hypothetical,” she says, “did this man—did you—did you ask me, while you were married? Say, three hours after I’ve been dumped?”

“Yes,” Niles says, finally as ashamed as expected to be the moment he spoke. “He’s exactly the same person. Purely for the purposes of the hypothetical, of course.”

“Right.” There are roughly forty-three ways the old Niles could describe Daphne’s eyes in this moment before devolving to the shameful-if-accurate “sparkle” and its kind, but he remains set on avoiding this pattern. In any case, it doesn’t keep him from noticing.

“You can say no,” he says, pretending it does.

“I know.”

“It won’t be the first time I’ve been rejected,” he adds.

“I know.”

“I suppose I was asking for that, wasn’t I?”

“A bit,” Daphne says. Then, just as quickly, “You’re in my spot, you know.”

“Your…?”

“I always sit where you’re at now,” she says. “Then you’re the one over. Every time you’re here. Even half an hour ago. Right where you are.”

“You sat down first.”

“Well, I thought you’d be heading out soon. Getting late and all. Wasn’t going to settle back in just for you to leave, was I?”

“Oh, um…” Niles feels suddenly aware of how this all seems, suddenly aware of how out of practice he is. He’s in her home, after all. Looking at it most simply, he has her trapped here. The realization is less than romantic. “Should I?” he asks.

“Depends on whether you’ll be staying where you’re at,” she says, apparently unaware of the gravity of the question.

“You’re kidding.”

Daphne takes on a mock-serious expression. When she speaks, there seems to be a trace of Niles’s own voice in it: “You’re not telling me you’re unschooled in the high-stakes art of couch politics.”

“Couch politics?”

“Come on. You have a brother. You’re telling me you spent all those years in the same house and you didn’t have a spot on the couch?”

Niles considers this. He didn’t. “I had a nook,” he offers.

“A nook?”

“A nook,” he says. “I was never much of a couch child.”

“Oh. Suppose that adds up, really.” She waits—for what Niles is unclear—then seems to hit upon something. “Well, you’ve got a side of the bed, at least.”

“Have I?”

“Had one, then,” Daphne corrects—an insufficient amendment given the nature of Niles’s marriage. “Scoot.”

Niles complies, shifting so that he sits exactly at the center of the cushion. Daphne sits beside him, closer to him than strictly necessary. Niles attempts to dismiss this fact. He says, “We slept apart.”

“Come on,” she says. Her right shoulder bumps up against his left. The action itself is entirely dismissible. Becoming swept up in it is entirely inevitable. “I’m not married, but I’ve got a side.”

“Have you ever considered that you’re simply a particularly territorial person?” he asks.

Daphne laughs. “Coming from the man who’s got a whole separate bedroom from his wife,” she says, and Niles resolves to take the opportunity he’s been given to redirect. “That’s rich.”

“So, ah, if I didn’t have a wife,” he says, “and I hadn’t for some time, and I happened to ask you on a date…”

“Oh.” Her voice sounds as if she has genuinely forgotten. Niles isn’t sure what to make of this, whether there is perhaps some distant possibility of normalcy between them after all. “Right.”

“You could say no,” Niles says, casually if not for the slowness of it, as if it’s the first time he’s saying it.

“Right.”

“So,” he says, decidedly less casually.

“I could say no.”

It isn’t a question, but Niles answers it like one: “Easily.”

“Long time to wait for a rejection, though, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure he’s waited longer.” And then, because the possibility is so strangely beguiling, to think that this could be over—to think that perhaps everything could return to the way it was—he says, “But it would be a no?”

“It could be,” she says, which is consuming in another way.

“But not necessarily?”

Niles watches Daphne study him, withdraws into that world of imagining himself in her place. By the time she answers, she’s directed her gaze toward the television, the pair of them reflected in its black screen, where Margaret Sullavan and James Stewart had stood just before them. “I’d have to think.”

Niles says, “Of course.”

“I’ve known him for years,” she says. Her eyes are still on the television, unfocused now. “What would it be by then? Five?”

“Something like that, yes.”

Daphne hums. The sound of it is excruciatingly mellifluous. “You know,” she says, and this is all it takes to know that what follows will be worse still, “hypothetically, don’t think it’d be a bad idea for him to get divorced.”

“Oh?”

“You know,” she says again, and this time he knows nothing at all. “Deserves someone who cares about him.”

“Ah. And that’s why you wouldn’t…?”

“I might,” she says.

“Of course,” he says.

“If it felt right.”

“That is everything, isn’t it? Feeling right,” he says and, for the first time in recent memory, keeps himself from revising the thought. “The strangest thing. For years, I thought that meant feeling comfortable.”

Daphne finally looks back to him. “You’re still comfortable with her?”

“I would be,” he says, “if this all ended, and we were still married.”

“But you don’t want that.” Her tone is indecipherable, or else Niles is resisting his need to decipher it. He resists his need to decipher the disjunctive.

“Maris doesn’t.”

“Then you do,” she says.

“Maris doesn’t.”

“Well, then it’s like I said,” Daphne tells him. “You deserve someone who cares about you.”

“I suppose I should say, ‘Maris doesn’t,’” he says.

Daphne shrugs. “Be a nice symmetry.”

“It would. I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Dr. Crane”—this is a blow all its own, but Niles supposes he can hardly expect better—“I don’t mean to be rude, but, when you say all this, you have to understand why I said what I did.”

“Of course,” he says, and he does, though he’d easily prefer the alternative. “It would be foolish of us, wouldn’t it?”

“A bit. Doesn’t mean you can’t date other women, though.” And then, with a wink, “Or something other than date, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Oh, well, I suppose so,” he says before realizing that this, perhaps, is not the best of times to ignore a gesture’s possible implications. “Of course, not— That wasn’t why I was asking—“

“You asked me on a date because you didn’t want to have sex with me?” This is fair if unanticipated, and Niles wonders just how visibly warm he’s become. Too visibly, surely.

“Ah, I, well, not— I don’t mean to—“

“Oh, I understand,” Daphne says. “Just having fun. And, speaking of, there’s this bar Roz told me about, just off Pike. She said she’d go with me, but…”

“I wouldn’t want you to cancel your plans.”

Daphne waves away the thought. “Oh, no.” She takes up an exaggerated new expression. ”’Strangest thing,’” she says, now miming the presence of a phone in her hand, as if the point couldn’t have been made without it, “‘but before I even got the chance, someone’s already gone and asked me on a date. Oh, yes, he’s gorgeous.’” (Niles makes the gallant effort to take this for the joke that it is.) “‘Anyway, I told him I was free tomorrow night…’”

scenario 421. Like this, Niles finally has sex with Daphne. And it isn’t particularly good. It isn’t bad, because it couldn’t be bad, but it isn’t good because... Well, it’s Daphne, of course, but it’s also Daphne, and the Daphne that occupies Niles’s fantasies is not quite the Daphne that he knows, and he knew this already, because he willed it to be so, but this means that, for all the years of dreaming of a woman who was nearly her, Niles is entirely unprepared for the real thing.

Of course, the Daphne-who-was-not-Daphne never was quite the same even as herself. One evening, nervous and softer than anything. The next, certain and stopping for nothing. Most recently, for the third time in eight months, speaking to him. Telling him everything he was too afraid to tell her. Everything. So that when they finally did have sex (because that was, admittedly, always the reason for this not-quite-Daphne’s appearance), it was nearly an afterthought. A pleasant afterthought—an exceedingly pleasant afterthought—but an afterthought nonetheless.

Even in all of this, it was never quite so awkward. They were never unused to each other in the fantasies, never hesitated after each first touch (before, perhaps, but never after), never seemed to be three seconds out of sync. And Daphne never kissed him like the real Daphne does. It isn’t bad, necessarily, not first-kiss bad, or even two-too-many-drinks bad (though it is nearly as messy), or, really, bad at all, except that it is, just a bit, if Niles is completely honest with himself. But mostly, and this is really about ninety-five percent of it, it’s surprising. New.

“Daphne?” he asks, and saying her name is enough to convince him that the sex was not bad or mediocre or even merely good. It was, Niles is now certain, easily the best sex two people have ever had. Not two. Any number. The best sex ever had, period.

But Daphne isn’t looking at him. She isn’t touching him. (How strange for that to be noteworthy!) She seems entirely set on forgetting everything they’ve done—already back in that borrowed dressing gown, half-sitting in his bed since returning to it, head tilted toward the ceiling. She replies anyhow: “Yes?”

“How are you?” This is not necessarily the question Niles had intended to ask, is not necessarily suave or charming—is not necessarily much of anything but strangely melodic, which is not quite the impression Niles had had in mind. But he says it, in the spirit of the day, because he can’t help but to say it with Daphne there, in his bed, looking as she does. More directly, which is to say more honestly, he says it on an impulse.

“All right,” she says. Polite. Noncommittal. “And you?”

“Similarly,” he says. “But I’d really—“

“We’ve really made a choice with this one, haven’t we?” She laughs at this, just barely, and he does, too, allowing them both the diversion.

“Yes, it seems we have.”

“Have to admit I never really thought…” Daphne sighs, and this calls to mind several events Niles expects to sustain him for at least the next decade. “You know. Us.”

“And now that we have…”

“Bit funny, isn’t it?” she says.

Niles considers this. Of all the words he has prepared for this occasion, funny was never among them. Still, it’s preferable to many of the alternatives, particularly given how readily mistake springs to mind. “Yes.”

“Never thought you’d be—” Daphne wrinkles her nose, conveying an emotion Niles can’t quite interpret. “Well, I suppose that means I must’ve thought about how you’d actually be, but… What about you?”

“You’re asking me if I ever thought about—?”

At this, Daphne relaxes slightly and turns to her side, resting her head in her right hand. Relief at her apparent lack of repulsion aside, Niles wishes Daphne would have waited, this being quite easily the moment at which he would least like to face her. Nearly smiling now, she says, “Sex. With me.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, come on,” she says, still painfully buoyant. (Niles thinks she will touch him again, but her arm stops short of his.) “No reason to be embarrassed now, if you have.”

“Isn’t there?” he asks, for he has come up with fifteen in the time since her asking.

“So you have?”

“Well,” Niles starts, but it’s obviously futile. “Oh, I suppose you’re right. Yes. I have.”

“You always have been a flatterer,” she says. “So, did I measure up?”

And he says, “Oh.”

Daphne echoes him, dropping her voice: “‘Oh.’” She laughs. “Suppose I spoke a bit soon there.”

The answer, most honestly, the thrill of saying her name aside, is no because four years of trying to substitute fantasies of someone for an actual sex life makes for somewhat unrealistic expectations. The answer, somewhat honestly, is that, yes, in terms of his actual sex life with actual women who existed for longer than thirty minutes at a time, Daphne was... Daphne was... “Oh, well, I—”

“It’s all right if I didn’t,” she says before he has the chance to further embarrass them both. “I mean, wouldn’t be the kindest thing for you to say to me after… Do you have any more of that pineapple?”

“Oh, um, let me— Did we finish it?”

“I’m not sure. Got a bit swept up in the moment, I suppose.”

“Right,” he says, but any grasp he had once had on his composure has vanished. “I’ll— Actually, I don’t know that it would still be particularly— You know, sitting out. I could make you something?”

Daphne laughs until it fades into a sigh. “With all due respect,” she says, “I’ve seen the kind of dinner you serve your dates.”

Because now seems an inappropriate time to confess that, in fact, he had never had any intention of inviting anyone else for dinner that night, Niles says nothing, and Daphne accepts the invitation to continue.

“It’s for the best, really. Can’t imagine sitting in this heat with an oven going as well.”

“It doesn’t have to be—“

Daphne stands. “I’m going to take a look,” she says.

“For what?”

“See whether we’ve left any pineapple. Is it all right if I bring it back here?”

Since his separation, Niles has adopted a stricter policy with regard to eating in the bedroom, figuring that, when living alone, such an allowance could only lead to his regression into the worst sort of bachelor. Also, he no longer pays someone to wash his sheets. Both of these points, however, feel increasingly trivial in the context of recent events. “Certainly.”

And with this, Daphne is past the doorway, and Niles is alone, and he supposes he’ll have to get used to that feeling again, once the awkwardness of their own situation outweighs the abrasiveness of the other. And just as quickly, she’s back, and Niles makes an effort to indulge in this more pleasant reality while it lasts.

“Anyway,” she says, settling into the bed with the platter a bit more precariously than Niles had hoped, “back to what I was saying. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t…”

“Oh.” This is an unfortunate redevelopment, as Niles had hoped that her own diversion had been sufficient in turning the topic of conversation elsewhere. “Are you still—?” he asks.

“Well, when you’re working that hard to keep from answering, can’t help wondering—“

Niles attempts a redirection of his own. “Drawing comparisons is…”

Daphne takes a bite of pineapple, and the silence between this moment and her reply does nothing to conceal the flaccidity of this attempt. “You did, anyway. More than.”

“Oh,” Niles says, deciding to overlook the less-than-complimentary implications of this formulation. This afternoon’s developments aside, he is not a man terribly accustomed to such good fortune; no other reactions are in his repertoire.

“It is all right if I say that, isn’t it?”

“Of course. I— Does that mean you—?” he asks. He means, Does that mean you intend to do this again? but saying it aloud seems to be crossing one too many a boundary, so he refrains.

“Do you?” she asks, presumably meaning the same.

“Well, we’d have to be more—” Careful, he thinks, but they were careful. Particularly him. Particularly in a way he would really rather he hadn’t been. “Today, we were—” Reckless, he thinks, but they weren’t reckless. They progressed in the smallest of steps, and they both knew it, well before it happened, and the real risk of recklessness is whatever he’s about to say knowing that he wants it to happen again. “We shouldn’t—” He reaches for a strawberry.

“But you’d like to,” Daphne says.

Thinking this is dangerous and saying it worse, but Niles does think it. He does want it, and more desperately than before, but more desperately still, he does not want to lose whatever they had that made her want to stay with him. “Only if you would.”

“You can say you’d like to without qualifying it, you know. If you would, that is.”

“I wouldn’t want to overstep,” Niles says, as if he could have reached this point by any other stride. (The strawberry in his hand is still uneaten. There are several versions of Niles that would choose to weave this into a less-than-artful metaphor.)

“All right,” Daphne says. Niles, at this moment, finally takes a bite from the strawberry, and he feels her eyes on her as he does. He hears the way her voice drops when she says, “I think I would.”

“You would?”

She laughs. “What, just being polite?”

“God, no.” This is too much. Niles knows it before he’s finished saying it, but the afternoon has already rewarded his imprudence; he has a streak going. “I— No. I— So… Hm. What would you like? From… this, I mean.”

“Oh, I’m an adult, I can handle—“

“I wouldn’t ask you to handle—”

“All right,” Daphne says. “Usually go on a few dates before sleeping with someone, but I suppose we’re past that, so the next best—“

Niles has imagined a few hundred too many ways of formulating the question to be beaten to asking it. He says, “Would you like to go on a date?”

“I wasn’t asking for that.“

“What were you asking?”

“I wasn’t asking anything.”

“What would you like?”

“Well, I’ve already told you, haven’t I?”

“Would you remind me?”

“I’d like you to stop asking me what I’d like,” she says, and Niles remembers suddenly that it was an argument that brought her here. “I’d like you to tell me what you’d like.”

“Well, if it isn’t overstepping…”

Daphne sounds almost annoyed, replying too soon and too briefly: “It isn’t.”

“I’m afraid my motivations today haven’t been entirely pure.”

“I noticed that when—”

“No, no, after that. I— This isn’t entirely how I planned to tell you…”

Daphne’s face softens. She speaks more slowly than she has in months: “You’ve been wanting to tell me something?”

“Yes. For some time. I just can’t seem to say it.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve been a wonderful friend to me lately.”

“If I was really that bad, you could just tell me.”

“No,” Niles says, the inappropriateness of his long-practiced admission only now occurring to him. “No. It’s— It isn’t that. I couldn’t say it, before, because you had been such a good friend, but we…”

“You can say that we’ve ruined it,” she says.

“We’ve taken a risk.”

“We don’t have to keep doing this.”

“I— Of course not, no. I was— I’d like to go on a date. With you.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not—“

“You know, you’ve always been such a gentleman to me.” Daphne licks the pineapple juice from her fingers, and Niles can imagine nothing further from the truth. Then, his imagination is otherwise occupied. “Even today. Especially, really. But it’s not the same, something like this. Don’t have to ask me just because we’ve had sex.”

“I’m not.”

“Dr. Crane—“

“Please, call me—“

Daphne doesn’t acknowledge his interruption. “I’ve seen the kind of women you date.”

“Who are you—?” Niles tries without success to work through the steps that led her here. “There’s Maris, Adelle…”

“That’s just what I mean, though.” She offers a wry smile and another strawberry. Niles accepts. “No one like me there, is there?”

“That’s certainly true.”

“So, you’re expecting me to believe that, after all that, you’re going to start dating me?”

“Not dating, necessarily,” Niles says, reasoning that it would be in bad taste to detail just why such a departure might be welcome. “We could start with one. You— I seem to remember you having a fondness for first dates.”

“I do,” she says. “You don’t.”

“I don’t. I was hoping that this one might be different.”

“And if it is?”

“A second, maybe.” With an intention that embarrasses him the moment he does it, Niles takes another strawberry as he continues. “A third. Fourth. Fifth…”

“Sounds like we’d be dating.”

“We could,” he says. “Eventually.”

“And until then, what?”

Cautiously (and probably too optimistically), Niles says, “We could keep…”

“We could.”

“Is that—?”

“Yes.”

“Are you—?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” At Daphne’s grin, Niles rushes to amend this. “I don’t usually say— Not that I’m frequently— Being recently separated— But you… I— I’m sorry.”

“I like that,” Daphne says. “’Thank you.’ It’s sweet.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you.”

“Second one’s not quite the same.”

“Ah. I don’t suppose it ever is.”

“Could always get it out of the way now.”

“Oh.” Niles knows he must say more than this, knows that Daphne is already rounding the corners of her mouth to imitate him if he doesn’t. He says the only thing he can both think and bear to say: “You called me Dr. Crane earlier.”

“I’m not doing that while we’re having sex,” Daphne says. “Last time I— Oh, well, never mind that, but—”

“I don’t want you to do that.”

“Too ethical for a bit of roleplay?” This feels like something of a turn, but Niles is still too dazed by Daphne’s earlier suggestion to voice it.

“As it happens,” Niles says instead, then considers this, too. Realistically, he concludes, this is a far more generous interpretation of the request than he deserves and certainly less pathetic than the reality. “Something like that, yes.”

“Well, don’t worry. It’s nothing I’m after.” When Daphne speaks again, her voice has lost its firmness: “Why’d you bring it up, anyway?”

“I— We’re— This isn’t just sex?”

“I think ‘just’ is a bit unfair.”

“No, I mean… No, it doesn’t… Would you call me Niles?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“I’m sorry?” Niles says.

“I mean, when we’re alone, that’s one thing, but if I start doing it then, I’m liable to start slipping it in other places, and, before you know it, it’ll be in front of your father. And how’d I explain that? I know we’ve been a bit friendlier as of late—”

“I think we may have passed by friendly sometime this afternoon.”

“Well, that’s just my point, isn’t it?” she says. “I spend a few evenings alone with you in four years, and all of a sudden I’m calling you by your first name.”

“And you don’t want to tell them?” Niles asks.

“Tell my boss I’ve been sleeping with his brother?”

“Ah,” Niles says, the general configuration of their relationship at last settling in. “I suppose not. Then, I believe your use of the present perfect continuous would imply something of a more extended arrangement, at which point it may be appropriate to use the word ‘dating.’”

“You know, I really don’t know that I’m sure about that.”

“Oh. Of course.” (And it really is what he had expected all along.) “I certainly wouldn’t want to rush— Of course, to some extent we already have, but—”

“It’s just—“ Daphne pauses. Niles watches the movement of her eyes until they meet his. She continues: “It all seems a bit strange, doesn’t it? The two of us. Dating, I mean. Not that I’d planned on this happening either, but I can’t even imagine where we’d go.”

“Where would you like to go?”

part three. how it starts.

scenario 117. Daphne puts on Mrs. Crane’s negligee because it fits and she’s never touched anything so soft and possibly also because she really needs the reminder that she’s worth something. Beside Dr. Crane, she feels it. Every time he speaks, she feels it more and she likes him more and she comes closer and closer to doing something reckless. He does it first.

scenario 406. It’s just them in the living room again, in spite of Frasier’s best efforts. Daphne had surprised them all, earlier in the evening, and asked if, so long as it’s not too much trouble, Niles might want to stay and chat a bit, and Niles had said no, of course not, it couldn’t possibly be any trouble at all. By the time Niles gets the courage, they are dancing again, the way they haven’t since last winter, not-quite-there but not-quite-drunk on Frasier’s most mediocre wine. Before he speaks, before Daphne can feel his hands shaking, Niles pulls them apart.

scenario 421. The heat wraps them up, and Niles is trying to remember that old letter about summer and lethargy and something else, trying to forget each look that Daphne gives him, but he can’t do either. It’s too much, with the two of them so close, her smelling of his soap, wearing his dressing gown. It’s inevitable. She’s the one who acts first, in the end, the one who finally says it. She says it like it’s something rational, like she’s the one who has to worry about being rejected: “You know, Dr. Crane, if we’re both feeling the same way, and there really is just the one solution…” He finishes the sentence for her.

#frasier #frasier fic #niles crane #daphne moon #niles x daphne #fic*#by ''ostensibly a man'' what i mean is i wrote a modified canon niles #but personally i have been known to promote a good he/him lesbian niles head canonin my day so.....#no one could stop you from reading this that way (although it may have looked a bit different had that been my intention)#ANYWAY. please enjoy this dinosaur

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darks-ink · 5 years ago

Text

Absurdism Chapter 14

You ever discover that your half-ghost mentor was a complete disaster all along? also look i finally added first/previous/next chapter links hooray

Rating: Teen/K+ (a lil swearing, because teenagers, man) Warnings: - Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort Additional Tags: Sibling Bonding, Family Bonding, Alternate Universe - Halfa Jazz AU, Jazz makes friends

[AO3] [FFN] [more Absurdism on Tumblr] First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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Chapter 14: Pirate Radio

“You’re the worst little sister in the history of little sisters,” Danny grumbled without heat. He moved, slumping further into the cushions of the couch.

Jazz snorted. “I can’t possibly be that bad.”

“No, you are.” He somehow buried himself even further. “I bet no one else has to worry about their little sister finding and befriending an alternate universe of themselves, the older sibling.”

“That’s just an inherent risk of being a Fenton, Danny,” Jazz pointed out, quirking an eyebrow at him even if he couldn’t see it. “You’ll have to blame our parents for that, not me.”

“Counter-argument. The befriending part is definitely a you thing.”

She blew a raspberry at him. “Like you wouldn’t have made friendly with an alternate universe version of me, given the chance.”

Danny hummed. “Not if she was as annoying as you.”

“Rude.” She reached over to swat at his shoulder. “I’m stronger than you, you know?”

He made a derisive noise.

“You suck,” she told him, sitting down properly again. “I’m leaving.”

Just as she shifted to the edge of the couch, however, their parents appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Hey kids,” her dad boomed, pushing his way in first. “We have talk to you two.”

Jazz’ core whirred nervously. Uh oh. That didn’t sound good.

Her mom stepped in after Dad, holding… oh no, was that the Ghost Finder? Shoot, she didn’t realize that they had built another one.

“Jack,” Maddie said, softly, holding up the invention. He leaned over to look on the screen and frowned.

Danny, next to her, had pushed himself into a sitting position again. He nudged her, gently, in a rather sad attempt at comfort.

It helped, though.

“Huh.” Jack turned to frown at her and Danny, but he was clearly still looking at the Finder from his peripherals. “That’s strange.”

Maddie clicked her tongue, then nodded. She lowered the invention again, and looked at Jazz and Danny directly. “What we wanted to talk about, kids, were the events of a few days ago.”

“That weird ghost sickness slash contamination thing?” Danny asked, his confusion not sounding quite genuine enough. “Why? What about it?”

“It… opened our eyes, I suppose you could say.” Her mom moved, perching on the arm of the armchair in front of her and Danny. “For years, we believed that humans and ghosts were entirely separate entities. Even if a human could become a ghost, it was a binary process. You were either fully human, or fully ghost. Those two states couldn’t be blended, not in the least. Or so we thought.”

“But those kids at the school, they all had ghost-like powers because of their contamination,” Jack continued. “But they hadn’t gone through the entire process, hadn’t made the full transition to a ghost. Which made us realize… If they could be humans with ghost-like abilities, caused by some sort of ectoplasmic contamination… Anyone else could be, too.”

“And I don’t think anyone could deny the similarities between Phantom and Specter and our children,” Maddie finished off. “In hindsight, it was glaringly obvious. Only…”

Jazz huffed out a laugh. “But only one of us shows up on the scanner, huh?”

“It makes no sense!” Jack blurted out, waving a hand at the invention. “By that logic, I could imagine that Specter’s core is too young, not mature enough, to show up, assuming it gets muted by her… human form? But, no, it’s Danny who appears fully human! Only minor ecto-contamination.”

“Which is obviously the fault of him not wearing proper protection when in the lab, young man,” Maddie chided.

Danny made a face. “Everything in this house is contaminated anyway. What’s the point of protecting yourself in the lab if the kitchen is almost as bad? Never mind all the food.”

Jazz swatted at him. “Danny, can we please focus on the serious conversation?” She turned to their parents. “Look, it’s… complicated.”

“God, did he train you to use that as an answer or do you two just spend that much time together?” Danny complained, pushing her with his shoulder. To their parents, he said, “Your scanner is right, I’m no more ghostly than you two. Jazz has a core, but she’s more human than ghost, I think. She defaults back to human when she falls asleep, anyway.”

“It’s his go-to answer for everything,” she explained with a roll of her eyes. “But, yes. I’m half-ghost. I think that it’s a pretty even balance, but, well. While human—alive—is my standard state of being, my core never goes away entirely. It gets… what did you call it, muted? I guess that that’s a good word for it. It’s weaker in human form, which makes it harder to use my powers, but it’s not impossible. I’m always a little ghostly in human form, and a little human in ghost form.”

Maddie nodded, slowly, her brow creased in thought. “So then… who is Phantom? He looks…” She trailed off, looking at Danny.

“Yeah, it’s complicated.” Jazz bit her lip, looking between her three family members. The conversation seemed to be going alright, but… having someone with more experience with this present would be a help. A comfort, if nothing else. “I can go get him? He can probably explain it better than I can.”

Her parents frowned, but nodded their permission anyway. Jazz stood up, then hesitated.

“I, uh. Do you mind if I shift into my ghost form here, or should I leave first?”

They shared a look—more like a silent conversation—before Maddie licked her lips and said, carefully, “No, go ahead. It would be… good. To see, I mean.”

“Right.” Jazz nodded back, then tugged on her core, ignoring her racing heartbeat. The transformation washed over her in a brief flash of light, and she grinned at her parents, unsure. “Tah-dah?”

“Wow,” Jack breathed. Both of them were clearly stunned. “Years of research disproven, just like that.”

She hesitated, and Maddie must’ve realized why, because she waved a hand. “Go find Phantom, honey. We just… It’s one thing to know, and another to see.”

Of course. She knew that, didn’t she? That was why she was so thrown off whenever she saw Phantom in his human form.

“Yeah,” she said, letting herself float a little. “I’ll be right back, then.”

Jazz turned herself invisible—ignoring their startled noises—and phased out of FentonWorks. Look, she had nothing to hide to them, but it would be suspicious if people saw her!

Luckily Phantom hadn’t left for patrol yet, lounging on a nearby rooftop. He jerked upright when he saw Jazz, immediately shifting into his ghost form. “Jazz?”

“Hey, so, uh.” Suddenly she felt a little silly. Surely she and Danny could’ve handled this alone? But she was here now, and her parents wanted to see Phantom, so… “Um. My parents figured out my secret? Apparently they had another ghost scanner, but now they’re confused because their son is human, and they wanted to know who Phantom was? Could you, uh, come along?”

Phantom’s expression had grown increasingly uncomfortable as she spoke, but he still nodded after she finished talking. “Yeah, sure. How did they… react?”

“It was…” She considered it. “Not that bad, I guess? But maybe they haven’t quite processed it yet. I figured they would be okay with it, anyway, so it’s not that surprising.”

“If you thought they would accept you, why…” He paused, dusting off his jumpsuit rather pointlessly. Stalling for time, she figured. “Why didn’t you tell them sooner?”

She shrugged. “I wanted them to change their minds about ghosts. Specter, and later Phantom, were the easiest examples of ghosts doing good, and I thought that they would blame everything on us being part human if they knew.”

“That… makes sense.” He sighed, combing a hand through his hair. “Well, let’s go, then.”

The two of them flew back to FentonWorks, not turning invisible now. They phased through the front wall, directly into the living room, drawing the attention of the three people still present there.

Jazz landed in front of the couch, shifting back to her human form. Phantom kept his distance, however, and looked rather uncomfortable.

“You’re half-ghost too?” Jack guessed, gesturing at the Ghost Finder that Maddie still held. “The Finder suddenly started picking up your core, like something had been muting it but stopped.”

Phantom nodded, hesitantly. “I am.”

Maddie was staring at him with narrowed eyes. “But you look and sound almost exactly like Danny. I can’t imagine that there’s anybody in Amity that looks so similar to my son.”

That made Phantom shuffle even more uncertainly.

“Phantom,” Danny said, still on the couch. “Just tell them, man. Shift back.”

The half-ghost made a face, but did as asked. Light flashed, the ring of energy passing over him, and he thudded back onto the ground. Jazz was glad to see that Phantom had borrowed some of Danny’s clothes, so he didn’t look quite as ragged anymore.

Phantom grinned at Jack and Maddie, and, man. Jazz could feel the awkwardness in the atmosphere.

“Tah-dah?” he offered, opening his arms as if he were showing off an outfit.

“Jazz already did that,” Danny commented from behind her, and she kicked him in the shin. “Ow, Jazz, jeez. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Jack made a noise that not even Jazz could decipher, then said, “So. Complicated, huh?”

“I am so tired of that word,” Danny muttered, and Jazz kicked him again. “Ah! Are you taking lessons from Sam or something?!”

Phantom snorted, then immediately straightened out, having drawn everyone’s attention back to him.

Jazz waited for him to speak up, but after a few moments of silence, cleared her throat. “So… You want to explain your complicated situation, Phantom?”

“I, uh. Yeah. Right.” He shuffled his feet, looking wildly uncomfortable. Seriously, it was a little weird, but it couldn’t be that much worse than when he told his secret to his own parents, right?

Unless… he had never told his secret to his own parents?

But that would be crazy, right?

“So, I’m, um.” Phantom ran a hand through his hair, running it all the way over his head until it ended up in his neck. “I’m… Danny Fenton. From another universe.”

“Apparently he’s the younger sibling and half-ghost,” Danny added when Phantom stopped talking. “He had photos with himself and his own Jazz, and she was like, eighteen.”

“But how did he—” Maddie paused, turned back to Phantom. “How did you get here?”

Phantom shrugged, uncomfortable now that the attention was on him again. “I, um. Natural portals form in the Ghost Zone all the time, but they don’t just connect to the regular human world. They can go to any place and any time on Earth, and, apparently, to different universes as well. I accidentally flew through one and… I thought I was back in Amity, so I didn’t try to go back.”

“And portals are too finicky to reliably travel back through,” Jack realized, snapping his fingers. “That’s why you stuck around! But I don’t understand… Wasn’t your home… don’t you miss it? Wouldn’t you want to go back?”

“Of course I want to go back!” Phantom snapped, suddenly, his eyes flaring green. “I want nothing more than to go home! But there’s no point in risking life and limb by diving through portal after portal, hoping to find it! If I just stay in one place, they will find me! I just…” The green faded away, his voice petering off into near-silence. “I just have to wait. They’ll come.”

“Because Sam and Tucker and your Jazz are looking, right?” Jazz asked, softly. “What about your parents? Wouldn’t they go looking for you?”

“I…” Phantom jerked his head. “Of course they’ll be looking for me! Just not—”

“They don’t know,” Danny said. “You never told them your secret. That’s why you were so hesitant to tell me what was going on, and why you’re acting weird now. You’re helping Jazz tell her parents, when you never told yours.”

Phantom made a face but nodded.

“But you. You’ve had your ghost powers for two and a half years!” It felt like her core had frozen in her chest. How had he gone so long without telling his parents? Had they held off on changing their minds for so long? Or…

Or was he genuinely scared that they might hurt him? That they would hate him for being half-ghost?

“Yeah, well.” Phantom shrugged, weakly. “My only comparison is the guy who’s gone twenty-two years without telling anyone about his powers, so.”

“We both know he’s a terrible example in every way,” Jazz scolded. “Seriously, Phantom… Danny. You could’ve told me. You didn’t have to come.”

“It’s… fine.” He looked up again, eyes wandering to Jack and Maddie. “I… I probably should’ve told mine ages ago. I’m glad you didn’t… didn’t.”

She huffed out a breath, scrambling over the couch to get closer to him. “That’s what you’re doing the whole time, isn’t it? You’re not just telling me what I’m dealing with, but you’re specifically aiming to have me avoid making the same mistakes you made.”

Jazz wrapped her arms around him, and, after a moment of stiffness, Phantom hugged her back. “Wouldn’t you?” he asked her, head pressed in her hair. “If you saw your sibling, so young and innocent, before they had made any of your mistakes. Wouldn’t you stop them, too?”

“You never said anything,” she told his shoulder. “I had no idea how bad it was, Danny. You should’ve told me! You’re not alone, not here.”

“I’m never alone.” He sniffled, but she didn’t comment. “I have Sam, and Tucker. And my own Jazz. I have Wulf, sometimes when I can find him, and Frostbite. Clockwork, even, if it’s really important.”

A warm bulk reached over Jazz to clap Phantom on his shoulder. She wrenched an eye upwards, meeting her dad’s eye. “Danny, kiddo. I don’t know your parents, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that family is the most important to us Fentons.” The other hand landed on Jazz’ shoulder. “Part ghost or not. My kids are my kids, and I love them with all my heart.”

“I… I know,” Phantom murmured back, keeping his head turned down. “But it’s just… hard. To hear them speak so badly of ghosts, of Phantom, and know. Know that that’s me they’re talking about. Even if I know, rationally, that they wouldn’t feel that way if they knew it was me.”

“Is that why you never told us, Jazz?” Maddie asked, laying a warm hand on Jazz’ other shoulder. “Because you were so scared?”

She shrugged, only a little so she wouldn’t throw off the comforting hands. “I… No, of course not! I wanted— wanted you two to change your opinions on ghosts, first, because it would be easier! Not because I was…” It felt like her throat was clogged up. She sniffled. “Yeah… Yeah, a little bit, I think. I just didn’t want to…”

“You didn’t want to admit that that was why,” Phantom finished for her. She couldn’t see his expression from where she was pressed against him, but he sounded like he was tearing up. “So you reasoned around it. Because you couldn’t be scared of your parents, not really! They didn’t mean it like that! But you were. Scared, that is.”

“Oh, honey,” her mom said, and suddenly another warm body pressed against her. Maddie’s arms wrapped around her, and by extension, around Phantom. “Oh, I’m so sorry that we made you feel that way. That you felt like you couldn’t tell us even some of this, that we were so set in our ways that you had to hide all of that. And that…”

Maddie’s hair brushed against Jazz’ cheek, as Maddie turned to look at Phantom. “And that it was so bad that, if we hadn’t figured it out ourselves, we wouldn’t have known for another two years, at least. That you would’ve been forced to hide yourself—yourselves—from us for so long.”

Then, suddenly, their hug collapsed. Jazz teetered for a moment, before she was drawn against her mom. She blinked in surprise, then realized what had happened.

Phantom stood several steps away. He must’ve turned himself intangible to escape from the hug.

“I’m glad you’re all talking this out okay,” he said, his posture stiff but his voice wavering. “But I… I’d better get going. This isn’t… my place.” He nodded at Danny, who uncertainly stood in front of the couch. “I. Yeah. Later.”

“Wait, Phantom!” Jazz shrugged off her mom’s arm, stepping closer to Phantom again. “Will you… Are we still meeting for training? Maybe not tomorrow, but… next week?”

He hesitated, visibly, before nodding. “Yeah, I… of course. I’ll…” He grinned, clearly fake. “I’ll check your homework then, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” She wanted to stop him, wanted to help him, make him feel better, but… her own parents came first. He understood that, right? He would’ve done the same, had their roles been reversed.

Still, her core wavered in her chest, upset, and her heart felt like a clump of ice.

“I’m sorry we upset him,” Maddie said, tugging on Jazz’ arm again. “We didn’t mean to, Jazz. Upset either of you.”

“I know.” She wiped a hand over her eyes, shocked to find them wet. “I always knew that you cared, Mom, Dad. That my fear wasn’t… wasn’t rational. And Phantom is… He’s been upset for a long time, I think.”

“He misses his home,” Danny added, finally speaking up again. “When I talked to him with Sam and Tucker, he could barely look at them. He’s been here for months, waiting for them to find him.”

Jack’s arm wrapped around her shoulders again. “He’s worried that they might never find him,” he concluded. “That he’ll be forced to stay in world where he can’t see any of his loved ones ever again. That sounds like a Fenton’s worst nightmare.”

“Yeah,” Jazz agreed, leaning back against her dad’s massive bulk. “I can’t imagine… And his parents don’t even know… Can’t imagine why he disappeared like that.”

“At least we’ll know.” Maddie’s arm snaked around Jazz’ shoulders too, joining Jack’s. “If you ever disappear… God. It could’ve happened to us.” Her eyes were watering, too. “It’s been months since Specter’s first appearance, and we only discovered by coincidence. We could’ve… It could’ve been years before we changed our minds enough for you to tell us on your own.”

“If ever,” Jack mumbled, grimly. “If we ever got evidence convincing enough to break us from years of bias.”

Jazz just pressed closer. She wasn’t sure if her parents ever would’ve changed enough for her to feel confident about telling them, no matter what she said.

Somewhere, she was glad that they had found out on their own. She might’ve put it off forever, otherwise.

---

“Jazz,” Phantom said, grinning at her when she touched down in their clearing. “It’s been a while. How have things been?”

“They’re…” Rough. Her parents are struggling, it’s a lot to wrap their minds around. They’re trying but it’s hard. “Fine. Things have been fine.”

He nodded, already turning around. “Good. I’m… glad to hear so.”

Ah, so they were not going to talk about the other thing. Well. She supposed she could give him that much, at least.

“Weren’t you going to check my homework?” she asked, lightly.

Phantom paused. Turned back around. “Did you do it, then?”

“It was homework, Phantom. What do you think?”

His lips quirked up in a smile. It felt genuine, this time. “Should’ve figured. The trick to training you was homework all along.”

“I thought it was fine before now, too.” She shook her head, but smiled. “Anyway, you wanted me to test for elements I felt connected to. Now what?”

“Uh uh uh,” Phantom said, waving a finger. “First you have to give me your homework. So, tell me. Any elements you felt positive—or negative—about?”

“Well, I dunno. I didn’t feel a very strong connection to anything, to be honest,” she admitted, ignoring the way her core clenched. It wasn’t a personal failure, she was sure of that, but it still felt that way. “But… I think electricity was… okay? Better than the other stuff?”

He nodded, and she felt her core relax a little. “You haven’t been exposed to a lot of elemental ectoplasmic attacks, so your core might’ve prioritized learning neutral abilities over elements. Electricity makes sense, though. It was my first one, too, and it’s useful for a variety of purposes.”

Good. She liked the sound of that. “Okay, so, again. Now what?”

“We need to nudge your core into developing affinity for that element.” Phantom paused, then made a face at her. “This is going to sound really bad, but we’ll need to expose you to the element in question to do that.”

“What, like… like electrocuting me?”

“Not that rough, but…” He shrugged. “Kinda, yeah. Low voltage, closer to a static charge than something that would really hurt you.”

She grimaced. “Then why didn’t I develop an affinity for electricity sooner? I get static shocks constantly!”

“Needs to be ectoplasmic electricity,” Phantom explained with another shrug. “I got hit by Plasmius’ electric attacks all the time, and some other ghosts used them too. Technus, for example, or Walker’s right-hand man.”

He waved her over and, reluctantly, she joined him. “I’ll tell you right now, I don’t like this.”

“We can… not do it, you know?” Phantom laid his hands on her shoulders, lowering his head so he could meet her gaze. “Seriously, Jazz, it’s no big deal. You don’t need elemental attacks. If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. I’m not gonna force you into anything.”

She sighed, wrapping one of her hands around Phantom’s. “I know, Phantom. It’s… Well, not fine, but it’s okay. I’d rather do this with someone I trust than get shocked by an enemy until I develop this power.”

Phantom remained silent for a moment, before asking, quietly, “You trust me?”

“Oh, Danny.” She pressed her head against his shoulder, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders. “Even if you’re not my brother, you’re still my family. You’ve been taking care of me for months, protecting me and making sure I would be fine even when you left. Of course I trust you.”

He drew his arms in closer, until they were wrapped around her neck instead of settled on her shoulder. Buried his head in her hair again. “If,” he said quietly. “If I ever leave.”

“Don’t say that,” she chastised, awkwardly patting him on the back. “Of course they’ll find you, and bring you back to your universe, and everything will be fine! You can tell your parents and they’ll accept you, too, and you’ll be okay. Maybe… Maybe the time is weird! That’s a thing, right, with the portals? Maybe your universe is just going way slower than mine, and your friends are looking for you, but it just hasn’t been that long yet!”

“Heh.” Phantom’s breath whistled through her hair, mussing it up. “You know… I hadn’t even considered that option yet.”

“Well, that’s what you have me for, right?” She turned her head to grin up at him. “I’m the smart sibling, after all.”

He barked out a surprised laugh, drawing away from her a little. “Yeah, I guess you are. Now come on, smarty-pants, you’re not getting out of training that easy.”

Phantom moved a full step back, until the only contact they had left were their linked hands. Then he lifted his free hand, offering it back to her.

Jazz bit her lip, then took the hand. “We’re making a loop? For the current to run through?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, tightening his grip comfortingly. “Tell me if this feels weird, okay?”

“Okay.” A tingling feeling started running down her arms, buzzing, hot and cold simultaneously. It danced through her veins, down her arms and into her chest and, oh. Her core whirred, like it was soaking up the energy. “Is it… My core is absorbing it, I think? Is that… bad?”

“It’s fine,” Phantom assured her. “That’s confirmation of an elemental affinity, by the way. Your core is accepting it, and processing it. We’ll keep to this level of power, give it the time to figure it out.”

She nodded, trying to focus on the energy running through her. On her core, soaking up all the power that Phantom was offering it.

“Say,” Phantom said, after a long moment of silence, “have you ever thought about getting a logo of your own?”

“A… logo?” She quirked a brow at him. “What, for my jumpsuit? Like yours?”

“Yeah!” He nodded towards his chest, like she could’ve missed the vivid white logo. “It’s kind of a superhero staple, you know.”

Jazz snorted. “No thanks.”

“Why not?” he prodded, shaking their arms. “We’ve got a while, anyway. Might as well talk through it, right?”

“If you insist. First of all, it’s tacky. Just not my sort of thing. And second of all…” She kicked him in the foot, gently. “I’m not a hero, Danny, just trying to help.”

“Looks like a hero from where I’m standing.” He jumped when she tried kicking him again, legs merging into a whispy tail. “From where I’m floating,” he corrected, childishly.

Jazz rolled her eyes. Secretly, she was glad to see him bantering, though. Even if it was just a cover for his homesickness… it served a distraction, at least. “Who’s the older sibling here?”

“Technically neither of us is,” he pointed out. “Even if I’m older than you, I spent almost my whole life being the annoying younger brother.”

“You make a good older brother, though.” She stiffened slightly as she realized she said that out loud. Ah, no, too sappy! “You’re a lot like Dad.”

Phantom raised a questioning eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! You’re protective, you value your family—both blood and from friendship—above everything else,” she grinned, a little impishly, “you’re very interested in ghosts and ghost hunting…”

He flushed green, opening his mouth to counter, so she went for the final push.

“And you seem pretty obsessed with logos.” She outright smirked at him. “Pretty sure the next step is using your face as one.”

“Oh my god, Jazz, no.” Phantom threw his head back, groaning loudly. “That’s horrible. You’re horrible.”

“You started it,” she countered, childishly jiggling their arms. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

“Terrible. You’re terrible.” He swiveled his head back around, his green eyes sparkling. “How’s your core feeling?”

She stuck out her tongue. “That was a terrible topic change and you know it.” Still, that was why they were meeting, she supposed. “It’s feeling… full? Full-er?”

“More powerful?”

“Uh.” She prodded it, mentally. “No, not really? More… zappy? More zappy than usual, kinda staticky, and more full. Kinda… heavy? But not powerful.”

He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Alright. I’m cutting off the power. Let’s see if we can get some electricity out of you yet.”

“Sure,” she said as the static down her arms stopped. She unlinked her arms, then twitched her fingers. Felt like they were having after-buzzes. “How?”

“How do all your ghost powers work?” he asked scathingly, but with no real heat. “Thought you were the smart sibling?”

“Mh.” She tried to recall the static feeling. Prodded her core into replicating that. “Wait, I think…”

Gold sparked between her fingers. Brief flashes of lightning jumped from one finger to another. “Oh, look! I did it!”

“That’s a pretty good start, yeah.” Phantom grinned at her when she looked at him. “Good job. Your parents would be proud.”

Well, there went the mood again. The electricity sparking between her fingers faded, her core making a soft hum, almost like it was sad.

“Yeah,” she said, like Phantom could’ve possible missed the mood drop. “I… Speaking of them, though…” She trailed off, then remained silent.

“What about them?” he asked, frowning. “They didn’t—”

“They didn’t do anything!” she assured him, quickly. “Not like that! It’s just. Everyone’s been kind of obsessed with this adult music channel lately, and that’s… fine, whatever, you know, but. Mom and Dad have been listening to it a lot, too, saying it relaxes them. But they wouldn’t need relaxing if it weren’t for— for this!”

Phantom blew out a noisy breath, shaking his head. “Jazz… You can’t blame yourself for the accident, or for your parents finding out. Yeah, maybe they’re a little stressed, but… but they would probably be, anyway, even if you’d told them from the start. It’s not your fault, okay?

“Besides,” he added, and he was suddenly next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “They got into something similar in my universe. Practically every adult in Amity was obsessing over that music. And that was even though my parents didn’t know my secret. So it’s fine, yeah?”

That… wasn’t quite as comforting as Phantom had intended it, probably. She sighed. “I guess. What made them stop?”

“I, uh.” He paused, drawing back. Frowned in thought. “Um. No— hold on.”

“Holding on,” she snipped back.

“Got it! Oh, shit, whoops.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, so, don’t freak out, but it was totally a ghost thing. And I don’t know where to find those guys until they make their move, so…”

“Oh my god, Danny!” She threw out her hands. “That’s the opposite of comforting! What does that even mean, their move?!”

He grimaced. “They might… try to kidnap every adult in the city. No, scratch that, they totally did kidnap every adult in the city. Everyone who listened to their music.”

“Danny!” She clenched her fists, her core whirring angrily, her glow flickering wildly. “I’m not gonna— I’m going home right now. And I’m not leaving until I’m sure it’s taken care of!”

“Yeah, of course.” Phantom nodded quickly. “Go ahead, Jazz. I’ll meet you when Youngblood and Ember show up.”

---

Jazz stood on the landing at the top of the stairs, staring down at the roiling mass of students in her house. It felt like a block of ice sat in her chest, her core angrily buzzing beneath it.

“Jazz,” Valerie said, nudging her. “Come on, glaring at these guys won’t make you feel any better. Can’t we wait for your brother somewhere quieter?”

“No. I already looked at the ship, and they’ve got a ghost shield. Phantom and I can’t approach until someone turns it off.” Valerie quirked an eyebrow at her, and Jazz rolled her eyes. “Val, no offense, but you can’t possibly do that alone. It’s loaded with ghost pirates, and there are at least two high-powered ghosts on there.”

Valerie sighed. “That’s fair, I guess. So now what?”

Jazz turned her eyes back towards their classmates, partying below them.

“Jazz, whatever you’re thinking, no.” Valerie nudged her. “Seriously, you can’t plan to involve those guys again. Last time they were already in danger, and they had ghost powers.”

“They’re already involved,” she pointed out. “Their parents are gone, too. We just need to convince them to help us. There’s enough ghost hunting gear in FentonWorks to arm all of them, and they don’t need to be good, just good enough. If they can distract the ghosts, you can sneak by to disarm the shield.”

Valerie gave her a flat look. “Why the ‘we’? If you convince them, you’ll need to come with, and if you can pass through the ghost shield with them, you and Danny can do it with me, too.”

“I don’t know, Val. It’s a lot of ghosts.” She sighed. “And we need to turn off the shield, or Phantom and I can’t leave. If we can get more people there, it would help a ton.”

“But there’s no way the two of us can convince our class to help us hunt ghosts,” Valerie pointed out harshly. “Seriously, Jazz. Be realistic. We’re both uncool outcasts with a ghost problem. They’re not gonna listen to us.”

“Yeah, but—” A screech of static broke through the music, then stopped. The music didn’t pick back up.

Jazz leaned down over the railing, and spotted Danny standing at the front of the crowd, Sam and Tucker on either side of him. Tucker was holding a PDA, a cable running from it to the speakers behind them. Of course, he must’ve turned off the music for them, drawing the attention to the three of them.

“Hey people!” Danny raised a hand in greeting, his voice loud enough to carry through the sudden silence. “I know you’re all here to party, but I’m afraid we have a bit of a situation! As you all know, just about every adult in Amity Park got kidnapped by ghosts, including pretty much everybody’s parents!”

He looked through the room meaningfully, letting it sink in for a moment, before he continued. “Now, you might all think, so what? Specter and Phantom will solve it, just like every other ghost problem, won’t they? Or maybe that human ghost hunter on the hoverboard? Well, I’m sorry to say that it won’t be that easy.”

“How do you know?” someone shouted from the crowd.

“Glad you asked! I know because I actually looked at the fucking ship where they’re holding our folks, and guess what? It’s got a ghost shield around it! So Phantom and Specter, even if they come to help, won’t be able to! And, as much as I might be inclined to trust in the human hunter, she’s just one person. There’s a small army of weak grunt ghosts on that ship, and at least two higher powered ones, one of which has previously invaded our town, and which required the teamwork of Phantom, Specter, and the human hunter. Now, as much as you’re enjoying this time without your parents, are you really content to rely on other people to fix this for you?”

Danny paused, eyes slowly moving over the crowd. “Do you really feel good, partying here, knowing that your parents are working themselves to the bone up there, forced by ghosts? Knowing that the only people that might help are two ghosts that can’t actually go there, and a single human hunter? Hm?”

He shook his head, then gestured to Sam and Tucker besides him. “Now, I don’t know about any of you. Obviously, since I’m older. But I do know myself, and I know Sam and Tucker. And I know that none of us could live with the guilt, if we spent however long having fun down here, just to discover that our parents died because Amity’s protectors got outplayed. So I’ll ask all of you one thing. If your parents didn’t survive this, could you live with the knowledge that you could’ve helped, but didn’t?”

With his speech finished, Danny stepped back again, Sam and Tucker moving in sync. He turned around, the three of them moving to the edge of the room. Behind them, noise slowly starting coming in again; murmurs of the crowd as they talked. The music stayed silent.

“Damn,” Valerie whistled. “Didn’t know your brother was such a good motivational speaker, Jazz.”

“Yeah,” she said, thinking back to Phantom. To the way he must’ve convinced countless enemies to help him, those times he needed backup he didn’t have. Doing all the things she’d done with basically no information. “Yeah, I guess he is.”

“Wow, that was almost a compliment,” Danny commented, coming up the stairs. Jazz started—when had he gotten there?

“You stole my idea, though.” She swatted at him. “And that’s rude.”

“It’s better this way. Besides, I had a better shot at convincing them.”

She huffed. “What, because you’re such a brilliant speaker?”

“Because I’m older, Jazz.” He rolled his eyes, an amused smile on his face. “For kids like these, older teens are automatically cooler. You two might be all the way at the bottom of the popularity ladder, but Sam, Tucker, and I are high up, just because of our age. Doesn’t matter that we’re not popular among our own classmates.”

“Well, whatever.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t really matter, I guess, because I’m coming anyway.”

Valerie grabbed her arm. “No you’re not. Don’t be crazy.”

“Val, I—”

“Jazz. You are not coming,” Valerie repeated, shaking her arm. Jazz frowned at the weird emphasis.

“I wholeheartedly agree, Jazz,” Danny said from her other side. “I don’t want you to come.”

Jazz grumbled, slumping on the landing’s railing. “You two suck.”

“We also both know, huh?” Danny sighed, then leaned on the railing beside her. “Look, Jazz. Yes, I overheard your idea, and decided that I would take the lead. I’ll lead the human ghost hunters in the attack on the ship, we’ll turn off the shield, and then you and Phantom can come in to actually deal with the ghosts.”

“Wait, hold on,” Valerie cut in before Jazz could reply. “Aren’t you Phantom?”

Danny jerked backwards to look at Valerie over Jazz’ back. Jazz also turned to shoot her an incredulous look.

“What? Why are you both looking at me like that?” Valerie frowned. “Seriously, I asked Phantom if he was Danny Fenton and he said yes. And Jazz, you keep saying he’s your brother. What was I supposed to think?!”

“Technically, all of that is true.” Danny made a face. “It’s just… not the complete truth.”

“One might even say that it’s complicated,” Jazz added, just to rile up Danny a little. “I don’t know why Phantom would tell you he’s Danny but not tell you the whole story, though. He is actually Danny Fenton, yes, but he’s from alternate universe, and just staying until his own friends and sister find him.” She reached behind her to pat Danny on the arm. “This is my actual fully human brother. Hence why I call him Danny, and the other guy Phantom.”

“Ah.” Valerie nodded, but the crease remained. “I… see. I thought you were just, I dunno. Trying to separate the two halves with their own names, or something. So you wouldn’t slip up and call him Danny while he was a ghost.”

“I mean, that’s almost the truth,” Danny pointed out, lips quirking up into a smile. “Anyway, I should go help Sam and Tucker prep the weapons for your classmates. Jazz, you go find Phantom and come join us before we actually leave, okay? The promise of teaming up with Amity’s actual protectors will help convince them.”

“I’ll get going too, then.” Valerie pushed off of the railing, then paused, realizing what she’d said. “I mean, um. I…”

Jazz clicked her tongue. “You need practice with lying on the spot, Val. She’s the Red Huntress, Danny.”

“The human hunter with the hoverboard?” he guessed, then nodded at her. “Yeah, that’d be good. You can take lead, since you’re probably the best fighter among the humans. I’ll have Tucker go down to deactivate the shield, and Sam and I can help cover him.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Valerie nodded back, the tension in her shoulders ebbing a little. “Just…”

“I’ll keep your secret, no worries,” Danny assured her. “Unless you leak Jazz’ secret and get her hurt as a result, but that’s just fair turnabout.”

Valerie snorted. “Yeah, I think I’d deserve whatever shit I get if that ever happens. Where are we meeting?”

“Up top.” Danny raised a finger to point above them. “The Ops Center can turn into a blimp, that’s what we’ll use to get to the ship.”

“Gotcha.” Valerie nodded, once. “See you in a min, Danny, Jazz.”

They watched as Valerie made her way down the stairs, sneaking through the front door unnoticed.

“I’d better get going too.” Jazz pushed herself off of the railing. “See you upstairs.”

“Yeah, see you in a minute.” Danny turned back to head down the stairs as well, while Jazz went to her room. The moment the door closed behind her she shifted to her ghost form, invisibly phasing out through the wall.

She intercepted Phantom on his way to the house, dropping her invisibility.

“Oh, Jazz,” he said, seemingly surprised. “What are you doing outside?”

“We’re meeting the teen ghost hunters upstairs,” she explained with a shrug. “Danny, Sam, and Tucker are leading my classmates for now, but Val is gonna show up and take lead during the actual attack. They’ll probably explain the whole plan for the class in a minute, when we’re all there.”

He nodded. “Gotcha. To the Ops Center, then?”

“Let’s.”

They flew up to the Ops Center quickly, but paused right outside it. Valerie, completely suited up and standing on her hoverboard, was already there.

Whoops. Nobody told her how to get in.

“There’s a door on the top,” Jazz pointed out. “Sorry.”

Valerie stared at Phantom for a moment longer before nodding. “Yeah, alright. See you inside.”

The huntress flew over to the roof, her hoverboard retracting into the soles of her shoes so she could land. She found the hatch, opened it, and dropped through.

After a beat or two, Phantom nudged her. “Let’s go.”

Jazz nodded back, and they both phased through the center’s metal walls.

The inside of the Ops Center was crowded, but surprisingly quiet. A hush must’ve fallen when Valerie had come in, and they quietened down entirely when she and Phantom came in.

Valerie hovered at the front—had apparently re-engaged her hoverboard after coming in—with Danny, Sam, and Tucker right with her. Jazz flew over there as well, Phantom right beside her.

“Wow, what a team!” Danny said, a cheeky grin on his face. “Do you see that, guys? Looks like we’re gonna show those stupid ghosts what Amity Park can really do!”

Phantom quirked an eyebrow at the speech, his spectral tail lashing lazily. “Do you have a plan? Specter and I would love to help, but we can’t, not unless you guys take the shield down.”

“As a matter of fact, we do!” Danny waved a hand, and Sam and Tucker rolled forward a whiteboard. On it were crude drawings of the ghosts’ ship and the Ops Center, but nothing else was filled in yet.

“Because of the shield, us humans will be taking lead in the fight.” He tapped a marker against the drawing of the Ops Center. “We’re in the Emergency Ops Center now, which can turn into a blimp. We’ll use that to fly us to the ship.” He drew an arrow from the Center to the ship.

“Once we’re there, we’ll board them. The Red Huntress,” he gestured over at her, “will lead our main assault. They will fight primarily against the grunts, since the ringleaders probably won’t step up that soon. With their attention drawn, the three of us,” he gestured at Sam, Tucker, and himself, “will split off. Tucker is our tech-master, and he can disable the ghost shield. Sam and I will cover him.”

Danny erased the green circle around the ship with his thumb. “With the shield down, Specter and Phantom are free to join us. The two of them, together with the Red Huntress, will take on the leaders, who will probably come involve themselves by then. The rest of us will take out the remaining minions, then join the fight against… what were their names?”

“Ember and Youngblood,” Jazz answered him.

“Right. The rest of us will join the fight against Ember and Youngblood, helping however we can without outright endangering ourselves. These three,” he gestured at her, Phantom, and Valerie, “are all packing capture devices. They’ll be in charge of catching the enemy ghosts. Once we’re all clear, we’ll take the ship down carefully. Unfortunately, as you might’ve noticed,” he gestured around them, “the Ops Center is too small to take everyone back safely, so that’s what we’ll have to do. Any questions?”

He looked over the crowd of teenagers, but no one spoke up. “Good. In that case, come forward to grab weapons from me, Sam, and Tucker. Phantom, Specter, you’re free to wait outside, since you won’t be in here for the fight anyway. Red… feel free to grab extra weapons if you want.”

“I’m good,” Val muttered, her voice quiet. Probably trying not to get overheard by her classmates.

“We’ll be outside, then,” Phantom told Danny, then nodded at her. They phased outside, landing on a nearby rooftop.

The pirate ship hovered high above them, an unnatural green in the overcast skies. The shield around it reflected oddly in the windows around them.

“This fight is gonna be a breeze,” Phantom said airily, hands behind his head.

“Yeah?” She turned to look at him, cocking her head. “You sound confident.”

He snorted. “I managed without too much trouble. Now I’m more powerful, and backed up by both you and Valerie.”

“And a small army of my classmates.”

“And a small army of your classmates, yes,” Phantom corrected with a laugh. “Seriously, Ember and Youngblood don’t know what they’ve got coming.

Jazz watched him smile, and it felt like a knot loosened in her chest. It was good, to see Phantom smile like that. Confident, powerful, at ease.

They had this fight won before it even started, really.

#danny phantom #dp fanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #dp fanfiction #phic #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jazz phantom #halfa jazz au #jack fenton #maddie fenton #dark writes #absurdism #valerie really burrowed her way into this fic #really dont know what i wouldve done without her tbh #this phic changed so much from the original planning and im so glad for it

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snows-labcoat · 5 years ago

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Play Among The Stars (Baby, Kiss Me)

Summary: “I’ve always been in love with the stars, but nothing compares to you, Caitlin Snow.”

Pairing: Caitlin Snow x astronomer!reader

Caitlin Snow could listen to you talk forever.

She fell in love with the way your eyes shimmered as you took her stargazing, resembling the worlds you spoke about.

“What’s that one, right over there?” She pointed, your eyes following.

You could feel her breathing deep as she leaned back into you, arms wrapping around her front.

“Corvus. It means crow. They’re the sacred bird of the god, Apollo.”

“Really? Doesn’t seem like a god-type bird” She remarked, her eyes scrolling across the sky at the constellations you had been telling stories about.

“Did you know, in Greek mythology— crows weren’t originally black? See— his story is that Apollo asked him to watch over his pregnant wife while he was gone. When the crow told him his wife had begun to see a human man, Apollo blamed him for not stopping the affair. So he does what most overreacting Greek gods do— and curses the bird, scorching his feathers black”

“That’s dark. I’m assuming though, that it’s probably one of the lighter stories?” You nodded before telling another.

“Andromeda. She was sacrificed by her own parents to appease Poseidon after her mother’s vanity upset them.”

“Greek mythology is a real downer.” Caitlin quipped, a light laugh escaping the two of you.

“It’s not all bad. It can be really beautiful. Want to see one more constellation?” She nodded as you directed her to a random spot in the sky, she shifted over next to you, leaning into your side while her eyes scanned.

When you didn’t open your mouth to explain, she pushed, “What is it?”

“Psyrotas. Intimate Souls.”

“What’s the tragic story there?” You shook your head, before speaking softly.

“There was a person, and she never felt like she belonged. But— she had a fascination for science, astronomy. She fell in love with the stars. Earth can be lonely, even with 7 billion people. So she dreamed. She dreamed she was born among them, and she was floating so close. But she still felt alone. Even though she wasn’t really. Eridanus was there sometimes, so was Orion. Perseus too. But she wasn’t a part of anything... bigger.”

You could feel her eyes burning into you, but it wasn’t a bad feeling.

“Until she connected with... another, right next to Pluto. There was such a pull of gravity between the two stars. This other ball of plasma gave her hope, a reaction so big was happening and they didn’t even realize it at first. The cores coalesced. Eventually, named Psyrotas. Intimate souls.” Caitlin didn’t know what to say, so she cuddled closer into your side, her lips brushing your cheek before she finally spoke.

“I don’t know how, or why. Buuut I have a feeling that constellation is coming from a more personal place.” You dropped your head, a smile spreading across both your faces when you quipped—

“Okay okay, I know it’s no nerdonium, but I like to think it passes as a decent story. I mean— who doesn’t like a good love story?” Caitlin laughed, nodding her head in agreement as a thought crossed her mind.

“You... have always had a way with words. Storytelling. There are times where I wish this was all life was. The stars, us. No weight of the world.”

That would be perfect,

“Because every time I’m with you, I know I will be okay. Even if life really is kicking our asses sometimes, you’re always there to face the chaos with me. When you tell me these stories, when you sing, god— I wasn’t expecting this, and before you give a scientific explanation about choice versus chance— just know... I wouldn’t have things any other way.” She saw the gears turning in your head while you tried to organize your thoughts

Your mouth opened and closed before you started to rush out a sentence “SN 1006, Cait—“

“—The brightest stellar event ever observed, your favorite supernova” Caitlin finished, a blush rising onto your face before you continued.

“7.2 light years away from us. Sixteen times brighter than Venus—“ You were speaking so fast, she bet if you translated it— you could travel those 7.2 light years in a mere second. Your head stumbling to keep up with your heart.

“But I— I swear to god, it will never be as astounding as the way you make me feel.” For once, you struggled to articulate what was going through your mind, but Caitlin understood.

All she did was pull you closer to her, your head resting on her shoulder while she intertwined her fingers with yours.

You were in a state of euphoria, and it had been a while since you had truly felt at peace. Imagining that this must be what space feels like, life among the stars, where you can see everything up close.

“Have you ever thought about how people take advantage of space?” Caitlin furrowed her brows at your musings while you continued.

“See— at 10^-36 seconds of the Big Bang, the universe went through cosmic inflation. The world was in a state of chaos. Everything in flux, nothing was constant. Yet people still take advantage of the security of the illusion of a constant reality— ignoring the fact that the floating dust particles you see in the light of the sunrise creeping in, is the same star dust that fills our night sky. Our galaxy.”

Caitlin listened intently— your words painting this picture of how beautiful everything from beyond our star is. Somehow, everything you explained sounded less like a textbook and more like those poems you’d curl up at a local bookstore with.

“They take advantage of what’s thought to be reality. Planets and how many hours it takes for one revolution around the sun, our sun— it’s a constant. People accept light as a constant. We believe our human gaze, to be a passive act.”

“They don’t think about the fact that according to quantum theory, when photons aren’t being observed— they behave like a wave. In waves, there is no location to pinpoint of said photon. But as soon as they’re observed, they behave like particles, having a specific location, having a charge, momentum.” The bio-engineer could feel your heart racing, the inflections in your tone changing when she motioned for you to continue, relaxing at the sound of your voice.

“Stars... we take them for granted. We tell stories about the pictures in the skies, but nobody thinks about the fact that we need them.”

She thought about that. Yes, we need the stars. But Caitlin was thinking more along the lines of the fact that without the stars, your eyes wouldn’t be sparkling. The smile on your face wouldn’t be there, the moments you two spent under the sky... of course the stars are important.

“Think about supernovas, Cait. Without the explosions— our sun doesn’t contain the power to bond atoms into anything as heavy or heavier than iron. Earth would not exist.” She thought about how fast your mind was running in that moment. Your passion for the unknown possibilities lighting a fire.

You leave a blazing trail wherever you go, an impact that nobody could forget or ever want to change. Caitlin hadn’t been warm in such a long time, until she met you.

When you held her hand, she could’ve sworn you had the molten core of Earth right in your palms.

“That iron seeps into our oceans and into our ground, it makes our blood red, it let’s us breathe.”

In her mind, you are the center of her universe. It’s not the iron that keeps her breathing, or the tides that give direction. It’s you. You keep her grounded, while also helping her unfold her proper hands. See without each other— she knows her feet would never leave the Earth beneath, and without Caitlin, you know you’d never touch reality again.

“The stars are everything, Caity.” When she felt your lips ghosting her cheek while you sat together on the blanket, she nearly created a supernova explosion herself just wondering how nobody had named a star after you yet.

“People don’t ever think about how space isn’t just nothingness. Everyone seems to picture Earth as a separate entity from our galaxy, not as a part of it. They forget that we are a puzzle piece to something much greater. They view space as this vastly empty, yet domineering place, devoid of anything worthwhile”

A deep gravity filled the space between you two. The stars overhead meaning so much more.

“...When it’s really just a reflection of their own little world. Our universe and it’s comprehensible matter gets taken for granted. Space, light, quark matter, photons, Pluto— I’ve always been drawn to our galaxy and what lies beyond.”

Pluto was your favorite. Caitlin remembers you telling stories about when it was demoted in 2006. You believed in the little planet. You always fought for the underdog.

“I’ve been enthralled by something not even considered a real planet, 4.67 billion miles away— all the possibilities in a place we consider unknown.”

“Because it’s not space where I’d feel void, It’s here. I’ve never felt like I belonged. So I fell in love with what could be.”

“I’ve always been in love with the stars. But nothing compares to you, Caitlin Snow.”

You always felt like she must’ve come from the brightest supernova to exist. Born among the stars, galaxies within her heart, constellations and meteor showers all in one.

Her eyes looked like they carried galaxies in them. No matter who said that wasn’t possible, clearly had never felt something so passion-filled and unadulterated. Fresh, undiluted, and pure.

There was no denying the way the stars seemed to align when her lips met yours.

How even Pluto and Charon might as well have truly been pressing to see what was almost 5 billion miles away. Unlike the little dwarf planet you loved ever since you could read, the scientist was right there, in front of you and her lips locked with yours.

Caitlin Snow’s kiss, caused a coalescence between more than just elements. More than just the fire and ice that you both resembled. Your souls had met, creating the most powerful supernova explosion into a shower of interstellar dust.

*𝘗𝘴𝘺𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘴: 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘎𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘴, “𝘗𝘴𝘺𝘩𝘪” 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 “𝘌𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘴”— 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.

*𝘩𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪'𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 <3

#caitlin snow #caitlin snow x reader #my stuff #the flash #killer frost #caitlin snow/killer frost #cw the flash

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thedyingmoon · 5 years ago

Text

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

XVI

***

At first, he thought this was some kind of a practical joke but, when Morrison saw you there, sitting alone on one of the swings of that playground that one particular night, he knew that there was, indeed, trouble.

"At this time of the evening?" The Broker asked, his voice laced with concern. "Tell me what happened, my Lady."

You looked up and smiled weakly, trying your very best to look normal when you could barely subdue your own tears. "Dante has forgotten that I'm coming home."

Morrison took a seat on one of the swings, joining you. "Why would he forget about a lady such as yourself?"

You shrugged your shoulders helplessly, showing the man just how much this kind of situation drained you emotionally. "I told you about his girlfriend, right?"

"The one who always visits him and - "

"... takes over the place and his entire schedule, yes." You finished for him, then sighed. "I intend on using the back door, like I always do. It's,... locked. I tried the front, no luck. Then, I heard them. They were talking about me."

The man's eyebrows furrowed, his sweat trickling down his forehead due to the very tense, yet sad, situation. "What did they say about you?"

"Dante wants me out of his life. He hates me and doesn't want to see me anymore."

"He didn't!"

"Unfortunately, yes." You sadly confirmed. "I don't want to quit Devil Hunting. But, it seems that I just got fired."

"No! Until I say so, you're not quitting Devil Hunting."

"What will I do?"

And so, a month later, Dante found himself knocking on the door of your very own unit in one of the most posh apartments in the city.

"Come on, (Y/N). Answer." The man nervously said as he waited for you to open the door.

"I'm coming!" He heard you say from the other side, and when you finally came to answer, you were startled to find yourself face to face with him.

"Hey, (Y/N)! I - " Dante began when you tried to close the door on his face. He held it just in time and pleaded. "Wait! Let me explain."

"You've made yourself clear, Sir." You answered sarcastically, not wanting to let him in at all. "Now, if you would kindly,... "

"(Y/N), listen to me very, very carefully." The man pleaded once more, managing to get past the barrier separating you two. "I can explain everything."

You just rolled your eyes in defeat and allowed Dante to enter your unit.

As you sat back down on your sofa, the man's jaw dropped in awe of your place.

"You got this place fully furnished already, huh?" The man uttered as he positioned himself on another sofa opposite you.

"Unlike you, I work my ass off really hard." You answered nonchalantly as you picked up a leather - bound edition of Lovecraft from the glass - top table.

"How did you get this place?"

"Morrison's recommendation. Personally knew the owner."

The man flinched at the hardness and coldness of your voice. At first, he didn't believe that you would get so upset for what happened.

He didn't expect it to be this bad.

"Whatever you heard from us that day, none of it was real. I don't want you out of my life. I don't hate you, and I definitely want so much to see you back home."

"This is my home."

"Look at me!" Dante snatched Lovecraft away, making you look at him involuntarily with much anger in your eyes. "You have no idea just how much you affect me!"

"Isn't it the right decision for you to let me go, then?!"

"You're wrong! Everywhere you go, you leave traces of you behind! Everything you've touched, every piece of furniture you've laid your hands on, even those sad movies you've left behind! Everything reminds me of you! I was so confused. I thought that if I let you go, I won't be burdened by thoughts of you anymore but, I was wrong! (Y/N)," the man said, leaving his chair, coming closer to you, and taking your hands in his. "... go back home, please. I beg you!"

You raised an eyebrow at Dante's pitiable state. You tried to take your hands off his tight grip and failed.

"Your girlfriend will kill me."

"I broke up with her."

This surprised you a lot, knowing how much the man doted on that woman. "Since when?"

"Doesn't matter. She's gone."

Eyeing the man suspiciously, you leaned your face closer to his, trying to see if he was telling the truth or not.

"You do know what our deal is, right?"

To this, Dante's sweat quite literally ran cold. "Y - yes."

"No one would belong to anyone. Right?"

"Yes, yes. I know."

You nodded in agreement, then succesfully took your hands off him while he was confused and flustered. You stood up, went to the windows, and parted the heavy curtains, letting the sunlight in and letting the man see how you looked clearly.

Oversized shirt, ponytail, shorts, wool socks, fluffy slippers,...

... that intoxicating vintage wine scent that gave him sleepless nights,...

To Dante, you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

"As a matter of fact, I, too, have a proposal. Accept it and I will return to Devil May Cry."

Dante stood up and faced you. "Tell me."

You stepped forward, your gaze not straying from Dante's eyes.

"I've been searching for someone." You began as you crossed your arms. "I can feel that I'm going to meet him soon. So, when that time comes, you will let me go."

"Who is he? Why would I let you go if you meet him?"

"You will find that out for yourself. Just, please. Agree to this and I will return, I swear."

During that time, he had no idea who this man was, or how important it was for you to meet him. And, who could blame him? All he wanted by then was to be with you,...

"Agreed." Dante finally relented.

"Good. Now, I have to - " But, you were distracted as the man suddenly took you in his arms and wrapped you in a really tight hug. "Ew! Dante, you stink!" You shrieked, trying to free yourself from his grasp. "When was the last time you took a bath?!"

"A while,... " the man unapologetically answered, happily sniffing your fragrant hair. "I can't live without my lovely assistant."

"Oh, my God! You're hopeless without me, aren't you?! Please, take a bath first! I'm dying here!"

"Would you like to join?"

"NO!"

And so, without having to join the man in the shower, you were able to return as his assistant. Days passed, weeks, months, everything was going really well for the both of you,...

... until,...

May 17, 07:45 PM

The room was dark. As expected, the building was deserted. You've already heard from the local news that the Demon King that threatened Red Grave with the Underworld Tree was already defeated.

So, as instructed by your boss Dante, you went back a day later to finally meet the others, including the supposed client who offered the job. Yes, particularly him. He said that you two might get along.

You placed your pale pink fur coat on the sofa, seeing a familiar silhouette sitting behind the desk.

"Dante, I thought you're already paid in advance by your client?" You said, walking towards your boss, unaware of everything that took place during the fight. "Where are the others?"

"What are you doing here?" He said to you in a raspy voice. "You're not supposed to be here,..."

***

youtube

"Imbecile!"

"Useless!"

"That's what friends are for, right?"

"NO!"

"Why, V?!"

"What evil lurks, I must destroy!"

"The other night dear when I lay sleeping,

I dreamt I held you in my arms.

But when I woke dear,

I was mistaken and I hung my head and I cried.

You are my sunshine.

My only sunshine.

You make me happy when skies are grey.

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.

Please don't take my sunshine away.

I'll always love you and make you happy.

If you will only say the same.

But if you leave me to love another,

You'll regret it all one day.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

You make me happy when skies are grey.

You never know, dear, how much I love you.

Please don't take my sunshine away."

Ugh, that radio again,...

You woke up to that song on the radio and to Nico practically shaking you and slightly yelling at you, worried of your state.

"Hey, honey! You look like you're having a nightmare."

"Huh? Oh,..." You grumbled as you finally woke up, opening your eyes and letting your sight adjust to the light. "I hope it stays like that - a nightmare."

"Why? What happened?" Your friend asked, positioning herself beside you on the sofa.

"It felt,... so real." You answered, your voice hoarse due to dry throat. "It's like someone stabbed me in the chest over and over and over,..."

"You're still here. Don't worry."

You suddenly felt all the blood drain from your face as realization harshly hit in. "That's the problem. I can see the future,..."

To this, Nico only boisterously laughed. You sneered at her as you kicked her out of the sofa. She fell from it, still laughing like crazy.

"That's never a big deal for ya, hon!" The freckled woman informed you through fits of laughter. "You can heal! Anyone can stab through your chest and you'll still live!"

"Ugh, are you really my friend?" You shook your head as you sat up straight and rubbed your temples. "Stabbed, burned, skewered. You name it, I went through it. If it weren't for this entity inside me, I wouldn't even be talking to you right now. But, nowadays,..." you sighed, still feeling a bit worn out from the events that took place the last time you were awake. "... I feel,... completely drained. Like, I'm running out of lives to spare."

"Is that even possible?" Nico asked as she stood and made her way to the back of the trailer to make you a decent meal. "I mean, you've been with that entity for ten years, and you never complained about getting tired."

"Yes but, lately, I've been feeling, I don't know, worn out? Like I've been running an endless marathon with hardly any breaks."

"I can tell." Your friend answered with a knowing smile.

"What time is it?"

"Eight fifteen."

"What? I couldn't be sleeping for only fifteen minutes." You questioned, feeling confused.

Nico laughed as she put a mug of hot coffee down on the table. "Hon, you've been asleep for twenty - four hours straight!"

"Excuse me?!" You shrieked in disbelief as you hastily made your way towards the dashboard to look at the clock. Yes, it was nearly sixteen minutes past eight in the morning, and you also found out, in horror, that a full day has already passed. "No. Way!"

"V was lonesome, ya know? Wanted to spend the rest of the evening with ya." The freckled woman declared as she put a plate of scrambled eggs on the table for you to eat. "But, ya had to be sleepin' freakin' beauty all day. I knew he should have kissed you awake. Ya know what I'm sayin'?"

"Where is he?" You asked, ignoring her jokes and settling back down on the sofa.

"Patrollin' the streets with Nero. They should be back any moment now." Nico answered as she sat on the sofa opposite you. "They took out Eleison."

"Eleison?" You uttered as you took the mug. "Who's that? Another Devil Hunter?"

"Oh, that's Nero's motorcycle. He named it Eleison for some reason. I don't know but, everytime Nero mentions it to Kyrie, the girl would not stop giggling. Maybe some lovers' inside joke or somethin'."

"Yeah."

You were about to enjoy your breakfast when you heard someone knocking on the door.

"Since when did I start locking this car, psycho?!" Nico wildly screamed as she stood up and went towards the door to open it,...

"That Fleminger guy better pay me double for this!" Nero raged as he and V made their way back to the mansion after a hard night's work.

V only chuckled. "As silly as a man's folly can get,... you should not blame anyone for your own mistake." He simply said. After two nights straight of Devil Hunting, he felt really worn out to the bone. He longed so much to take a rest, maybe sleep for five hours or so.

But, most especially, he wanted to see you again,...

Nero looked at the thing in his hand and grumbled. "I'm sorry, Eleison."

When the trailer finally came into view, the two men noticed that not two but, three people were waiting for them.

"Is that,... ?" Nero quietly asked as he pointed at their surprise visitor.

"It is." V confirmed as memories of that last night went back to him.

As soon as Nico saw the two men approaching, she started waving her arms excitedly, wanting them to meet them faster. And when they finally did, she noticed the suspiciously familiar handlebar on Nero's hand. Except that it was burnt and slightly bent.

"Yo, dude!" Nico exclaimed breathlessly as she took the thing from the man's hand. "Is this what I think this is?"

Nero sighed. "Yes."

"Poor Eleison! What happened to her?!"

"This Demon we fought, a huge thing with tummy teeth, sucked it like a damn vacuum and spew it out at us with fire! That's what's left of,... her."

"I knew she'll break one day!" Nico said, unintentionally blissful of her accurate conjecture. "I just didn't know it would happen this way."

"And we found this." V added as he threw a horn - like thing at her. It was dark - colored and still smoking slightly. She caught it excitedly and sniffed it like it's the most fragrant thing in the world.

"Hooee! I'm gonna make something AMAZING out of this!"

"Did you just sniff that?" Nero questioned, utterly revolted. "Do you have any idea where that's been?"

"Up your butt?"

Nero helplessly shook his head. "Focus on the mission!"

"The boy is right." A fourth, unknown voice informed them.

All three of them looked behind them to finally notice the Fleminger Head, himself, who was sitting on one of the abandoned chairs of his once pristine ballroom. Next to him, they noticed you, waving at them with a nervous smile.

Fleminger stood up and made his way towards Nero. "I believe you are the hero who defeated the Demon King of Red Grave."

"I'm hardly a hero." Nero, not being used to open recognition despite the way he looked, only muttered. "And you must be the man behind all of this."

The man chuckled. "You have no idea what your words just now meant. I' am Lord Fleminger, your humble servant."

"He gave us a week worth supply of food, for your information!" Nico declared proudly as she pointed at the trailer behind her.

"That is,... unusually kind,... of someone like you."

All four of you, including Fleminger, himself, looked at V as he said those threatening words. He has never forgotten his strange and suspicious encounter with the man, and after that, he became even more cautious of him.

Not to mention it irked him that he was sitting close to you.

"My Lord, it is a pleasure to see you once more." Fleminger calmly answered V.

"You've met?!" Both Nero and Nico said, startled at what they just found out.

"Pleasure." The poet monotonously replied.

"A word or two. In private. If I may?"

You watched worriedly as Fleminger drew V away from Nero and Nico, excusing themselves. You noticed as V glanced your way, his facial expression telling you not to worry, when you honestly felt the opposite.

You smiled at him, reassuring him that everything would be fine.

V allowed himself to be led by the man, and as he cautiously followed him all the way to the other side of the mansion, he began to suspect something more dreadful, like he was willingly walking into a trap laid by the enigmatic man.

However, despite his gut feelings telling him of impending trouble, V remained silent, his metal cane and their footsteps the only things making noise against the cold, marble floor.

Fleminger, who was talkative, as always, opened his mouth and spoke.

"You have not forgotten about my advice, haven't you, my Lord?"

"How could I forget such a thing?"

Fleminger chuckled, his voice low and seemed to vibrate.

"Fetching little thing, actually. Came to see her for myself."

For some reason, V felt the hairs on his nape stand on end at those words. Vague, they may be but, it surely caught his attention in a very bad way.

"Pardon?"

Fleminger did not elaborate. Instead, he turned to the right and faced an ornate wooden door that must have led to an office of some sort. He simply opened it, letting V enter first.

Albeit hesitant, the poet obeyed.

What greeted him inside really didn't look dangerous, at all. The room was vast, with several portraits of what must've been Fleminger's ancestors hanging on the wall. The heavy oriental maroon curtain was not drawn, and the mahogany floors looked like they have just been polished to a certain degree of perfection. There was a sofa facing a warm hearth, and in the middle of the room was Fleminger's desk.

"Ah, the errors of humanity, I have forgotten to let the sunshine in!" Fleminger exclaimed theatrically as he made his way towards the curtains to part them, splashing light all over the gorgeous, yet dreary room.

"Why did you choose to stay here?" V inquired, his suspicions of the man getting the better of him.

"My Lord, this is my home." His companion answered as he leaned on his desk, his gestures similar to when V first met him. "I' am old, and have nowhere else to go. But, with Devil Hunters such as yourself, I feel secure."

"Tell me what this Demon is." V demanded. "You know things that we don't. You said so, yourself."

"Getting straight to the point, aren't we, my Lord?"

"Tell. Me."

Fleminger smiled at him, his facial expression very much unreadable. "Do you know why the Dreadnought have an army of Demons at its beck and call?"

V didn't answer and instead allowed the man to continue speaking.

"It is said that the Dreadnought have this,... unusual characteristic. A unique trait, if you will. It draws both higher and lesser Demons to it, enabling it to manipulate them in unspeakable ways."

"And what is this characteristic?"

"My Lord, what did I tell you the last time we met? About blocking your own sensations?"

V ransacked his convoluted mind for that one encounter, and what came up utterly shocked him to his very core.

"You know how some pleasant things send so many different kinds of sensations all throughout the body. I suggest blocking all of them all the same." V clearly remembered the man speaking. "It's best to know what is truth, and what is not."

But, then, if the Dreadnought could manipulate Demons, both higher and lesser, then he knew - !

In an instinct, V called upon Shadow, who instantly materialized and bared her fangs at Fleminger.

"How did you know who I was?!" V hissed, pointing his cane at the man and threatening him.

Fleminger only laughed. "There is no need to threaten me, my Lord, for I' am not your enemy. I' am here to serve you."

"For what?" V said at the same time that Shadow growled.

"For a greater purpose." Fleminger left the table and pointed at the portraits of his ancestors. "This Demon has been an archenemy of my family for a hundred years. I'm sure I have already told you that. Putting an end to it means giving those poor souls an eternal rest in Heaven. Ending it means putting an end to my grandmother's life - long sorrow."

"And why do I have to be involved with your ancestor's problems?"

"Oh, because you are the only one who could deal the finishing blow to this unstoppable enemy. Having experienced firsthand this,... Demonic characteristic,... our Dreadnought has, I' am confident that you would overcome it, seeing through the lies and uncovering the truth."

"I demand you cease this nonsense! I have not experienced this Demonic trait, nor,... "

Something made V stop mid - sentence.

Manipulation of the Demons through a particularly unique characteristic?

Manipulation?

Demonic trait?

Fleminger's smile widened as he noticed V unwillingly drop his defenses at the sudden realization. His suspicious smile even widened as the poet called Shadow back.

"It seems, my Lord, that you have finally understood something."

"Tell me,..." V quietly said, unable to believe everything he just found out. And still refused to do so. "This trait - what is it, exactly?"

"Scent, my Lord." Fleminger answered in a whisper, leaning his face closer to V's direction, casting an uncanny shadow. "Demons are drawn to a particular scent this Dreadnought releases. This scent depends on the personality of its target. It hypnotizes them, and when it finally has them on its grasp, it manipulates them to do its bidding."

"This,... is impossible."

Metal cane dropping to the floor with a loud clang, sweaty hands trembling in both fear and nervousness, V's eyes widened, shock and pain tearing at his own heart and soul.

"I'm afraid it isn't, my Lord."

Hands going up on creased forehead and eyebrows furrowed with conflicting emotions, V spoke. "How do I know you are not spouting lies?!"

***

You patiently waited for V to return, and when you finally saw him walking towards you, your face lit up in delight. You excitedly ran and met him halfway.

"V!" You cheerfully said, looking up at the man. "Welcome home."

"Not now, (Y/N)." The man answered in an uncharacteriscally cold tone. "I'm tired."

"... what?" You managed to speak, easily hurt by his sudden distant attitude towards you.

"Give me a moment. A minute, an hour, I do not care. Please, I beg you,..."

And with those words that cut through your chest like an ice - cold knife, he left you and isolated himself from the rest of your group.

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

~ A V X Reader set in an Alternate Universe where today's events probably unnerved you ( Did you see them coming? Be honest ). 😨

~ Tagging these lovely people, @diabeticsugarush , @gxthghoulfriend , @ceruleanworld , @ehrzeth , @boundbysoul , and @simmy-ships . 🖤

~ And to these special people who stayed with me and supported me. Who I don't deserve for their kindness and patience. Who I' am grateful for and will always treasure. @heaven-on-a-landslide , @lessy86 , and especially you, @krazy06 . Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. ❤

Note: Nero's motorycle is named, "Eleison" . Combined with Kyrie, "Kyrie Eleison" , a latin phrase which means "Lord Have Mercy". 🖤

P.S.: In line with the changing tone of the story, from this point onward, this would be the new format. We will still have the regular teasers but, expect meatier add ons. 🖤

***

🖤🖤🖤

#devil may cry 5 #v #i see my future before me #v x reader #v x you #devil may cry dante #devil may cry nico #devil may cry nero #devil may cry morrison #devil may cry goliath #devil may cry kyrie #you are my sunshine #jimmie davis #chapter 16

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etlunainmorte · 5 years ago

Text

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

“At this time of the evening?” The Broker asked, his voice laced with concern. “Tell me what happened, my Lady.”

You looked up and smiled weakly, trying your very best to look normal when you could barely subdue your own tears. “Dante has forgotten that I’m coming home.”

Morrison took a seat on one of the swings, joining you. “Why would he forget about a lady such as yourself?”

You shrugged your shoulders helplessly, showing the man just how much this kind of situation drained you emotionally. “I told you about his girlfriend, right?”

“The one who always visits him and - ”

“… takes over the place and his entire schedule, yes.” You finished for him, then sighed. “I intend on using the back door, like I always do. It’s,… locked. I tried the front, no luck. Then, I heard them. They were talking about me.”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed, his sweat trickling down his forehead due to the very tense, yet sad, situation. “What did they say about you?”

“Dante wants me out of his life. He hates me and doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

“He didn’t!”

“Unfortunately, yes.” You sadly confirmed. “I don’t want to quit Devil Hunting. But, it seems that I just got fired.”

“No! Until I say so, you’re not quitting Devil Hunting.”

“What will I do?”

And so, a month later, Dante found himself knocking on the door of your very own unit in one of the most posh apartments in the city.

“Come on, (Y/N). Answer.” The man nervously said as he waited for you to open the door.

“I’m coming!” He heard you say from the other side, and when you finally came to answer, you were startled to find yourself face to face with him.

“Hey, (Y/N)! I - ” Dante began when you tried to close the door on his face. He held it just in time and pleaded. “Wait! Let me explain.”

“You’ve made yourself clear, Sir.” You answered sarcastically, not wanting to let him in at all. “Now, if you would kindly,… ”

“(Y/N), listen to me very, very carefully.” The man pleaded once more, managing to get past the barrier separating you two. “I can explain everything.”

You just rolled your eyes in defeat and allowed Dante to enter your unit.

As you sat back down on your sofa, the man’s jaw dropped in awe of your place.

“You got this place fully furnished already, huh?” The man uttered as he positioned himself on another sofa opposite you.

“Unlike you, I work my ass off really hard.” You answered nonchalantly as you picked up a leather - bound edition of Lovecraft from the glass - top table.

“How did you get this place?”

“Morrison’s recommendation. Personally knew the owner.”

The man flinched at the hardness and coldness of your voice. At first, he didn’t believe that you would get so upset for what happened.

He didn’t expect it to be this bad.

“Whatever you heard from us that day, none of it was real. I don’t want you out of my life. I don’t hate you, and I definitely want so much to see you back home.”

“This is my home.”

“Look at me!” Dante snatched Lovecraft away, making you look at him involuntarily with much anger in your eyes. “You have no idea just how much you affect me!”

“Isn’t it the right decision for you to let me go, then?!”

“You’re wrong! Everywhere you go, you leave traces of you behind! Everything you’ve touched, every piece of furniture you’ve laid your hands on, even those sad movies you’ve left behind! Everything reminds me of you! I was so confused. I thought that if I let you go, I won’t be burdened by thoughts of you anymore but, I was wrong! (Y/N),” the man said, leaving his chair, coming closer to you, and taking your hands in his. “… go back home, please. I beg you!”

You raised an eyebrow at Dante’s pitiable state. You tried to take your hands off his tight grip and failed.

“Your girlfriend will kill me.”

“I broke up with her.”

This surprised you a lot, knowing how much the man doted on that woman. “Since when?”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s gone.”

Eyeing the man suspiciously, you leaned your face closer to his, trying to see if he was telling the truth or not.

“You do know what our deal is, right?”

To this, Dante’s sweat quite literally ran cold. “Y - yes.”

“No one would belong to anyone. Right?”

“Yes, yes. I know.”

You nodded in agreement, then successfully took your hands off him while he was confused and flustered. You stood up, went to the windows, and parted the heavy curtains, letting the sunlight in and letting the man see how you looked clearly.

Oversized shirt, ponytail, shorts, wool socks, fluffy slippers,…

… that intoxicating vintage wine scent that gave him sleepless nights,…

To Dante, you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

“As a matter of fact, I, too, have a proposal. Accept it and I will return to Devil May Cry.”

Dante stood up and faced you. “Tell me.”

You stepped forward, your gaze not straying from Dante’s eyes.

“I’ve been searching for someone.” You began as you crossed your arms. “I can feel that I’m going to meet him soon. So, when that time comes, you will let me go.”

“Who is he? Why would I let you go if you meet him?”

“You will find that out for yourself. Just, please. Agree to this and I will return, I swear.”

During that time, he had no idea who this man was, or how important it was for you to meet him. And, who could blame him? All he wanted by then was to be with you,…

“Agreed.” Dante finally relented.

“Good. Now, I have to - ” But, you were distracted as the man suddenly took you in his arms and wrapped you in a really tight hug. “Ew! Dante, you stink!” You shrieked, trying to free yourself from his grasp. “When was the last time you took a bath?!”

“A while,… ” the man unapologetically answered, happily sniffing your fragrant hair. “I can’t live without my lovely assistant.”

“Oh, my God! You’re hopeless without me, aren’t you?! Please, take a bath first! I’m dying here!”

“Would you like to join?”

“NO!”

And so, without having to join the man in the shower, you were able to return as his assistant. Days passed, weeks, months, everything was going really well for the both of you,…

… until,…

May 17, 07:45 PM

The room was dark. As expected, the building was deserted. You’ve already heard from the local news that the Demon King that threatened Red Grave with the Underworld Tree was already defeated.

You placed your pale pink fur coat on the sofa, seeing a familiar silhouette sitting behind the desk.

“Dante, I thought you’re already paid in advance by your client?” You said, walking towards your boss, unaware of everything that took place during the fight. “Where are the others?”

“What are you doing here?” He said to you in a raspy voice. “You’re not supposed to be here,…”

***

XVI

***

“Imbecile!”

“Useless!”

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

“NO!”

“Why, V?!”

“What evil lurks, I must destroy!”

“The other night dear when I lay sleeping,

I dreamt I held you in my arms.

But when I woke dear,

I was mistaken and I hung my head and I cried.

You are my sunshine.

My only sunshine.

You make me happy when skies are grey.

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

I’ll always love you and make you happy.

If you will only say the same.

But if you leave me to love another,

You’ll regret it all one day.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

You make me happy when skies are grey.

You never know, dear, how much I love you.

Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Ugh, that radio again,…

You woke up to that song on the radio and to Nico practically shaking you and slightly yelling at you, worried of your state.

“Hey, honey! You look like you’re having a nightmare.”

“Huh? Oh,…” You grumbled as you finally woke up, opening your eyes and letting your sight adjust to the light. “I hope it stays like that - a nightmare.”

“Why? What happened?” Your friend asked, positioning herself beside you on the sofa.

“It felt,… so real.” You answered, your voice hoarse due to dry throat. “It’s like someone stabbed me in the chest over and over and over,…”

“You’re still here. Don’t worry.”

You suddenly felt all the blood drain from your face as realization harshly hit in. “That’s the problem. I can see the future,…”

To this, Nico only boisterously laughed. You sneered at her as you kicked her out of the sofa. She fell from it, still laughing like crazy.

“That’s never a big deal for ya, hon!” The freckled woman informed you through fits of laughter. “You can heal! Anyone can stab through your chest and you’ll still live!”

“Ugh, are you really my friend?” You shook your head as you sat up straight and rubbed your temples. “Stabbed, burned, skewered. You name it, I went through it. If it weren’t for this entity inside me, I wouldn’t even be talking to you right now. But, nowadays,…” you sighed, still feeling a bit worn out from the events that took place the last time you were awake. “… I feel,… completely drained. Like, I’m running out of lives to spare.”

“Is that even possible?” Nico asked as she stood and made her way to the back of the trailer to make you a decent meal. “I mean, you’ve been with that entity for ten years, and you never complained about getting tired.”

“Yes but, lately, I’ve been feeling, I don’t know, worn out? Like I’ve been running an endless marathon with hardly any breaks.”

“I can tell.” Your friend answered with a knowing smile.

“What time is it?”

“Eight fifteen.”

“What? I couldn’t be sleeping for only fifteen minutes.” You questioned, feeling confused.

Nico laughed as she put a mug of hot coffee down on the table. “Hon, you’ve been asleep for twenty - four hours straight!”

“Excuse me?!” You shrieked in disbelief as you hastily made your way towards the dashboard to look at the clock. Yes, it was nearly sixteen minutes past eight in the morning, and you also found out, in horror, that a full day has already passed. “No. Way!”

“V was lonesome, ya know? Wanted to spend the rest of the evening with ya.” The freckled woman declared as she put a plate of scrambled eggs on the table for you to eat. “But, ya had to be sleepin’ freakin’ beauty all day. I knew he should have kissed you awake. Ya know what I’m sayin’?”

“Where is he?” You asked, ignoring her jokes and settling back down on the sofa.

“Patrollin’ the streets with Nero. They should be back any moment now.” Nico answered as she sat on the sofa opposite you. “They took out Eleison.”

“Eleison?” You uttered as you took the mug. “Who’s that? Another Devil Hunter?”

“Oh, that’s Nero’s motorcycle. He named it Eleison for some reason. I don’t know but, everytime Nero mentions it to Kyrie, the girl would not stop giggling. Maybe some lovers’ inside joke or somethin’.”

“Yeah.”

You were about to enjoy your breakfast when you heard someone knocking on the door.

“Since when did I start locking this car, psycho?!” Nico wildly screamed as she stood up and went towards the door to open it,…

“That Fleminger guy better pay me double for this!” Nero raged as he and V made their way back to the mansion after a hard night’s work.

V only chuckled. “As silly as a man’s folly can get,… you should not blame anyone for your own mistake.” He simply said. After two nights straight of Devil Hunting, he felt really worn out to the bone. He longed so much to take a rest, maybe sleep for five hours or so.

But, most especially, he wanted to see you again,…

Nero looked at the thing in his hand and grumbled. “I’m sorry, Eleison.”

When the trailer finally came into view, the two men noticed that not two but, three people were waiting for them.

“Is that,… ?” Nero quietly asked as he pointed at their surprise visitor.

“It is.” V confirmed as memories of that last night went back to him.

As soon as Nico saw the two men approaching, she started waving her arms excitedly, wanting them to meet them faster. And when they finally did, she noticed the suspiciously familiar handlebar on Nero’s hand. Except that it was burnt and slightly bent.

“Yo, dude!” Nico exclaimed breathlessly as she took the thing from the man’s hand. “Is this what I think this is?”

Nero sighed. “Yes.”

“Poor Eleison! What happened to her?!”

“This Demon we fought, a huge thing with tummy teeth, sucked it like a damn vacuum and spew it out at us with fire! That’s what’s left of,… her.”

“I knew she’ll break one day!” Nico said, unintentionally blissful of her accurate conjecture. “I just didn’t know it would happen this way.”

“And we found this.” V added as he threw a horn - like thing at her. It was dark - colored and still smoking slightly. She caught it excitedly and sniffed it like it’s the most fragrant thing in the world.

“Hooee! I’m gonna make something AMAZING out of this!”

“Did you just sniff that?” Nero questioned, utterly revolted. “Do you have any idea where that’s been?”

“Up your butt?”

Nero helplessly shook his head. “Focus on the mission!”

“The boy is right.” A fourth, unknown voice informed them.

Fleminger stood up and made his way towards Nero. “I believe you are the hero who defeated the Demon King of Red Grave.”

“I’m hardly a hero.” Nero, not being used to open recognition despite the way he looked, only muttered. “And you must be the man behind all of this.”

The man chuckled. “You have no idea what your words just now meant. I’ am Lord Fleminger, your humble servant.”

“He gave us a week worth supply of food, for your information!” Nico declared proudly as she pointed at the trailer behind her.

“That is,… unusually kind,… of someone like you.”

Not to mention it irked him that he was sitting close to you.

“My Lord, it is a pleasure to see you once more.” Fleminger calmly answered V.

“You’ve met?!” Both Nero and Nico said, startled at what they just found out.

“Pleasure.” The poet monotonously replied.

“A word or two. In private. If I may?”

You smiled at him, reassuring him that everything would be fine.

However, despite his gut feelings telling him of impending trouble, V remained silent, his metal cane and their footsteps the only things making noise against the cold, marble floor.

Fleminger, who was talkative, as always, opened his mouth and spoke.

“You have not forgotten about my advice, haven’t you, my Lord?”

“How could I forget such a thing?”

Fleminger chuckled, his voice low and seemed to vibrate.

“Fetching little thing, actually. Came to see her for myself.”

For some reason, V felt the hairs on his nape stand on end at those words. Vague, they may be but, it surely caught his attention in a very bad way.

“Pardon?”

Fleminger did not elaborate. Instead, he turned to the right and faced an ornate wooden door that must have led to an office of some sort. He simply opened it, letting V enter first.

Albeit hesitant, the poet obeyed.

What greeted him inside really didn’t look dangerous, at all. The room was vast, with several portraits of what must’ve been Fleminger’s ancestors hanging on the wall. The heavy oriental maroon curtain was not drawn, and the mahogany floors looked like they have just been polished to a certain degree of perfection. There was a sofa facing a warm hearth, and in the middle of the room was Fleminger’s desk.

“Ah, the errors of humanity, I have forgotten to let the sunshine in!” Fleminger exclaimed theatrically as he made his way towards the curtains to part them, splashing light all over the gorgeous, yet dreary room.

“Why did you choose to stay here?” V inquired, his suspicions of the man getting the better of him.

“My Lord, this is my home.” His companion answered as he leaned on his desk, his gestures similar to when V first met him. “I’ am old, and have nowhere else to go. But, with Devil Hunters such as yourself, I feel secure.”

“Tell me what this Demon is.” V demanded. “You know things that we don’t. You said so, yourself.”

“Getting straight to the point, aren’t we, my Lord?”

“Tell. Me.”

Fleminger smiled at him, his facial expression very much unreadable. “Do you know why the Dreadnought have an army of Demons at its beck and call?”

V didn’t answer and instead allowed the man to continue speaking.

“It is said that the Dreadnought have this,… unusual characteristic. A unique trait, if you will. It draws both higher and lesser Demons to it, enabling it to manipulate them in unspeakable ways.”

“And what is this characteristic?”

“My Lord, what did I tell you the last time we met? About blocking your own sensations?”

V ransacked his convoluted mind for that one encounter, and what came up utterly shocked him to his very core.

“You know how some pleasant things send so many different kinds of sensations all throughout the body. I suggest blocking all of them all the same.” V clearly remembered the man speaking. “It’s best to know what is truth, and what is not.”

But, then, if the Dreadnought could manipulate Demons, both higher and lesser, then he knew - !

In an instinct, V called upon Shadow, who instantly materialized and bared her fangs at Fleminger.

“How did you know who I was?!” V hissed, pointing his cane at the man and threatening him.

Fleminger only laughed. “There is no need to threaten me, my Lord, for I’ am not your enemy. I’ am here to serve you.”

“For what?” V said at the same time that Shadow growled.

“For a greater purpose.” Fleminger left the table and pointed at the portraits of his ancestors. “This Demon has been an archenemy of my family for a hundred years. I’m sure I have already told you that. Putting an end to it means giving those poor souls an eternal rest in Heaven. Ending it means putting an end to my grandmother’s life - long sorrow.”

“And why do I have to be involved with your ancestor’s problems?”

“Oh, because you are the only one who could deal the finishing blow to this unstoppable enemy. Having experienced firsthand this,… Demonic characteristic,… our Dreadnought has, I’ am confident that you would overcome it, seeing through the lies and uncovering the truth.”

“I demand you cease this nonsense! I have not experienced this Demonic trait, nor,… ”

Something made V stop mid - sentence.

Manipulation of the Demons through a particularly unique characteristic?

Manipulation?

Demonic trait?

Fleminger’s smile widened as he noticed V unwillingly drop his defenses at the sudden realization. His suspicious smile even widened as the poet called Shadow back.

“It seems, my Lord, that you have finally understood something.”

“Tell me,…” V quietly said, unable to believe everything he just found out. And still refused to do so. “This trait - what is it, exactly?”

“Scent, my Lord.” Fleminger answered in a whisper, leaning his face closer to V’s direction, casting an uncanny shadow. “Demons are drawn to a particular scent this Dreadnought releases. This scent depends on the personality of its target. It hypnotizes them, and when it finally has them on its grasp, it manipulates them to do its bidding.”

“This,… is impossible.”

Metal cane dropping to the floor with a loud clang, sweaty hands trembling in both fear and nervousness, V’s eyes widened, shock and pain tearing at his own heart and soul.

“I’m afraid it isn’t, my Lord.”

Hands going up on creased forehead and eyebrows furrowed with conflicting emotions, V spoke. “How do I know you are not spouting lies?!”

***

You patiently waited for V to return, and when you finally saw him walking towards you, your face lit up in delight. You excitedly ran and met him halfway.

“V!” You cheerfully said, looking up at the man. “Welcome home.”

“Not now, (Y/N).” The man answered in an uncharacteristically cold tone. “I’m tired.”

“… what?” You managed to speak, easily hurt by his sudden distant attitude towards you.

“Give me a moment. A minute, an hour, I do not care. Please, I beg you,…”

And with those words that cut through your chest like an ice - cold knife, he left you and isolated himself from the rest of your group.

***

🖤 Again, special thanks to @harlot-of-oblivion for the flower language 101. 🖤

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

#devil may cry 5 #vitale sparda #i see my future before me #v x reader #v x you #chapter 16 #the unacceptable truth #revised

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nowitsdarkfic · 5 years ago

Text

chapter twenty-seven (bud e luv bomb and satan’s lounge band)

October 23, 1988. New Orleans, Louisiana.

I haven't been able to find my shoes anywhere in Lars' place. Either I lost them in the restaurant or something else happened to them. Nevertheless, I don't really want to walk about the wet ground of the French Quarter barefoot. I found my ring in my jeans pocket, but I cannot for the life of me remember where I left my shoes. But nowhere in Lars' apartment can I find any shoes or boots or anything that seems to fit me. And the fact he hasn't woken up yet, at eight thirty, tells me I should probably bypass him and search for some shoes myself.

Meanwhile, I still haven't heard a peep from Ellen's apartment. I'm pretty sure I am the last person she saw given I'm met with silence each time I walk over there to knock on her door. I finally gave up about a half an hour ago when I decided it's better if I just take care of myself and fetch something to eat downstairs. I fix my shirt and head on downstairs with the coat over my body to see if it actually does fit me. Musty and scratchy, but does fit me well especially at my hips. I put on the gloves, which fit as though they were made for my hands. I lift my hair out from underneath the collar before wheeling around and heading out of the apartment. Lars is still sound asleep by the time I leave the apartment and head out to the hallway. The floor boards creak under my bare feet as I amble down to Ellen's door again.

Gently, I knock on the panel.

“Ellen? Are you there?”

I'm still met with silence.

“Ellen, it's Joey.” I feel odd saying this already. “I know you're probably gone now, like you went in your sleep but—” I don't know if it's the thirst of having drank a lot the night before or if it's the fact I was the last person for her to see me, but my throat is already closing up.

“—I want to tell you thank you. You know for... sharing your final moments with me and your last bit of wisdom. I'll admit I was a little unsure at first but—I don't know what I'm saying. You were a ghastly sick old lady taking her final steps and I want to thank you for letting me take them with you. But—I have to go now. I hope you and I can meet again one day.”

I sigh through my nose and feel the weight of the silence upon me. I close my eyes as I keep my hand on the door panel. I slide my hand down to the doorknob to feel it turn a bit. The door swings open and I'm met with a rush of cool air that smells clean once again. She's in there, I can sense it. It's like how I can sense Mrs. Snow or Vera in the same room with me. There's the corpse of an old lady in there but I don't really want to see it.

I close the door again out of respect for her. At least I can do one thing right for once in this past week.

I run my fingers through my hair before heading down the stairs to the bar and the restaurant, which is bustling with patrons and waitresses docked in black button up blouses and black and red skirts. I take a seat at the sole empty table near the stage, where the band of the day is setting up their amps and their equipment. A waitress strolls on over to me and asks me if I can have anything to drink.

“Cup of coffee please—no cream—and a blueberry muffin.”

She nods at me before stepping away. I can only hope I've got enough in my pockets to cover for it; I fold my arms over the top of the table and lean over so as to hide my face. I glance over my shoulder at the stage behind me and the girl in a lush crimson long dress that looks as though it's made entirely of velvet is setting up the microphone rack right down by her feet. I watch her stand up before the microphone itself and blow into it.

I adjust myself in the seat of the chair so my elbow rests on the top of the back and I'm facing her straight on.

She opens her lips and starts to sing “Blackbird” by the Beatles.

I learned to sing by covering the Beatles.

I can't help it: I do it along with her, but without my own microphone.

She lifts her gaze to me and our eyes lock together for a moment but it's long enough to coax a smile from her. I flash her wink and she wraps her fingers around the stand, to which I see a wedding ring on her third finger.

FUCK.

I sigh through my nose and that's when the waitress returns to me. I shift back around in my chair at the sight of a white mug of fresh black coffee and a big fresh blueberry muffin that I swear is larger than my fist. I take a sip of the coffee and it caresses my poor parched mouth with its warmth. I pick at my muffin, and I usually like my blueberry ones, especially the ones straight out of the oven. I think it just might be the hangover talking, though, so I keep drinking the coffee to the very bottom of the mug.

Little better. My headache is going away, but my appetite is still a ways off, though.

I pick at the muffin even more and once I reach the stump, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn my head to find the girl who was up on stage standing next to me but with a jacket over her dress.

“'Scuse me—er, I hate to do this to you,” she speaks with a little lighter of an accent compared to Ellen's, “but I saw you singin' earlier, and I was just wonderin' if it wouldn't be too much trouble for me to ask you if could you fill in for me, please? I have an emergency at home that I need to tend to, but I don't want my band to be without a singer again.”

“Um—sure.” The butterflies rise up inside of my stomach because this is a total unknown to me.

“We're just a cover band and we're only gonna do a couple of songs before we head on home, anyways. We're just the openin' band for the main act in a little while.”

“Yeah, I'd be honored to—it's no bother. Just lemme finish my muffin—”

She returns to the band, all of whom are already taking their places up on the stage. I wasn't hungry before but I wolf down the remainder of the muffin stump before striding over to them. I wish I hadn't already drank down the coffee because the whole thing coats my mouth for a moment. I recall what Ellen had told me the night before given this is the Big Easy and that someone will have work for you. I adjust the lapels of my coat and climb up the trio of steps leading up onto the stage.

There's a black girl with dreadlocks behind the small drum kit, a sandy haired boy holding an oversized blue bass guitar with five strings, and two boys with pompadours atop their heads holding twin red guitars. They're all wearing white shirts and black and white leggings held up with black suspenders.

Like a lounge version of Anthrax.

“Hey, guys, I'm Joey,” I introduce to them. “Your singer just told me she had to run on home real quick and so I took up to the challenge.”

“No challenge here, man,” the bass player assures me, “we're just gonna play two songs and then we're heading out.”

“The first song we're doing is 'Hush' by Deep Purple,” the drummer calls out to me. “Do you know that one?”

“Hell yeah! Like, by heart!”

“I like this guy already,” the guitarist on the right chuckles, taking out a comb from his trouser pocket for a quick swipe over his head, “let's get on it.”

I pull the thread bare coat over me before ambling over the stage to the microphone stand. I curl my fingers back to better break into the black leather gloves. All eyes are on me and the fact I'm the one person up here dressed in black with disheveled hair, bare feet, and dark Indian skin. I gaze on at the crowd before us. I hope Lars will hear me belt it out as the four of them launch into their heavy, rough sound right behind me. It's like being with Anthrax again as I grip onto the microphone stand with my left hand.

I think about Maya, who's back in Seattle; about Ellen, who's upstairs; Brick, who's in the hospital; the fact I got drunk last night and lied to my parents; and most of all, I think about my past with Anthrax. It's all coming down on me like a pouring, torrential rain from the incoming hurricane outside.

But all I can do is sing out, and sing loud.

Since I woke up hungover, and I had just eaten a muffin, I haven't been able to warm up but I go forth with it anyways. My voice comes out broken and garbled, but loud and still plenty powerful from my last performance on State of Euphoria, even against the full sounding bass and the loud guitars. Their instruments are rough and filthy in sound, as though they hadn't spent a lot of money on buying them, but they're good musicians, though. They're a good heavy weight against my voice.

I'm loud, even with the breaks in my voice and my stomach tightening up. Ellen's firmly on my mind as I'm nearing the end of the first verse.

I feel a piece of my hair falling into my face, but I don't care. If anything, it just adds to it.

Ellen died alone and I'm the one soul grieving her at the moment.

My voice breaks even more when I hit the chorus and I throw myself into it even more. The four of them join in with me on their microphones.

I think back to when Anthrax and I did a song at the end of our album from last year, Among the Living, called “Bud E Luv Bomb and Satan's Lounge Band”, where I was Bud E Luv Bomb, the smarmy lounge singer blitzed off his ass on booze and cocaine and God knows what else. We did it as kind of a joke, but I had become that very entity.

I am Bud E Luv Bomb, and this is Satan's Lounge Band right behind me.

I run my fingers through my hair so everyone can better see my face. This is where I open my eyes to catch a view of the audience. Everyone is gazing on at me in awe.

I wonder how many of the people in here are aware that I was once the lead singer for a thrash metal band and am now caught up in a hurricane of strange events.

Probably not many, because the couple right in front of me lean together to say something. After the guitar solo, I hear the man on the right say, “he's got a lot of soul” and the woman next to him follow with “yeah, he's an amazing singer. Lot of melancholy.”

Melancholy, yes, especially at the moment. Amazing? Meh. I'm not sure about that.

#after the watershed #now it's dark #chapter 27 #new chapter #fanfic #fanfiction #heavy metal fanfiction #thrash metal #anthrax fanfics #joey belladonna #anthrax #noir au #southern gothic #dark sci-fi #amwriting #text

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kamino-ink · 6 years ago

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Trust | Bang Chan

genre ⌁ haunting!au, horror, supernatural, angst, fluff, enemies-to-lovers-ish

summary ⌁ you are a regular ole’ demonologist, just living your best life attending the occasional possession or exorcism - until a novice exorcist with a giant ego accidently gets you into harm’s way.

word count ⌁ 2.8k

warning ⌁ kinda violent tbh, mentions of death n blood and religion

Check out my masterlist!

A/N - I hate this a lot I swear the other parts will be better :/

the case of the southend werewolf was one that would haunt you forever, for years to come until the day you passed

while the famous husband and wife duo, ed and lorraine warren, had solved the case many decades ago, one oddly similar instance popped up in news reports and videos over time

you’d been doing some personal research since the very first story came up on your recommended page, diligently applying your demonology knowledge to the strange case

yes - demonology

you weren’t exactly catholic, or... religious in general, for the most part; you liked to call yourself agnostic for lack of a better term

you didn’t quite believe in the idea of gods and all that jazz, but you did however delve deeper into the possible existence of demons or, rather, negative energy that fed off the masses

moving on

you decided that you really wanted to go to the area in England where the supposed possession was taking place, but on account of their authority figures (and the church) you required a professional to go with you

enter bang chan, novice exorcist in training

in the midst of your heavy digging for an exorcist to accompany you on the trip, you stumbled upon a verified site from the Vatican itself, which cited experienced or in training students all over the world

bang chan happened to be the first one who had a decent record, plus he was technically still training so if he came on the trip, his supervisor would have to go as well - meaning double the protection

after a week of arranging flights and meetings, you found yourself landing in an airport located in Essex, England

there you met up with chan and his supervisor, a decorated exorcist by the name of park jinyoung

together the three of you spoke about the case, from the ride to the hotel all the way into unpacking for the stay

while you and jinyoung had been in a heated discussion over the suspected possession, chan spent that time rolling his eyes whenever you presented your research or an opinion - he even had the audacity to glare at you as you asked questions about their church and services

“you shouldn’t even be here,” the Australian man finally spoke up, “you’re not a child of god, so why do you even care about our church or what we’ve devoted our lives to?”

jinyoung hisses and smacks the younger man on the back of his head, offering you a reprimanded look of apology

“chan, just because you’re technically a licensed student doesn't mean that you can ridicule others who have different beliefs than we do. our first lesson is to-”

“not judge others, for judgement is a sin.” the blonde finishes with a grunt, though he sends you another harsh glare at the same time

“my beliefs are my own, chan. while I don’t believe in your god, I do believe in the mere existence of negative entities in our world.” you reply shortly

he scoffs, abruptly standing from his chair at the dining table, “you’re completely unbelievable, woman. just - stay out of our way during our investigation.”

and with that, he left, storming off into his bedroom

jinyoung apologizes for his pupil’s behavior, though he doesn’t bring up the topic of your beliefs for the rest of the night

for the next three days, the three of you delve deeper into the possible possession of a man named mark tuan

he was a normal guy from la who moved to England a few years ago so he could be with his long-term girlfriend, and up until recent months he was just like any other man

but then he started to exhibit strange, inhuman habits; such as uprooting a fence post and crunching on the wire mesh, walking on all four limbs, and just the other day he reportedly sniffed out a deer carcass deep in the woods behind his home

after witnessing the man break out into a cold sweat and nearly attack a smaller dog much like a predatory wolf, father jinyoung decided they would perform an exorcism

the plan was to bring mark tuan back to their church in Australia, as the demon manifesting inside of him was something entirely inhuman and could potentially be a threat if it somehow wasn’t fully dismissed

however on the same evening you all were planning to fly to Australia, something triggered mark into a furious frenzy

foam started to dribble between his dry lips, his hair stood up all over his body, and the lanky man literally lunged at father jinyoung - effectively pinning him to the ground as he attempted to gauge out his throat

you leapt into action, throwing yourself onto the back of the man to try and pull his weight off of the priest

meanwhile chan was in a state of sheer panic, watching as his own mentor was being targeted by a very powerful demon before his very eyes

“c-chan,” jinyoung called out to the stunned man, letting out a painful scream as mark tears into his flesh with his teeth, “leave and lock all the door and windows - call father jaebum from the church in London-”

but chan doesn’t listen to him - he silently reassures himself that he can handle a real exorcism himself - it’s what he’s been training to do his entire life

so the blonde snatches a bible from the bookshelf behind him, flipping through it until he finds a set of pages, his gaze wavering in fear and panic as you whip your head around to gawk at him

you scream and shout at him, telling him to listen to the dying man’s words, all the while struggling to pull him towards the front door and away from the possessed man

still he goes on, reciting his teachings word by word until there’s a pregnant pause

mark’s body, still on top of father jinyoung’s, twitches after a certain phrase chan had stuttered out weakly

“y-you didn’t say it the right way-”

“how would you know!?”

“just because i’m not religious doesn’t mean I haven’t done my own damn research,” you hiss quietly, voice shaking as mark continues to twitch madly and turns his attention to the two of you, fresh blood and torn skin hanging from his stained lips, “c-chan, we need to go!”

“no - if we leave then there’s a chance the demon will use his body until it can find a new host and go on torturing innocent people just like mark!” he protests, glancing down at the bible as the brunette man takes a step forward

“chan-”

he doesn’t listen to a word you say, attempting the passage yet again, but more clearly this time

it’s too late, though

on his last word mark charges towards the man, his mouth wide open and prepared to take a chunk of flesh from his neck - but you’re somehow faster. you shove chan out of the way just as the deed is done, receiving a painful bite to your shoulder

in seconds mark’s body collapses onto the ground, a strange, cold presence emitting into the open air before all goes quiet

the series of events that followed that were a blur to you: from chan rushing to cover your wound to the two ambulances that arrive on the scene to take you and father jinyoung to the nearest hospital

before you know it, an entire month has flown by since the southend werewolf incident

you had to stay in the hospital for a majority of that time, since your demon-inflicted wound tended to get infected too easily

by the time you were given the okay to leave, you heard that father jinyoung was still being held there as a patient, his entire throat needing to be worked on for who knows how long

the one interesting outcome of the entire situation, though, was finding a defeated looking chan at your doorstep when you got home

“the church said that, due to my hasty actions and its consequences of you being injured by a demon I was instructed not to interact with, I am to be your caregiver until I am able to go back to learning.”

“... so you’re grounded, basically.”

“please, don’t say it like that.”

so that my friends is how bang chan the sort of exorcist was thrust into your life for good

“heyyy chan, can you please make me some chocolate-chip pancakes for breakfast?”

“your bite is healed, you can cook your own fucking food-”

“ah, but the church said that you have to do whatever I ask of you until you aren’t grounded anymore~”

“... I’ll make them super fluffy if you promise to stop saying it like that.”

so for the next two months, you were accommodating an amusing roommate of sorts

he slept on an air mattress you set up in the living room, so it wasn’t like the poor guy had to suffer with an aching back the entire duration of his ground- of his punishment

each morning he’d cook the both of you breakfast and begrudgingly watch exaggerated dramas with you until lunchtime rolled around

usually he’d take you out to eat and explore the city with you, something he refused to admit actually made him have some fun for once in his life

for dinner you’d both kind of give up on the idea of making real food and would instead order pizza or Chinese takeout, all the while hiding under a set of fluffy blankets next to you in favor of watching scary movies

you kind of hated to admit it, but chan had really grown on you - over time he seemed to accept his mistake back in the England exorcism, and one night he even took the time to apologize to you on his own terms

“chan, I still don’t understand why I have to wear a dress if- oh...”

there the man stood himself, clad in a black tux with a red bowtie next to the tiny dining table stuffed in the cramped kitchen. “I think it’s time that I owe you a real apology for what happened in England... and how I acted. I know that, to a degree, we have different beliefs - but you’re still an amazing, wonderful woman who I would like to call a friend.”

you totally didn’t almost ruin the moment by commenting on how his bowtie was crooked, shhhh

that night he treated you to homemade pasta and brownies for dessert, the first dinner either of you had actually made yourselves since he arrived at your home

ever since that night, the two of you would grow closer and closer - and then his punishment was over

the church had called him immediately, stating that he had to return quickly if he wanted to continue his training

neither of you admitted it aloud, but having to help him pack his things just so he could go back to Australia crushed your hearts

you’d grown so used to each other’s presence, forming a natural routine every single day that never became tiresome

after you bid farewell to the now silver-haired man at the airport, you found yourself feeling more lonely than ever before

sure you both exchanged contacts with one another and talked on the phone often, but it just... wasn't the same, honestly

then, out of the blue, just about two weeks after his departure, chan called you and told you about a haunted house he was being sent to investigate near your city

you weren’t required to go, but you found yourself offering to accompany him during his paranormal studies at the home

the moment you two met up at the house, you went straight into work mode, having no time to catch up since it seemed as if something was very wrong

cameras placed by the two husbands all over the two-story house showed signs of life, even when no one was awake

they reported that they’d seen furniture being tossed around their rooms and that their own daughter had started to experience hellish nightmares that ended with her being covered in scars the next morning

you and chan went to work, looking at every single audio or video file you could find in their tapes and cameras, even interviewing each member of the family alone to see if it was a hoax as the church suspected it to be

then one night, you felt an odd chill roll over your body in the middle of your slumber, though you at first thought nothing of it

but the next morning, there was a circle with a cross etched onto your wrist. chan immediately guessed that the demon had somehow managed to inch its way into your body - though that in itself was odd, especially since demons traditionally had to weaken their target host before fully possessing them

your condition continued to grow worse and worse as the days passed by, up until chan had finally decided that the best course of action was to take you to a church and see what more experienced priests could do

luggage in tow, chan lead you to the front door of the house, bidding a short farewell to the family and promising to send members of the church the same day - yet, you didn’t follow him

or rather, you couldn’t

something forcefully snapped you back into the house, causing you to stumble and crash into a shelving unit on the wall

“y-y/n?”

“mam, are you alright?”

you shake your head, slowly standing back up to walk back to the door where a worried chan was staring at you with furrowed brows

the second the tip of your shoes reach the doorway, another tug slams you onto the cold floor - quickly going to drag your limp body down the hallway into a bedroom before the door suddenly slams shut

you can feel the demon lurking in your body, hungrily feasting upon your state of utter terror - though you try your best to fight it off before it can fully possess you

seconds, minutes, hours - you're not quite sure how much time had passed since you’d been thrown into the secluded bedroom

all you knew was that you had grown so much weaker in that period of time, your eyes struggling to focus on anything in the room

you also knew that chan was banging on the door, trying his damned hardest to break it down

in a woozy state your head bobbles around until your blurry gaze lands on your now exposed shoulder, spotting the wound from the werewolf demon now irritated and red with pus seeping out of it

the demon had been able to subdue you so quickly because you’d technically already been afflicted before, and now it was a race against time before it was able to completely overpower you

with a snap the bedroom door flies open, a rugged looking chan standing with a bible and a slim jar of what you could only guess was holy water

“c-chan,” you echo his name just as the late father jinyoung had, feeling dread sweep over your entire being as another wave of pus pushes out of the inflicted wound on your bare shoulder, “leave, be-before you get hurt-”

“I won’t run away from you, y/n,” he whimpers softly, stepping closer to your now convulsing body as he flips to a page in his bible, “you’re not going to get hurt because of me... not again.”

you find that you’re too exhausted to argue, instead nodding your head silently

“I - I trust you, chan. you’re an exorcist, you can do this-” you stop in your tracks, heaving in pain as a spurt of red blood shoots out from between your cracked lips

with no hesitation at all, the silver-haired man clears his throat and continues to stare you down, occasionally glancing back down to his bible as he perfectly recites the words for the exorcism

he splashes a dosage of holy water onto your skin, wincing as you let out a screech of pain - but he knows it’s not you reacting that way, it’s the demon possessing you

in a matter of seconds he’s performed the passage perfectly, not once stuttering or saying a word incorrectly like he had in England

a wave of relief causes you to topple over when the evil presence vanishes completely from your body, but before you can hit the floor chan has wrapped his arms under yours to hold you up steadily

“I sent the family out to call an ambulance and other members of their church - you’re going to be okay, I promise.” he speaks to you softly, brushing your now frazzled hair out of your face

“I knew you could do it, you know.”

“but - but how, y/n?”

“because I trust you with my life, bang chan.”

#skzwriters #stray kids #stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #stray kids drabble #stray kids au #bang chan #chan scenario #chan imagine #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff

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officialleehadan · 6 years ago

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A Question of Faith

Brandon was glad when they crossed the border into Canada.

Their RV was a boat, but Blaec drove like everything smaller than him should simply get out of his way. It was funny in a way. At least Brandon thought so.

The dragon would also actually spit flames when someone cut him off. Brandon suspected that he was the cause of a sporty car blowing a tire. It seemed like the sort of thing Blaec would do.

Whenever Evalene wanted her seat in the cab, he went back to his maps and charts.

They were due to stop at one of the major Vampire holdings shortly, and the whole team was going in loaded for vampire. They were allies, it was true, but none of the mercenaries trusted them and Brandon had no reason to doubt his team.

“Sunlight, holy water, crossbow,” Thori said as he laid out the items on the table for Brandon. The half-dwarf was taking his job as armorer very seriously. “Don’t bother with a holy symbol. Three lighters, tuck one into your sock.”

Brandon followed the instructions. He had fought vampires before and Thori had checked him out on the bow the day before.

“Why no holy symbol?” he asked curiously. His department didn’t use them either and he never thought to ask why.

“It would not do you any good,” Xaenxa said. “You haven’t the faith in a god to make it work.”

“So not cross-specific?” he asked, tucking a handful of flares into his bag.

“Hephaestus’ symbol is a lightning-struck hammer,” Thori said, showing him what looked like a normal hammer. It bore etching of a lightning bolt on an anvil on both sides and seemed to hum. “Hela’s is a half-black half-white mask.”

“Faith is what matters? Not the symbol?” Brandon said, mostly to himself.

“Not faith,” Thori corrected. “The belief that your God will intercede if necessary. Hephaestus will. So will Hela.”

He nodded to Evalene who was pulling on a Kevlar vest. As soon as it was on, she ducked back into one of the bedrooms. Xaenxa already had a vest on and Thori and Brandon’s were waiting.

“Poseidon wouldn’t intercede for her.” He said. “Triton might well, but we would have to be closer to salt water for him to get involved.”

“But you’re not a priest either,” Brandon commented, pulling on his vest and adding a normal one on over it to keep it hidden. He and Thori were going in as the hired muscle they were.

“Every smith of His is a priest,” Thori corrected. “I’m not a cleric like Xaenxa, but I am of the Order, after a fashion. Enough to count.”

“If I had my way, me and Blaec would be the only two going in,” Rhys said as he came out of the other bedroom. For obvious reasons, neither he nor Blaec would be wearing Kevlar.

“Melaena specifically invited all of us by name,” Evalene called.

Brandon had overheard her having that very argument with Blaec the night before.

“If we don’t all show up, she might refuse to work with us, and we need her Coven to help if the Hoard gets unleashed. She rules the entire mid-east territory all the way to the northern ice.”

“She wants you there because if you’re there I can’t torch the mansion,” Rhys grumbled. “She’s hobbling me and Blaec with you four. It’s clever and it reeks of trouble.”

“We’re ready for trouble,” Xaenxa reassured him. She reached over and ran a hand delicately over his cheek. “I have my spells ready and waiting, Thori and Brandon will cover us, and Evalene’s songs will still work on a vampire. Besides, when has Melaena ever crossed Blaec?”

It was unexpectedly reassuring and Brandon tried not to be too confused by it. Seeing the murderous dark elf happily playing with children was mind-boggling enough. He was trying to simply stop expecting things out of her. He kept being wrong.

Rhys took the comfort as it was offered and bent to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you sweetheart,” he said softly. He added something soft in Russian that Brandon didn’t understand. He assumed it was fond. They were surprisingly affectionate with each other when Xaenxa wasn’t killing Rhys.

Whatever Rhys said, it seemed to please Xaenxa. She flashed him a smile.

It was a little astonishing to Brandon how many weapons Xaenxa managed to hide under the slinky gown she wore. It was tight and floating and silver-white. Brandon could only guess at what it was made of.

Somehow Xaenxa managed to fit her vest on under it. It didn’t show. Brandon thought it might be magic.

The only weapons she had visible were her favorite dagger, strapped to her thigh through the long slit in her dress, and a pair of delicate jeweled stilettos that tucked into her hair.

The pearls she always wore in her hair simply shifted around them. Brandon still hadn’t figured out that trick of hers. He didn’t think he wanted to know. More of the tiny gems draped around her throat and from her ears.

He had traded his usual clothes for a dressy black suit he wore for formal events. Thori’s was nearly identical. They didn’t look like much and they weren’t supposed to. Of the whole team they were the most vulnerable.

Rhys looked almost like them, except that he had added a bright red vest underneath.

When she reappeared, Evalene was draped in layers of blue and looked like she wore the ocean. The jewelry she wore looked simple until Branson realized that it was all carved of polished dragon scale.

Between her and Xaenxa, Brandon figured they could charm just about any man they wanted.

Blaec looked on. He had unbent enough to replace his leathers with a suit that was almost the same color as his scales. He looked frighteningly impressive. If Brandon was a vampire, he would think twice about tangling with the dragon.

“Is everyone ready?” Blaec asked. His eyes skimmed over them all and finally he cracked a smile. “Well, at least they won’t be able to snub you about your clothes. Well done.”

The comment was mostly directed at Thori and Rhys, but Brandon thought he was included as well. Xaenxa preened.

“Vampires make the Ailfar look like frat boys,” she said. “All that ridiculous pomp. I swear they get it when they’re human and it never goes away.”

“You like Lord Tepes,” Rhys said, coming up beside her.

“Vlad is old enough to be sensible.”

“He also throws a hell of a party.”

“That too.”

Brandon grinned. He had met the ancient vampire on a diplomatic trip a year or two back. The meeting had begun with Vlad summarily decapitating two of his minions who made to lunge at the humans.

Defiance would not be allowed.

Melaena Sheer was one of Vlad’s Children. She was also a known entity to Brandon’s Agency and extremely powerful. For the first time in days, Brandon felt ready for what they were up against. Vampires he knew how to handle.

Blaec had called ahead to a limo company so they would be arriving at the mansion in style, and all in one vehicle. Thori had suggested that it might be better if they did and after some thought Blaec agreed.

It was rare but vampires did sometimes work with necromancers. If that was the case, any vehicle they arrived in would not be safe to drive by the time they were ready to leave.

The limo would drop them off, and return when Blaec called for it.

Far more reliable than letting the Coven provide a car or trusting them to leave the RV unmolested.

When they were ready to go, they all filed out and Blaec stopped for a minute. When Brandon turned to see what the dragon was doing, he was amazed to see a firetruck were their RV was a moment before.

“No one messes with a parked firetruck,” Rhys explained. He eyed the illusion and nodded to Blaec. “Anyone asks about it, a polite officer will walk around the corner and give them some reason why it’s important that this truck stays right where it is.”

“And it will also keep anyone who’s looking for us from tampering with the RV.” Brandon finished. It was a good trick. Now he knew why Blaec had insisted on parking them in the lot of a public park.

A moment later a sleek black limo pulled up and the driver moved to hold the door for them.

Xaenxa smiled wickedly at the man and Brandon saw him blush deeply. It was surprising to him that he didn’t seem to react like that to her anymore. Maybe he was just getting used to her.

The oddness of that thought carried him all the way through the ride to the heavily-secured mansion where the vampire coven waited.

+++

HGE - Mismatched

What do you get when you put a dragon, his mermaid, a dark elf, a half-dwarf, and a firebird into a zombie apocalypse?

A very frustrated human, who really isn’t sure how he ended up in this situation to begin with.

Death Valley Sand

The Regency

Red Scales and Golden Hair

En Route

Silver-White Knife

A Question of Faith

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rebelliousenjolras · 7 years ago

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night and day (pt. I) (jack thompson x reader)

pairing: Jack Thompson x Reader summary: After years of working in solitude, the reader is sent an urgent message from her cousin, Daniel Sousa, begging her to come to New York to work on a case. Once there, she learns that she will have to play pretend wife to none other than Jack Thompson, the arrogant Chief of the New York S.S.R. Although they are at first night and day in differences, a series of events neither could foresee radically alters the course of their lives forever. word count: 1601 trigger warnings: Minor violence a/n: Part I of a new series based around our favorite asshole, Jack Thompson! Partly based on a few requests I got ages ago, and partly from my own brain. It’s been a while since i’ve posted on here... Hope you enjoy my loves.

PART I: FIRE AND BRIMSTONE

If hell was a feeling, this was it.

Something had told you, whether it be a celestial force or simply your own intuition, that he was in danger. And so, you’d fled the little apartment you’d sworn to hide in, jumped into the car you’d promised not to drive, and burst into the hotel you’d vowed to avoid. You stood in the lobby, looking around wildly as you tried to plot out your next move.

You didn’t know which room he was in, and that was the first order of business. Damn him and his secrecy, disguised under the pretense of “keeping you safe.” You approached the front desk carefully, forcing your steps to remain measured, and fixed your face into a mask of calm. It was time, once again, for you to play your part. You only hoped that you weren’t too late.

“Excuse me, sir,” you said, pouring as much false sweetness into your voice as you could muster, throwing in a Southern accent for kicks. “Would you mind tellin’ me which room my husband is in? I just flew in, and silly me, I lost the--”

The man looked at you, boredom written plainly across his face. His eyes barely med yours before he returned to the papers that he was shuffling through. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not allowed to give out the personal information of guests. Perhaps you should call your husband?”

You forced a thin smile onto your lips, though inside your head you had already broken three of the man’s fingers. You had only so much patience, and the most of it had been used up as you’d sat in that damned apartment, checking the clock every three minutes. So, you tapped your perfectly manicured nails against the desk, the only movement that portrayed your intense annoyance.

“Well, mister, I would call him, but I don’t know what room he’s in.” You let out a breathy little laugh. “I’d be ever so grateful for your help.”

The man rolled his eyes, already looking back at the papers in front of him, and gestured to the empty lobby. “Take a seat, ma’am, maybe that husband of yours will come down--”

It was your turn to interrupt. After taking a surreptitious glance around the room to confirm that it was empty, you reached across the counter and gripped the man by his collar. His eyes grew wide as he spluttered, hands clawing uselessly at his throat. You pulled his face closer to yours, all pretenses of a light, lovely woman gone. You were made of fire and brimstone, and whatever was etched on your face told him this.

“You will give me your logbook, or I swear to every entity above that I will make you see stars, and you will be so far gone that not even a god himself could bring you back,” you spat, glowering at the cowering mess of a man before you.

“Yes-- Yes ma’am,” he managed to choke out, face turned a peculiar shade of red. You released him, and it only took a second for him to throw the log book at you.

You flipped through the pages quickly, impatiently searching for the false surname that was all too familiar to you now. However, it wasn’t the name that caught your eye first, but rather, the handwriting. The loopy “J,” far more feminine than you’d expected his penmanship to be; the not quite lowercase, but not quite capital “S,” infuriating when you were trying to type up his notes. Your heart rate spiked as you thought about him, and you forced yourself to not dwell on what it would be like to never see that lettering again.

202D. You shoved the logbook across the counter, not bothering to look at the man, who was standing as far away from you as he could in the space. You’d deal with him later. You raced for the stairs, figuring that you might spontaneously combust in the time that it would take for the elevator. It seemed that the last of your patience had finally run out.

Your feet pounded against the metal staircase, shaking the entire contraption as you wound up through three stories. Finally, you pushed open the door labeled “D,” and found yourself in the middle of a carpeted hall. The room on your left read 212D, so you followed it, hands shaking as you tried to convince yourself that your gut was wrong, that you’d open the door and he’d be there, exasperated but alive. You’d take his anger a hundred times over the alternative.

206… 204… 202.

You jiggled the doorknob, fully expecting to find it locked, but to your surprise, it opened easily. At first, you saw nothing but an empty room: bed unmade, of course; windows shut and curtains drawn; radio playing quietly… And then you looked down. The scream that echoed around the room couldn’t have been issued from you. It was wild, animalistic. There was no earthly way for it to have crawled out from inside a human being.

But so it had. You sank to the ground, kneeling in a pool of rich, dark blood as you pressed two trembling fingers to the neck of the man lying before you. For a split second you thought you felt a pulse, but then you realized that was just your own heartbeat thrumming through your fingertips. And that is the moment when you lost what little control of your sanity that you had left.

“Goddamn you, Jack Thompson!” You sobbed, fingers curled around his collar, reminding you of all of the times that you’d straightened it before you left for the day; of unbuttoning his shirt on that one mistake of a night… “Don’t you dare die, damn you! Please, Jack.”

And suddenly, you were sure that the universe was playing some cruel joke on you. The soft opening strains of “Night and Day” drifted through Jack’s little portable radio, causing your stomach to tighten and your grip on Jack’s collar to slack. A calm washed over your body, allowing you to think clearly for the first time since you’d entered the hotel room and saw the horrors that had taken place.

You unbuttoned Jack’s shirt, searching for whatever injury had caused such bloodshed, and located a bullet wound in his chest, just below his right shoulder. You applied pressure to the wound, using strips of fabric from your skirt, and were alarmed at how quickly the blood soaked through.

For the first time since you’d discovered him, your eyes left Jack with some difficulty, now searching for a way to call for help without having to leave his side. You wouldn’t let him be alone, especially if--

You wouldn’t allow yourself to finish the thought. You located the telephone across the room and sprinted to it, immediately having the operator connect you to 911. The man who answered the phone began speaking to you in a soothing tone, but you completely ignored him and plowed through your speech. “My name is (Y/N), I’m at Hotel Astor in room 202D. My--” you fumbled for a second, trying to decide whether or not to reveal the truth to the operator. “My husband has been shot, and he’s lost too much blood. Get someone here as quickly as you can!”

You hung up the phone before there was a chance for too many questions to be asked. Although you possessed a rather large range of skills, you’d never been much good with coming up with lies on the spot. That was much more Jack’s forte. Jack, who apparently hadn’t been quick enough on his feet this time… You took another anchoring breath and dialed the S.S.R.

Thankfully, you immediately recognized the voice that picked up. Daniel Sousa, once again there when you needed him. You quickly repeated the same information to him that you’d told the 911 operator, only adding, “I’m scared, Daniel,” before your voice broke.

You could hear Daniel barking out orders to the others in the office. “Henry, you and Reese get ready to go. Come armed. I want you stationed outside of the hotel, and if you see anything, I mean anything, you take them down. Wallace, Fisher, meet us at the hospital. Carter, you’re with me,” Daniel then addressed you, and you could tell that he was making an effort to keep his tone calm. “(Y/N), everything’s going to be okay. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Keep him alive.”

You nodded, although Daniel couldn’t see you through the phone. After setting the phone down on the hook--it seemed ridiculous, taking such care at a time like this--you once again attached yourself to Jack’s side, alternating between feeling for his weak pulse and checking the amount of blood still oozing from his chest wound. You wrapped the shreds of fabric more tightly around him, and something caught your eye in the process.

Your wedding rings, stained red with Jack’s blood, but still sparkling in the light. Bile rose in your throat as you stared at the objects, but you couldn’t force yourself to take them off. “If we survive this, Jack...”

You trailed off, unsure what promises to make to the man in front of you. Jack was so many things to you, so many complicated, confusing things, but you knew that if he died, a part of you would as well. There was no (Y/N) without Jack Thompson, you sussed, because his death would mean that you failed. And you’d made a promise to him, what felt like a lifetime ago...

#jack thompson #agent carter #agent carter fanfiction #marvel #jack thompson x reader #daniel sousa #edwin jarvis #ana jarvis #howard stark #peggy carter fanfiction #fanfiction #steve rogers #captain america #x reader #marvel fanfiction #night and day

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term2itmedia · 6 years ago

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Research - Character rigging, Redline process, space and spaceships

This research post will cover how character rigging is done from start to finish, plus the animation process of the anime Redline, alongside what I know about space. This will include research about Autodesk Mudbox, my first thoughts on the software, and the tedious export process.

Autodesk Mudbox

Autodesk Mudbox is a 3D sculpt and paint software. It is used to build 3D models digitally that can then be exported and used in either live-action movies, 3D games, or just for show. Mudbox is a tricky software from my point of view, but once you learn all of the controls and tools, it is easy to use.

The export process, however, is another story. Depending on what you want to do with the model, you have to choose certain options within the process to make it work with whatever you’re putting it into (Cinema4D, for instance).

First, you must go to UVs and Maps > Extract Texture Maps > New Operation. Then you have to choose the appropriate settings in Maps To Generate: Transfer Paint Layers, Ambient Occlusion Map, Vector Displacement Map, Displacement Map and Normal Map. You CAN choose more than one and less than five, but I don’t recommend trying it unless you know what you’re doing.

The next step is to choose the part to export, such as your full model under the name of “Basic” or even “mr wishy washy”. And at the bottom of the menu is a filename field. Click that and choose where to export it. If you don’t, it may export in the Mudbox directory or somewhere else you don’t want something like that to be.

Do that for all of the parts you have and you are done. Just locate it and pray to God that it works perfectly with whatever you do next. I have had a lot of trial and error with this complicated process, so... get a Mudbox pro if you need help, as I cannot help you with your issues.

My first thoughts on Mudbox - The only part I don’t like is the export process. It is too difficult for me to understand or even get started on without following a very long tutorial, which I’m not capable of doing in all honesty. Everything else is alright.

What do I do with this model texture I have?

What I did next was move to Cinema4D. Unless you know how to make a full human skeleton in Cinema4D by yourself (it is tedious and complicated, not something you can learn in a day), go to Mixamo, which is a modelling site that even allows you to animate your character in just the click of one button.

You can find different models of different characters on here, so the possibilities with your model are endless.

Once you find the animation/model you want, you can download it and use it in Cinema4D. I’m not sure if it works within any other 3D software such as Blender. Prove me otherwise.

Redline Animation Process + Review

Redline is a feature-length manga animation (1 hour and 42 minutes) that involves the plot of a racer willing to win the final, but is being stopped by a cyborg. The reason why I’m explaining the process of this animation instead of a full-on review of the film (which I will get into after this process) is because of the amount of time it took to make the film - seven years! If you remember my post about Cuphead, you’re probably familiar with that long length of time. The reason why it took so long is because of all of the detail required to make such an animation with a length like that (average of 25 frames per second, multiplied by 6,120 seconds = 153,000 drawn frames!):

youtube

Some scenes re-use some frames (like when the character talks or if the car is passing multiple objects of the same kind) in one particular shot or many shots of the same frame). An example of this is very frequent throughout Yu-Gi-Oh (which is also a manga).

Just watch their mouths:

youtube

In my opinion, this is rather lazy, but it saves a lot of time, resources and money. Imagine if every frame in Redline had to be completely unique (no two frames would be the same), it would take well over seven years and 3 billion yen to make if that were the case.

Because Redline is a Japanese film, it may not seem very expensive as 3 billion yen is around £23.3 million, but think about that for a second. Would you spend 3 billion of whatever currency you have, to make a 104-minute manga? Personally, I wouldn’t unless I know it will be a film that everyone would like.

Onto the Redline film review (even though we weren’t told to do one but hey, who is going to stop me?):

This was the best animation I have ever seen in my life. However, there were some traits in the film that kind of weirded me out a bit. It may be weird, but what animation isn’t? How it’s weird is the fact that this animation contains a fair bit of blood, nudity and swearing, but I honestly don’t care for that. But some of my favourite scenes are the crash scene (how the racer crashes his car at 200+ MPH and is still alive somehow to drag on the movie) and the final race scene, especially the part where they’re neck and neck and it is a death wish to reach the finish. All of the time and effort that went into this film is what makes it worth the wait for. The plot and storyline really gives you enough tension to keep you on the edge of your seat during the climax of the film. All of the detail, the filters and how everything clashes together makes it a film worth watching. If you're not a fan of nudity, blood, super cars, or tragedy in general I do not recommend this film. Nonetheless, I really enjoyed watching it. It somehow reminds me of Wacky Races, which is an old-time cartoon based around these very comedic and edgy races. Would I recommend this to a friend? I probably would tell them about the film first before I did so, but if they are into the genre of racing, I would do.

Finally, Space!

Not just space in the room, OUTER space. Outer space is what lies outside the Earth, around 62 miles up from ground level. The observable universe that we can see is 93 billion light-years wide, while outer space goes on forever.

So far, humans have only managed to reach the Moon and no further. The Moon itself is around 250,000 miles away from Earth, and only 12 people have ever made it there and back. While other spacecraft had tried to land on other planets in the Solar System such as Jupiter, nobody has ever been out further than the Moon.

Outer space, or in the very least, our observable universe contains two trillion galaxies, which altogether contain more stars than there are grains of sand all over Earth.

Each individual star has a life, just like us humans. Stars are born from dust and gas, which then evolve into their main form for about 3-7 billion years while it burns all of it’s gases to it’s own core, after which it will collapse on itself, turning into either a white dwarf star or a black hole in the process. Our Sun, is one such star. It is around 5 billion years old, and in about 7 billion years time, it will die too, which will destroy Mercury, Venus and most likely Earth with it. Long before then, it’s habitable zone (or Goldilocks region) will move further outwards into the Solar System, potentially allowing life on Mars, so life on Earth could flee to Mars to escape the cataclysmic event.

So far, we have not found another life-form that lives off of water or anything us humans need to survive. Those there are theories and speculations that there may be “aliens” outside of our Solar System. One of such system is the Proxima Centauri star system, which is just over 4 light-years away from us. Since it is too far away for us to humanly reach in spacecraft, even if it could go at the speed of light (it would take 4 years in this case), there is only one plan to get to the area, which is to send 1,000 sail-spacecraft called StarChip at 15-20% the speed of light towards the system using a laser to get them going.

The reason why 1,000 are going at once is because of the extreme speed they’ll be going at, which is so fast that if it even comes into contact with a spec of dust, it will INSTANTLY get destroyed. So if multiple get destroyed, at least a couple hundred will make it. When they do, the craft will take photographs of the star system and it will take a few years to get back to Earth.

Speaking of spaceships, there is unique spacecraft in both the game and movie industry. This example is Liset from Warframe. It is the military home ship of the player, who goes to different planets to either extract data from the enemy base, capture an enemy, or to straight up kill the leader of an enemy gang.

It is a military spaceship because it is home to a being who is willing to wipe out life on another planet and claim whatever treasures lay on said planet. Another example is the spaceship of the bad guys in Elysium:

It may not look intimidating, but the entities inside the ship certainly are.

What do I like about everything shown in this post? Well, see my Redline review for my thoughts on Redline. As for everything else, it really fascinates me as I like science-fiction based stuff, because it raises a lot of speculation for scientists, and even me, about what lies outside of our planet and even this universe. Do we live in a multiverse? Is the universe much bigger than we thought? For now, it looks like we may never know unless we have trillions of years to spare...

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coldalbion · 8 years ago

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Look I get it: Cultural Appropriation & Anthropocentrism

All the posts regarding cultural appropriation from closed cultures make sense - some have proper channels you can go through to get initiated. Others don’t. That’s fine, and people from outside the closed culture must respect that.

But there’s a glib phrase that often gets tacked on - some variation of “People are more important than spirits/non-corporeal entities.” And it is glib, because while the phrase is meant to highlight that structural racism and colonialism has occurred; that it has been and continues to be, damaging to varying cultures across the world, and thus the wishes of one human should not supersede or usurp those of entire cultures? It nonetheless neglects the ontological status of those same spirits and non-corporeal entities. The interactions with those same spirits and landscapes form the root basis of those same cultures.

By glibly saying that people are “more important,” one is privileging humanity over over other entities - whether that be animals, plants (surprise: some non-human spirits are corporeal) landscape spirits or human dead. There’s a word for that: anthropocentrism. And you know what? Anthropocentrism is ingrained; so much so that scientists are now calling the age in which we find ourselves the Anthropocene. They’re doing this because humans have had such an effect on Earth that it’s rivalling major epochal events in Earth’s history - mass extinctions, climate change, geological and atmospheric shifts - you name it. Unless you have been raised in an indigenous society, (and sometimes even then) you’ve swallowed anthropocentrism hook, line, and sinker. It’s as much part of the Invisible Architecture of Bias as structural racism and gender inequality. Humans are the centre of the universe, the chosen species, the ones to whom all other wights and beings are subservient. (Spotting the Abrahamic bias you never noticed, yet? It’s even interesting from a Gnostic perspective - the arrogance of the Demiurge passed down.) Doesn’t that narrative also enable racism? Throughout history colonizers have treated native populations as sub-human or Other-than-human. Even indigenous and historical societies Othered their enemies, often making them out as monsters or bad spirits! Here’s where it gets tricky:

If every single one of us is enmeshed in anthropocentrism, what can we do? I’m a hard polytheist and it’s taken me years to recognise even the potential ontological implications of this. In an animist model, the ontological status of spirits or wights is both incredibly simple and mindbogglingly complex.

It’s simple because it boils down to this: wights (an Old English word which roughly translates as conscious being thus a useful catch-all term which includes gods, spirits and humans) have an ontic status. For those who know your Heidegger, see also Dasein. That’s to say, wights have presence, a Being-There-ness. The properties of a specific wight are distinct from the quality of their Beingness-in-the-world.

Once we acknowledge that presence of that which is other than ourselves, whether that be other humans, or spirits or gods, we must also acknowledge that sense of that presence is felt - that is to say, perceived by ourselves through our embodiment. For example:

I perceive my partner via my eyes and other senses, this perception allows me to acknowledge her presence in the world. I do not know for certain that she is capable of similar cognition or modelling as myself but I extrapolate those qualities from observing her behaviour. However, such observation and extrapolation of her qualities is separate from her presence.

I assume the presence of other entities in the world, even if I cannot directly sense them - readers of this piece, the 44th & 45th Presidents of the United States, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, @wolvensnothere, my cat, etc.

Even though I cannot directly currently perceive the above, I assume their Beingness-in-the-world using the same embodied cognition which feels the presence of my partner. The quality of that feeling, its nature, is irrelevant here. It nonetheless occurs, even if I am not consciously aware of it. It is this occurrence which levels things.

The assumption that all that is the in world has Beingness is now my baseline assumption. It is the root of my life. More than that, it is the root of all things. What does this mean?

This base is my way, my first few steps at an “intersectional” spirituality: if all Others have a root presence in the world, it is as if there is a vitalist commonality. This shared Beingness means that we cannot separate the intersections of landscape, wights and humanity. All are connected by Beingness.

As such, interactions with spirits must be performed on fundamentally equal terms as with humans or animals or other entities. Note that this is not anthropomorphism - rather, it is a fundamental philosophical (and theological) axiom. The properties of each wight or entity must be considered on a case by case basis, as should their intersections with other entities I consider my extended kin-group (friends and family, and connected wights). Over time, the fundamental connection of Beingness provides us a path to recognize further intersections and connections between entities. For example, the genus locii/and/or landwights of a deprived neighbourhood might be investigated or contacted; they might be hostile, and even if not, they might require appeasement, or be willing to come to some arrangement for the benefit of all parties. Meanwhile work with the ancestral spirits of those in the neighbourhood might improve the personal economic situation of individuals who find they can now afford to donate to community causes. This sense of shared community leads to mutual support in times of trouble which means that relations improve, the landscape becomes more well treated, etc.

It is impossible, in this methodology, to separate both the presence and suffering of living communities from their Dead - and even more so in the case of oppressed folks. The memory of the community, the felt-sense of those-once-living held in the hearts of their loved ones, must be maintained, and from that, stretching back. To know one’s history is to find connections; the oppression of today is rooted in the sufferings and actions (good or bad) of the Dead. To bring them forth, to interact with them as part of the world in which we now find ourselves? They are not cast-off husks, having served their purpose in order to engender us. On the contrary, it is they who give us our current vitality. Those slaves who died, those colonizers who took them; those who died in wars, and those who started them; those who loved freely and died of AIDS, and the cops who beat them. All these have Beingness, intersections with the communities in question. This is not about morality, after all.

We are but one node in a net, one arbitrary point made by intersection. There is no centre. To combat anthropocentrism is to engage in a difficult battle, because it requires us to hold several ideas in mind at once: 1. That we, as individuals, are not the centre of the universe.

2. That we as a species are not the centre of the universe; that we are not ‘set apart’; all that makes us ‘human’ is not better or worse than any other behaviours, be they organic or inorganic. It simply is.

3. All our moralities are rooted, at base, in felt sense - even if that felt sense is either empathy or that engendered by recognition of our own mortality.

4. That nothing we do matters.

5. That our actions and felt sense nonetheless create meaning.

6. That we are unaware of the majority of our actions and feelings.

You might note there are some potential contradictions in this list, and that’s rather the point. To be able to hold contradictory ideas in mind and recognize them as such is important. Note also that these ideas are just the starting point I began at.

When idiots try to compare the Holocaust to factory farming? Or American slavery to Roman? Ask yourself why they are idiots. Go beyond the reflexive anthropocentrism; think instead of all those lost, all the connections and interrelations, the sonder of every single being, whether they be Jew, Rromani Black, LGBTQ+ or disabled, or some Other that has been persecuted or enslaved - think on their unique life and story. Think on the way their culture was torn away from them, how their family history was lost. And when that felt sense arises - when you have finished weeping and swearing never again, if you are so inclined - be aware of their presence. Even though they are dead, they are nonetheless in the world, influencing it - as individuals and as a whole. Beingness is outside of time. So here, we return to the notion that interaction with the world as manifold-presences in a particular area is the basis of all culture. These interactions and intersections between wights and a landscape enlivened by Beingness, set in motion the actions and reactions which build a given culture.

Realising this blew my mind; that arguments over ‘existence’ were a blind alley. Cultures form out of particular survival methodologies and customs. That is the first step; ensuring your people stay alive and prosper. Pacts are made theophanies occur; bulwarks against an indifferent yet presence-haunted world.

To say “People are more important...” is to unknowingly benefit from thousands of years of precarious navigation through a living world; to benefit from centuries of habitat destruction and ruthless hunting to extinction; to cast spite into the teeth of ancestors and living indigenous traditions who consider the landscape an ancestor, or fight to protect their land from rapacious corporations seeking to risk poisoning rivers and causing earthquakes purely for profit.

Despite its good intentions, statements such as this isolate us from the living whole, creating illusions of safety and false superiority where there is little to be found - only hard work and clear eyed acceptance of how things are, before we attempt to make them as we wish them to be. Pardon the pun, but the idea of hermetically sealing ourselves off in our own domains, whether they be those of identity politics or living spiritual practice seems counter productive. Instead, we should realize we are merely one of the Many - and act accordingly.

#polytheism #spirit work #kosmic gnosis #animism

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tastebudstalk-blog1 · 8 years ago

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Sweet Spot Sunday

Today, we met with Quasia Elle. She chose a spot that wasn’t exactly easy to find, but what a diamond in the rough. I gifted her a pocket sized journal that I wrapped in pink tissue paper. I concluded pink was her favorite color based on her Tumblr and hoped my lurk skills didn’t fail me now. Dressed in all black with a camouflage dad hat that read A Tribe Called Quest, I must admit her presence made me nervous. It’s not anything she said or did, but as awkward as she was looking for me without much needed corrective lenses, she presented a confidence I hadn’t experienced in awhile.

TB: Where did you get your hat from? Supa fly.

Quasia Elle: If I tell you, I have to kill you. And killing you after you’ve given me this awesome gift is just rude (laughs).

TB: So, why this place?

Quasia Elle: I have a serious sweet tooth. Like, I should probably go to some sort of addictions counseling, but there’s so much comfort and peace in bake shops and great quality desserts. The Little Cupcake Bakeshop is no different. It took awhile, but I finally found a place that offers icing as good as the cake. I had to bring you here. There’s also an amazing bookstore right next door, You shouldn’t visit one without the other.

TB: What book(s) are you currently reading?

Quasia Elle: I always reference Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill when I feel myself slipping. It’s a guidebook about the manifestation of money. An ex’s mom blessed me for Christmas a few years ago, literally changed my life. I’m also reading a witty, biography/ reference book by Anne Lamott called Bird by Bird. This was suggested by an English teacher I met on a bus from upstate to NYC. Great read for writers, specifically. What are you reading?

TB: I tend to continuously go back to A Rose That Grew From The Concrete by Tupac. The more my knowledge of Black American history and Hip Hop expands, the more I feel I understand him and can carry out his primary messages for the culture. My current read is The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. This one is contextually accurate considering Trump’s beef with immigrants. If you’ve read this book, I just gave a top ten pun of the year (laughs).

Quasia Elle: Oh my God, I’m coming out of the ocean because you need to stop (laughs). The Jungle is one of my favorite books of all time. Gave a book report about it in AP Literature in high school. Thinking back on it, I amazed myself at how well I articulated certain things from a book that wasn’t read all the way through at the time.

TB: What do you suggest for me to try, considering this is my first time here?

Quasia Elle: I’m a creature of habit, so probably the wrong one to suggest, BUT, i’m confident in this spot enough to say, Russian roulette! You’ll be fine (laughs). The classics, vanilla bean and red velvet, are really good, and I’ve heard good things about the unorthodox of blue velvet and princess dream. Mad cute. Logically speaking, you don’t want to pay $3 for one cupcake, but it’s Brooklyn. When in Rome...

TB: When did your sweet tooth addiction start?

Quasia Elle: I’ve always enjoyed sweets, my Mee-Mee has a bunch of traditions that include them especially during the holidays. But when I realized I had no self control was while studying for finals at Alabama. I bought a dozen of Krispy Kreme donuts, juiced up on espresso, and found myself finishing 12 donuts in 6 hours.

TB: That sounds eventful. Would you say you have any other addictions?

Quasia Elle: Does being in love count?

TB: Elaborate.

Quasia Elle: They say chocolate and love release similar endorphins. Whatever chemically happening, correlating the two, I lose my shit over.

TB: Are you in love right now?

Quasia Elle: I am. Although we’re separated, he will always deserve my love. He’s one of the best human beings I’ve ever met. For the sake of my productivity, I can’t dwell in the confusion of it all. What’s meant to be, already is.

TB: What do you mean by confusion?

Quasia Elle: I think that deep down, we all know exactly what we want to do with love. Whether that’s moving in together, or simply asking someone out on the first date. But, we choose to sit in confusion, wasting time, thinking God is going to visit us in our dreams to say, “Now’s the time Daniel.” It just doesn’t happen that way. You have to take control of your own life and pray God provides the resources, standing as confirmation. Take a chance on your happiness, being scary only limits your life experiences.

TB: Would you say these are unhealthy addictions? Sweets and love?

Quasia Elle: An addiction is unhealthy in its form by definition. Too much of anything can kill you, so yes. They’re extremely unhealthy. But I fast them, amongst other things, to keep myself in check and aligned with God.

TB: You mind talking about God? You’ve referenced Him twice in a row.

Quasia Elle: Because that’s my best friend, go best friend (laughs). What is it you want to know about our relationship exactly?

TB: Well, how do you know He’s real and what religion do you identify with?

Quasia Elle: Because I see Him in you, this moment. I see Him in my family and friends that never let me fall, and the only thing that has kept me from leaving this world prematurely, or before His calling, is Him. I don’t necessarily identify with a religion, per-say, but I have a tattoo that says “Israelite”. I don’t believe in Jews and Gentiles in physical form, everything is spiritual to me. So, as an Israelite, spiritually, I fight and prevail with God. That’s the biblical definition for how Jacob was renamed Israel after his fight with an angel for his blessing.

TB: What would you say to an Atheist?

Quasia Elle: Well, like my Mee-Mee told me, “If judgement day comes and this is all a hoax I have nothing to lose. But if that day comes and this is in fact real, and I chose not to believe in anything, I have EVERYTHING to lose.” Stay thirsty my friends.

TB: Speaking of grandparents, they definitely grew up in a time period quite different from ours. They seem more in tune with family, nature, the “simpler things”, if you will. Why do you think this generation lacks those appreciations?

Quasia Elle: We have a lot more distractions, a lot more falsely prioritized, priorities, if that makes any sense. A lot of us have anxiety after we post a photo, a short fused superficial gratification. It’s just not healthy for anyone’s mental or emotional state. But we keep going back. It’s an abusive relationship. While we’ve advanced in areas like medicine and communication because of it, I think we’ve also fallen short the same way.

TB: Are you making a general statement that millennials are pieces of shit?

Quasia Elle: (laughs) I mean, that’s unfair because there are always exceptions to any rule. You do have people balancing the real world and the matrix, very healthily. I’m just saying it’s extremely hard to find, myself included. I study my Twitter feed. I’m not being creepy, but majoring in Psychology starts odd habits. I see how people talk to and about one another, how everyone’s defense mechanism is inhumanly joking or being angry. And the more you submerge yourself in it, the more you take on that energy. I swear I hate going on social when tragic events have happened. It’s disheartening. We lack kindness and community, something generations before us had to have because of societal and political reforming. We’re spoiled. Trump is the first negative impact we have to directly deal with as adults, like seriously. That’s not just a millennial trait though, people are screwed up. But, you have this entity, the Internet, that just harnesses, and provokes this dark energy. And it’s hard to pull away from. It’s a Siren (if you guys are familiar with Mythology). It’s mad scary.

TB: You said you went to UAB?

Quasia Elle: This is your second time trying to die during this interview (laughs). I went to THE University of Alabama. Roll Tide.

TB: What does that mean?

Quasia Elle: Literally anything you need it to mean. YouTube the ESPN Roll Tide commercial, circa 2010.

TB: How was your college experience there?

Quasia Elle: The best moments and accomplishments of my life. I attended a small school before I transferred there though, Clayton State University. But, it wasn’t enough of an experience for me. I used to watch those corny 90′s- 00′s movies that were located on big campuses, How High is my all time favorite reference for that. I claimed something I wanted, and my experience was exactly what I thought it would be like. Not to mention I met lifelong friends that have the illest Birmingham accents. I love country dialect.

TB: One last question... what is your definition of success, as if you’re speaking to someone who looks up to you or someone simply looking for guidance?

Quasia Elle: Success is happiness and financial freedom, by the standards of your lifestyle. It’s one hundred and ten percent subjective. Be practical, first and foremost. You have bills to pay, please don’t relinquish good standing in credit by the notion of “for the art.” Even if you’re couching it somewhere I pray you have a safe box with 50% of your savings, the other 50 is in a savings account that is extremely easy for you to deposit, but difficult to withdraw from. Write out your goals, a million times over until your spirit is so drawn to what you’ve manifested, that you truly understand sacrifice to get it. And be conscious of the time. As Ray Lewis said, “How much time you gone waste? Every decision you make you gotta ask, does this decision influence where I’m ultimately trying to go?”

TB: Well then, Roll Tide.

Quasia Elle ordered a red velvet cupcake and homemade vanilla ice cream. I tried the personal cheesecake. We talked a bit more about politics, sports, her tiny home obsession, and this library she’s building in hopes of dramatically dying by her right of knowledge like in Fahrenheit 451. How she wants to make sure her nephew doesn’t end up in prison like his father, and how being the best of every title is her goal. She takes extreme pride in being a sister, (best) friend, daughter, cousin, employee, employer, and wherever else she can find purpose by service. She truly believes she is only placed here to service other people, and in that finds extreme happiness. She also mentioned that her mother is in need of a second kidney transplant, so although a huge request to ask, if anyone is willing or knows of someone willing, please reach out.

She is a timid spirit, yet full of hope and laughter. She has experienced traumatic pain, but somehow finds her way back to the surface. Her current works include a blog that “redefines success and highlights vulnerability to create a culture of healing and healers.” She titles it Taste, Buds and I’m excited to see where she goes in her writing career and encourage others to watch, support, and reach out to her as well.

The Little Cupcake Bakeshop is located in Brooklyn, at 9102 3rd Ave. There are other locations, but this was the one specifically chosen. It’s open late, 11pm, for that “late night fix” and I quote our addict.

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jeichanhaka · 4 years ago

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The Robbed That Smiles

Chapter Three

“The Infinity Stones? The parallel universe this woman claims to be from was devastated by someone using the stones?” Wong muttered, repeating what Strange had just told him but in question form, the result of being befuddled by it. Not the idea of multiple universes - his years of learning from the Ancient One about magic and different dimensions had long dispelled any disbelief of the Multiverse. Nor the thought that the Infinity Stones could be used for such destruction and evil - they were after all extremely powerful, and power was always tempting to those not wise enough to resist its pull. Even the wisest sometimes gave in. (Like the Ancient One’s use of magic from the Dark Dimension.) What befuddled him was difficult to pin down, more complex than the separate ideas.

“It appears that is the case.” Strange replied, skim reading through a book of old and powerful protective spells. After Lokki’s shocking revelation to Banner and Loki, after which she refused to answer any more questions, Banner had called back the other Avengers. (It irked Strange to find out that, contrary to what he’d first thought upon seeing through Lokki’s illusion, he had fallen for the goddess’ trick. That Loki was the only one not to fall for the layered trick, did little to lessen the doctor’s annoyance, and had instead increased it.) To make up for it, he was determined to protect all the Infinity Stones currently in the Avengers’ possession.

“You believe her? This female version of Loki?” Asked Wong, following Strange as the other man finished with one book and picked up another. “The god of lies?”

“There’s few reasons to doubt her, and every reason not to.” The surgeon-turned-sorcerer replied, putting back the tome he’d just picked up and meeting Wong’s gaze. “The stones are too dangerous not to believe Miss Lokki’s claim. Because if someone’s devastated her universe with them, then there’s probably someone in ours who’d do likewise.”

Wong drew in a breath, then nodded in understanding. “The person who’s been manipulating events over the past few years to draw out the stones, according to Thor. That person or entity or whatever - they want to use the Stones the same way.”

“It’s likely.” Strange skim-read through another book, this one dealing with various spells and incantations, mostly psionic in nature. Though there were mystic and entropic ones as well. It even included a section about truth and other interrogative spells. “I’ll find out more when I question Miss Lokki. There is the possibility that our universe is different enough from hers that we are not in such danger. But I don’t hold much hope for that. The Infinity Stones do exist in our universe.”

Wong didn’t reply and only nodded, agreeing with his fellow wizard. Before either man could say anything further, Strange’s cell phone beeped, the text-tone one the surgeon-wizard assigned to those from Stark’s number.

“...Thor and Natasha are on their way with Miss Lokki.” Strange commented aloud after reading the message, slightly curious. Not about the female Jotunn being brought to the Sanctum - until Stark managed to reinforce the walls and floors at his containment facility to withstand colder temperatures, it was agreed that Lokki would be transported to the New York Sanctum for interrogation and holding. There she could be restrained by Strange and the other Sanctum sorcerers if she tried escaping, without causing too much trouble.

“I thought Thor’s brother was also to come along, to make sure Miss Lokki didn’t use illusion magic to escape?”

“Apparently there were some issues and…” There was another beep indicating a new text, which Strange opened and immediately cocked an eyebrow. It was a snippet of video sent with an accompanying caption, underlying what the 25 seconds of film conveyed in Stark’s brand of banter. “‘Reindeer Games 2’ pwning ‘Reindeer Games 1.’” The wizard read Stark’s text verbatim after hitting play on the clip, his mouth twitched with amusement as he watched Lokki suddenly kneeing Loki when the latter Jotunn was talking with Thor. A string of foul language - both English and Asgardian by the sound - from Loki followed.

“...ooh.” Wong, peeking at the video clip, cringed as it finished and auto-repeated, feeling the reflective empathy any guy who’d ever got kneed between the legs felt when seeing it happen to another. “...that’s gotta have hurt.”

“Yeah.” Agreed Strange, while watching the clip again, his focus less on the pwnage and more on the reaction and glares between the two Lokis. It was obvious that Loki had midway through his swath of swearing moved to retaliate, even summoning a dagger, but had stopped. The human wizard frowned.

Thor’s knocking on the Sanctum’s entrance interrupted, drawing both wizards’ attentions from the video clip. Wong hurried downstairs to usher in their guests, while Strange pocketed his phone and placed the book of interrogative magicks back on the shelf. Afterwards he cast a spell on the floor, reinforcing it against any magic the female Jotunn may use. The room Lokki would be lodging in had already been so prepped.

“Upstairs, to the right. First open door.”

“Got it. Thanks.” Thor said to Wong as the sorcerer led him, Natasha, and Lokki up to the Sanctum’s private library.

“Good evening.” Welcomed Strange as he exited into the hall, eyeing his guests, especially Lokki. The frost giantess was sandwiched between her two escorts, Thor on her right holding her upper arm firmly, and Natasha on her left, holding just as tightly to Lokki’s wrist. Both Avengers appeared annoyed.

“L….”

“Stark already messaged me.” Strange interrupted. “Said your brother was...indisposed and couldn’t make it.” The wizard noted the smug grin Lokki gave when hearing about the mischief god and the comeuppance she’d given him. He also noticed the seidr-binding magic around her wrists, a temporary restraining measure he sensed was Loki’s payback for his female doppelganger’s assault.

“Yeah.” Thor grumbled, annoyed; many thoughts going through his head. He, as with Stark and the other Avengers, had been gobsmacked by Lokki’s sudden attack on his brother. Him even more so, because while Stark and Banner may have been too far away to know it, Thor had been talking with Loki. The mischief god hadn’t done anything or said anything to prompt the female Jotunn to knee him. “Should I bring Sis to her chamber or are you planning to question her tonight?”

“Questioning first.” Strange replied, not missing the quick glance Lokki gave Thor when the Asgardian referred to her as his sister. Thanks to his photographic memory and keen mind he deduced it to be a confused glance, and he felt his curiosity about the mischievous goddess increase.

“Can’t I have some refreshments first? I’m famished.” Lokki asked, her tone not reflecting any acknowledgment of Thor’s or Natasha’s annoyance.

“You had food at the tower.” Natasha snapped, letting go of the goddess’ wrist after Strange cast a stronger magic-silencing spell on the Jotunn sorceress.

“You call that greasy and heavily salted abomination food?!?” Lokki gaped at the red haired assassin, appalled. “It wasn’t even fit for a dog!”

“Sister, you’re the one who wanted fish n chips.” Thor groaned, reminding the jotunn that she’d requested - actually demanded - the Midgardian meal consisting of deep fried potatoes and battered fish. It had been the first thing, since her revelation about the Infinity Stones earlier that afternoon, that she had said. And thus Thor, feeling responsible for his adoptive sister from another universe, had asked his fellow Avengers to get the meal for Lokki.

“I’m n….” Lokki grimaced, her sea-hued gaze glaring at Thor, her hands resting over her stomach and smoothing out her shirt. (The same green tunic and black slacks outfit Loki had seidr summoned for her after dispelling her basilisk spider shape-shifting spell.) “I didn’t know you were going to get it from what has to be the worst Midgardian kitchen. I’d rather have a hamburger from one of their fast food thingamabobs.”

“Thing-a…what? You mean restaurant.” Thor corrected, earning him a smoldering glare from Lokki, whose cheeks slightly pinked.

“Thingamabob is a legit Midgardian word, you…”

“All right. All right.” Strange interrupted the Jotunn sorceress, his eyes locked on the magic silencing binds he’d placed on Lokki. Despite it being virtually impossible, the sorceress had subconsciously started straining them, her irritability nipping away at the magic binds. Hiding his alarm, Strange stepped forward, addressing Lokki. “I’ll see about getting you something to eat, Miss Lokki. Thor, you and Natasha can go, Wong and I can handle your sister.”

“See? At least someone here’s decent.” Lokki jabbed, crossing her arms and turning her back to both non-sorcerers.

Thor rubbed his temples, a headache forming there, while beside him Natasha rolled her eyes and started down the stairs. The thunder god soon followed, both of them done with the Jotunn sorceress’ attitude. After the two left, Strange turned toward Lokki and motioned towards the library.

The mischief goddess simply glanced through the doorway, noticing the magical reinforcements arrayed around the room and on the floor. “...going right into it, huh?” She sighed, referring to her soon-to-happen interrogation. “What about getting me some sustenance? I don’t tend to be agreeable on an empty stomach.”

‘Are you ever?’ Thought Strange to himself, before preparing to simply portal Lokki into the library. The Jotunn surprised him by quickly entering the room without any further complaint or comment, except for snapping a ‘I’m going, alright?’ after realizing what he was about to do. As she walked by him (he was standing closer to the library door than her, despite her being a foot or so further down the upper corridor), he glanced her over. He immediately noted that his magic-dampening spell, despite being strained by Lokki’s frost magic minutes earlier, was once again at full strength.

‘That’s a relief,’ he thought as he watched the Jotunn sorceress smooth out the front of her tunic again while waiting for him to follow, her hands lingering over her abdomen. Resting them there a few moments longer than necessary to smooth out the fabric, while a hint of a softened smile tugged at her lips. So brief Strange almost missed it.

For some reason it made him pause, and he thought of the video clip Stark had sent. In it, their Loki had been about to retaliate against the new Lokki but had stopped and instead stalked off. A reversal that happened seconds after the mischief god met the goddess’ glare and noted her hand resting deliberately on her stomach.

Strange’s eyes narrowed, realizing the look and gesture for what it was - a nonverbal spat between Loki and Lokki, in which the latter had dared the other to retaliate. Only to stop the god of mischief with a most innocuous gesture. Not a very threatening move but their Loki had immediately backed off.

That made little sense. Strange didn’t care if the two Lokis were aliens, simply placing a hand on one’s abdomen wasn’t threatening. Not in the slightest.

‘Neither is aiming for the stomach of the person holding a knife to your throat.’ The wizard muttered quietly as he thought of Banner’s description of his and Loki’s recapture of the female Jotunn. Perplexed by the reversal, and suspicious that it was a ploy of some kind, Banner had told his fellow Avengers exactly what had transpired. Including how Loki had seemed apologetic to his female doppelganger immediately after. ‘Unless….’

Strange stiffened and his brow furrowed, the spark of a possible explanation clicking in his brain.

“Wong.” Strange called out to his friend and fellow Sanctum wizard. “See about getting something to eat for our guest, something healthy. Takeout or delivery.” He said, handing the sorcerer some cash while saying thanks. The next moment he passed the library threshold and approached Lokki, who stood in the center of the front part of the library. The goddess appeared calm, but Strange noted the minor hints of tiredness. With a gesture he summoned and placed a chair beside the frost giantess. “You should sit.”

“I….” Lokki glanced at the chair, then at Strange, a crease forming in the space between her eyebrows. It wasn’t the start to the type of interrogation she’d expected, nonetheless she sat down a moment later without much fuss.

“Good.” Strange headed towards the table-slash-desk, summoning a book to him as he did so. “Before we begin...As you claim to be your universe’s version of the god of lies and mischief, it shouldn’t surprise you if I take some precautions to make sure you’re truthful.” He flipped open the book in his hands, its pages containing incantations and spells useful for interrogation and discerning honesty. Each quite powerful, to varying degrees. Although he suspected none would be as effective against a god (or goddess) of lies as they would against others. “You don’t mind?”

Lokki, eyeing the book and reading its cover, recognized the tome for what it was. A volume of mediocre spells, incantations, and elixir recipes used for extracting answers from the unwitting. Not one of which would be useful against her - Strange had at various times attempted to use the strongest of them on their universe’s Loki, which the god of lies had always countered. Through either magic or his silver-tongue. The goddess, the human wizard assumed, would likewise be ready against the techniques, and thus wouldn’t mind....

“I do mind.” Lokki blurted, glaring at Strange and the book when the wizard started muttering aloud techniques and spells from the book. All ones that were dangerous, either by themselves or because they required powerful and invasive magics. When Strange read out one truth spell that required the ingestion of an elixir made from ingredients not wholly safe, the goddess paled and snapped. “Absolutely not!”

Strange looked askance at Lokki, lifting an eyebrow at her response, and at the woman’s hands once more reflexively shielding her abdomen. “Why? None of these should be too dangerous, considering your ancestry.” He eyed her closely, paying attention to her alarmed expression and how her frost magic seemed to be rearing up again. Not enough to break through his binds on her, but enough to concern him. “That is unless there is something I should know before we start? Any sort of illness or pregnancy…”

Lokki blanched and drew in a breath, the look she flashed him all Strange needed to know the answer. He closed the book abruptly and placed it on the flat surface of his table, mulling over his next words.

“This is a predicament.” Muttered Strange who sat down in a chair beside the desk-table, considering his options. “None of the spells strong enough to interrogate you are safe for your condition.” He paused, glancing at the sorceress. All while thinking that he wouldn’t interrogate her now, even if the spells and techniques were safe.

“Then don’t use them.” Lokki replied, scrutinizing the surgeon-turned-sorcerer. “...Doctor.”

Strange’s brow furrowed at the emphasis on his title, his brain both beaming and suspicious of Lokki’s purpose for addressing him thus. There could be many reasons, but he suspected it was for what it represented.

“Midgardian law on doctor-patient confidentiality is still a thing in this universe, right?” Continued the frost giantess, her question causing the sorcerer to cock an eyebrow, bemused.

“Are you actually asking me to be your doctor?” The sorcerer leaned back in his chair, regarding the goddess with a stoic and discerning leer. It had briefly occurred to him to do as the woman’s words suggested and use his medical profession, with its confidentiality rules to convince Lokki to talk. Hearing the earnest tone her question took made Strange wonder if the Jotunn female actually knew anything about the confidentiality law. His lips pursed when Lokki shrugged. “You do know I was a surgeon, not an obstetrician.”

Lokki just shrugged. “A doctor’s a doctor, right?” She muttered while Strange grimaced, his demeanor similar to when their Loki had revealed that the statue prank had been for April Fools day. No part of him wanted to explain the nuances of Earth’s medical profession and its specialties. “It’s that way in the other of the nine realms.”

“No.” Strange replied after a moment, shaking his head. “I won’t be your doctor.” He paused and leaned forward slightly. “However, if you answer a few questions, I promise not to tell the Avengers about your condition.”

There was a brief silence, before Lokki nodded.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Reclining on the twin-size mattress and box-spring combo bed, though it could hardly be called that, in the room (one much smaller than his cell on Asgard) that the Midgardian Avengers had grudgingly given him after he’d been kicked out of another country, Loki gazed pensively at the ceiling. Not really seeing it, but rather focused on his thoughts and the events of earlier. It was difficult to fathom that not even a day had passed since his female doppelganger had appeared, the Avengers were so focused on her and how her universe had been devastated that it felt like days should’ve passed, not hours. On Asgard, where the general lifespan was 5000 years, everything, except emergencies, moved along slower paced, with much more time put into planning and festivities.

The rushing pace that defined the lives of the Midgardians was so different and, though it caused issues between New Asgard and her Midgardian-human allies, Loki had thrived on it. Mischief is much more fun when the payoff happens quickly, and after just a few months on Midgard, Loki had realized just how much more closer to chaos Midgard was than the other realms. And how better suited Midgardians were for handling it.

If the god of mischief had pulled even a quarter of the stunts he pulled during his second year on Midgard in any of the other realms, he would’ve been imprisoned indefinitely. And the realms would still be dealing with the fallout for years to come. The Midgardians, though, had repaired all the damage caused by his, at times, destructive and dangerous stunts, within weeks and months, if not days!

This had quickly fascinated Loki, and he’d viewed it as a personal challenge to come up with some mischief that wouldn’t be fixed by the Midgardians so quickly, but that also wouldn’t result in Nuclear Armageddon.

(After one of his more dangerous pranks, he’d learned how volatile international relations were between the Midgardian countries with WMDs and, actually frightening, how willing some Midgardians were to use them. There weren’t many, and most were against using them except as a last resort, but just the idea that the Midgardians would ever use nukes against each other, without the safety of being on another planet, had shaken Loki. He was sharing the planet with them after all!)

He ultimately settled on replacing the Statue of Liberty with one of himself - actually replacing it, not merely using an illusion spell. Thus leading to the first event of that afternoon, and his threatened exile to Antarctica. Both which had been immediately overshadowed by the arrival of his doppelganger and her reveal.

“Norns…” Loki muttered under his breath, his arm pillowed under his head as he stared at the ceiling. Not finding the Midgardian pillows comfortable enough for reclining on the bed, he’d tossed them aside. “What a hell of a day it’s been.”

He continued to stare at the ceiling, not yet inclined to read any of the books stacked throughout the bedroom. Nor to cast an illusion spell to hide that fact from the cameras placed in the corners - Stark had insisted on installing them as a temporary condition of Loki being given the room, and hadn’t yet removed them despite admitting he didn’t monitor them as heavily as before. (An unadmitted, direct result of the mischief god engaging in certain - private - activities almost immediately whenever he was alone to spite the Midgardian.)

“Fucking hell.” Loki swore to himself, his thought of the cameras and how he got revenge on the Avenger for insisting on having them installed reminding him of how his female double had stript naked and flirted with Stark. He hadn’t felt particularly self-conscious or embarrassed when he’d engaged in his particular activity knowing that the Avenger was surveilling him. But that was because he knew it would repulse the other man and get him to lay off watching. What his female doppelganger did...that was just - urgh.

‘I need to erase that image from my memory.’ Loki sat up and reached for the drawers beside his mattress, taking out a glass bottle of Midgardian alcohol which he had pilfered some weeks ago from Stark’s collection. ‘How the hell could any version of me flirt with that...urgh?! Naked! And he flirted back!’ The mischief god cringed and took a swig from the bottle, not caring how strong the alcohol was or that the Avenger could very well see him drinking it from the cameras. Or that he would get in trouble for stealing the bottle. (He’d placed a fake on the shelf that he’d taken it from, thus its theft hadn’t been discovered yet.) ‘Norns, he better not be the f….’

The god of mischief suddenly coughed and sputtered, his thoughts going to his female double and a particular tidbit he’d gleaned from her frost magic. It wasn’t something the Midgardians could know, and his brother would likely have forgotten if Thor had even ever listened to the parts of Odin’s stories not dealing with actual battle, but female frost giants reached colder temperatures than the males, and much more quickly. But that second part only applied to pregnant female Jotunn. It was, from what little Loki could discover in Asgard’s library both while growing up and after learning his true heritage, a defensive measure female Jotunn had developed to protect the unborn life inside them.

It was horrible to think about, but according to books dating back to Odin’s father Bor and prior, male Jotunn would often murder the unborn children of rival clans. This was on top of kidnapping the rival clans females and forcing them to bear the new clan’s offspring. A barbaric practice, and one of the many reasons Loki never considered moving to Jotunheim after learning of his heritage.

Even if the fact that Laufey had abandoned him to die as a newborn because he was small wasn’t enough to dissuade him, Loki knew he would never move to Jotunheim. Not even to claim his birthright as heir to Jotunheim’s throne. (Similar to its other uncouth traditions, the throne of Jotunheim was historically passed down to whatever son of the king defeated or even killed the other sons. Laufey had done so himself, forcing his siblings to submit and killing those that didn’t.) Thus Loki could have had a throne for himself in the ice kingdom of Jotunheim, using his intelligence and magic to defeat Laufey’s other sons, but he never wanted it. He was too much an Asgardian, truly a son of Odin, to consider it.

“Norns, if he is…” Loki muttered after clearing his lungs and esophagus of the alcohol that had spilled into them, his stomach feeling queasy. It had been shocking enough figuring out that his female doppelganger was pregnant, (his pointing his dagger at her abdomen had been him testing his hypothesis, which he’d formed after seeing her drastic shift in temperature and realizing that she’d given in too easily to him and Strange.) but the possibility that it could be Stark’s or rather her universe’s Stark’s, was too much. Anyone but that! Anyone would be preferable than the Midgardian.

‘Anyone?’ His subconscious whispered in his head, tauntingly. ‘Even if it could be Thor….’

“Fucking hell no! No way...bloody fucking….” Loki swore, his stomach flip-flopping like he’d drunk a whole Asgardian party worth of wine and mead. His subconscious torturing him with the one idea worse than Stark as the father of his doppelganger’s baby. “No bloody way that’s possible.”

Even as he said that, he realized that it wasn’t impossible. He, and thus his female double, wasn’t Asgardian by blood. Odin had adopted him. And although that likely meant his double, especially since she shared his name ‘Loki’, had likewise been adopted by her universe’s Odin, it did not guarantee it. Female Jotunn were rare. About only 20 to 30 percent of the population. The idea that even a cutthroat like Laufey would abandon a daughter for the same reason he’d abandoned Loki, was mad. Male Jotunn were the fighters, it wasn’t until they passed fertility age that female Jotunn fought alongside the males.

Of course this information he’d culled from the books in Asgard’s royal library, and thus it could be biased. Or inaccurate. Or just plain lies. But Loki hadn’t seen a single female frost giant when he’d gone to set up his plan to kill Laufey. He knew they existed since Jotunn reproduced sexually and had live births. That was an undisputed fact, considering intermarriage between Jotunn and the citizens of other realms like Vanaheim did happen. Rarely, but it did. Before the Jotunn-Asgard war, before the frost giants aggressed on Midgard, there were even pairings between Jotunn and Midgardians.

Thus it was possible that this other Laufey hadn’t abandoned Loki’s female double, and even if the bastard had, it was also possible that Odin may not have adopted Lokki. If the old man had been honest when saying he’d hoped raising Loki as a son would bring true peace between Asgard and Jotunn through him, then it was possible he would see a Jotunn daughter as a similar tool. Albeit with the caveat that a political marriage was much more useful than a royal hostage.

“Fucking hell.” Loki mouthed, grimacing at the thought and grabbing once more for the bottle of Midgardian alcohol. Before he could do more than bring the bottle to his lips, Stark’s voice boomed through the speaker below the camera over the door frame.

“Hey, Reindeer Games, that bottle is worth 30 times more than your and your brother’s ages combined per glass. Stop drinking and put it down, unless you want to owe another 60 grand.” Loki rolled his eyes, closing his lips around the bottle in spite of the Midgardian’s threatening tone. “Fine. The heads of Homeland Security and Shield are still waiting for my decision on what to do with you for the statue mess. Should I tell them to prepare an Antarctic cage? Or maybe a ship to send you to Jotunheim?”

Loki glowered in response towards the surveillance camera and speaker, before placing down the alcohol bottle.

“Good. Now come down to the lab, there’s some things we need to discuss.”

#marvel #marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #fanfiction #loki #thor #natasha romanov #stephen strange #wong #alternate universe #canon divergent #parallel universe #female loki #oc

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