#or maybe ill just lay in the fetal position until the s2 finale

[bennydwight]

TGAMM Season 2 One-Word Drabbles

I have a lot of feelings and a random word generator so have some unedited prompt drabbles.

(Mostly season 2 centric, but some could be more ambiguous)

Disturbance

Life goes on, nobody any the wiser, but Scratch can’t shake the feeling that something looming has irreversibly, ominously shifted.

(In the basement, away from prying eyes and wandering hands, an empty soda bottle gathers dust.)

Like

Scratch could forgive the hormones (eventually, as long as he was getting fed), but the minute he heard Molly admit she ‘like-liked’ the kid next door, they were all going to find out really quickly if ghosts could throw up.

Background

It’s sometimes easier seeing life from behind the scenes, never the main character but a helpful supporting role instead. Someone who can see the bigger picture without the singular, blinding spotlight.

(As Libby watches Molly storm back into the gym, Scratch nowhere to be found, she worries for the actors on this stage.)

Shape

Scratch’s malleable build brought endless humour to the family. (No matter what he turned into, he was always exactly the right size to fit in Molly’s arms.)

Victory

He’d done it. He’d gotten Molly to see his perspective, to ditch the ghost hunter forever and remain by his side, her closest friend and hers alone.

(The expressions she adopted when she thought he wasn’t looking didn’t make this feel like much of a win.)

Interface

Andrea truly was a child of technology. She controlled the world through screens, electricity and circuitry as a part of her as blood and bone. She’d seen the power her face commanded, and now, numbers and words blooming into functions and commands under her deft touch, the same power flooded through her fingertips.

Brainstorm

Darryl was no slouch at schemes. The ideas cooking in his head were brilliant.

(The ones he dreamed up with June were genius.)

Week

Monday. Move in.

Tuesday. Barbecue.

Wednesday. A haunted book shop.

Thursday. An invitation.

Friday. A dance.

Saturday. The reappearance of a lonely, aching void in the center of Ollie’s stomach. It never seems to go away.

Prey

Despite their shaky reputation with non-believers, the Chens are among the most highly respected ghost hunters in such circles as people who respect ghost hunters. It is their livelihood, their passion, their purpose. Without it, the Chens are nothing.

Ollie watches one of June’s more lethal traps snap shut and he winces.

(He’s never winced before.)

Right

Andrea’s parents send her to bed without supper. It’s an empty threat, after they’ve retreated to their offices for the evening she has free run of the house, but it stings that they made the effort.

(The right thing is not always the easy thing.)

Authority

The robe hangs off Scratch’s form like a death shroud, and the taste of responsibility leaves his mouth sour. With it comes the weight in his core, like his heart has somehow returned but twenty pounds heavier.

(He is heard. He is respected. He is obeyed. He is terrified.)

Climb

He is a creature of the night, of shadows and deceit, blinded and rattled by the brightness of the sun. He shrinks back into familiarity, but she is impossible to resist.

(Step by uneven, blundering step, Molly leads him back into the light.)

Descent

Then he shows up, and Molly turns farther from him than she ever had before.

(Her radiance flares like a sunspot and Scratch wants to be happy for her even as the darkness drags him back under.)

Cycle

The pressure has lessened, almost to nothing, but Molly still gets an excited thrill the morning she wakes up with blood on her sheets.

(It takes her less than a week before she’s ready to go back to being a child.)

Paradox

She’s amazing. She’s insane. She’s being manipulated. He is. She can’t know. She must. She’s innocent. She betrayed him. Ollie lays awake, staring at his bedroom ceiling.

(Molly McGee puts everything he’s ever known into question.)

Season

“I didn’t think ghosts could get hay fever.”

“Shut up and pass me the antihistamines.”

“Will these even work on you?”

“I’m willing to try anything at this point, and if you don’t gimme now I swear I will wipe snot all over you!”

Mine

Nothing is as vivid after the first memory fades, and Scratch wakes up some nights with a cloud of brown curls bobbing in a summer breeze, the phantom condensation of a cold drink cooling the ectoplasm of his palm, a familiar abyss of the same sensation he’d felt more potently more recently: the day the McGee’s left his house.

(He guards these sense memories jealously. Nothing could take them away from him again.)