#phantom my other husband you look good too

[phoenix-downer]

Next to My Husband

Summary: Penelope can't believe Odysseus is really home, and he claims he isn't the man he once was. But one final test reveals the truth, and husband and wife reunite at long last.

~ 2770 words. Set during "Would You Fall in Love with Me Again" in the Ithaca Saga of Epic: the Musical and expands on their reunion. Angst, Romance, Fluff. Check the tags for additional info. POV Penelope.

Penelope waited in her chambers, staring out the open window facing the sea. For a long time, she had despised it for taking her husband away from her. How many nights had she spent staring at it, hoping, wishing, praying he would come home? And now Telemachus claimed he had returned.

It was too good to be true. Odysseus was dead. He had drowned or perished on some faraway island. She was in denial like so many other widows of the Trojan War. This was just a dream, nothing more.

She faintly heard her name called out, and then the door to her chambers creaked open. A man stood there, looking utterly haggard and ragged in the torchlight. He quite literally wore rags, his clothes were stained with blood, scars littered his body, and his dark hair and beard were matted. His eyes were red instead of the brown she remembered. But the way he looked at her…

She swallowed and stood. It had been so long since she had seen Odysseus that she wasn't sure if she could trust her eyes to tell her the truth.

“Is it really you? Have my prayers been answered? Or am I dreaming once more?” she asked.

He smiled sadly. “It's hard to believe, I know.”

She hesitated, then took a few steps closer to him. “Forgive me, but you look different. Your eyes are tired and your frame is lighter. Even your smile is different. It's so torn. Is it really you, my love?”

If this man really was her husband, he had changed so much in the intervening years that her heart and mind were having trouble coming to terms with the differences. She was a practical woman out of necessity, but all those painful days and sleepless nights longing for him to return had created a phantom lurking in her mind, a spectre made up of memories and longing. Her phantom husband was not the same as the man before her now—he was young and kind and optimistic, not middle-aged and jaded and haunted.

But then again, she was hardly the same woman either. She was also middle-aged now, and exhausted, and cautious. Naivety was the luxury of fools. She’d had to be clever and cunning and deceitful to survive. To raise Telemachus and keep the kingdom running and hold the suitors at bay.

His face fell. “I’m not the man you fell in love with,” he admitted, and she was confused for a moment before he continued. “The man you once adored—he's long gone.” That haunted look returned to his eyes, and he hung his head in shame. “I'm not your kind and gentle husband, and I don't deserve to be called your love. Because I'm not that man, not anymore. I don't even know that I deserve to be called a man after what I've done.” He ran a shaking hand through his shaggy hair.

She wasn't sure what to say. If he truly was a monster, he wouldn't feel remorse. But those blood-soaked clothes certainly spoke for themselves. The servants were currently cleaning up the aftermath of his killing spree that had left 108 men dead. And yet he had done it for a reason. Telemachus had told her it was to protect them. He had spelled out their horrible plans, the ghastly fate Odysseus had spared them from. Any good husband and father would do everything in his power to stop such an awful plot directed at his family. It was just difficult to wrap her mind around how far Odysseus had gone.

The world was a cruel place, to turn her kind, gentle husband into a ruthless killer.

He mistook her silence for judgment. “I know you've been waiting for the man who was once your love,” he said, and there were tears glistening in his red eyes and shadows on his face from the flickering torchlight. “But you don't know what all I've done, and I can't change the past. How could you ever love me if I told you?”

“Try me," she said softly, like this was another one of the riddles or puzzles or challenges they always used to make for one another. “What kinds of things did you do?”

She wanted to know. Wanted to find out what he had done, what spectres haunted him.

“Left a trail of red on every island,” he told her. “Traded my friends like they were just objects I could use. Hurt more lives than I can count.”

He continued telling her what he had done, and though it made her stomach turn, she appreciated his honesty. He wasn't sugarcoating his behavior or pretending his dark deeds hadn't happened or weren't his fault. When she had seen him off to war, she had hardly expected him to keep his hands clean. But the war had ended a decade ago, and his journey back to her side had taken another decade and even more bloodshed.

Yes, the world was cruel to drive a man like her husband to commit such atrocities. She could only hope the world would be less cruel for their son. A kind, peaceful world where good men never had to be ruthless to make it home alive…where good men didn't have to leave for war in the first place…if only.

But she was Penelope, Queen of Ithaca, and the scarred, bloodstained, haggard man before her was claiming to be her husband and king. She would leave speculation pertaining to ideal worlds to the philosophers and any actual execution of said ideals to the gods. Penelope of Ithaca for her part would continue to deal with reality.

“And why did you do these things?” she asked, her voice careful and stoic as she paced the room, her expression keeping up the façade of a judge.

“All of it was to bring me back to you,” he said, his voice breaking at the torment he'd been through, at what he still tortured himself with, and her heart broke along with it.

If this was a false Odysseus, he certainly sounded like the real thing.

“If you want nothing to do with me,” he continued, “I understand. Just say the word and I'll be gone forever.” He dared to take a step closer to her. “But if you could find it in yourself to fall in love with me again, not the man I was but the monster I am now, please, tell me.”

He pleaded with her with his entire being. His arms and legs trembled, his eyes begged her, and she could sense how badly he wanted to embrace her.

A part of her wanted to cave completely, to take him in her arms and smother his face with kisses. But she had one more test. One final question to confirm he wasn't an illusion and to make sure he was still her husband deep down. Was he still the same man she had fallen in love with all those years ago, or had the years changed him too much like he seemed to think?

She suspected he needed this test as much as she did.

“If that's true,” she said at last, “if you really have done those things and you really are a monster like you say, could you do me a favor? Just a moment of labor that would bring me some peace.”

She gestured to their bed, to where they had spent so many lovely evenings together and where she had spent countless more agonizing nights alone. “See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here.”

It was a trick question, one only Odysseus would know the answer to.

His face twisted in pain. “How could you say this? I built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat. I carved it into the olive tree where we first met. It's a symbol of our everlasting love.” His voice got louder and angrier, and it was clear he was wounded deeply by her request. “Do you realize what you’ve just asked me? The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots.”

His unspoken meaning lingered in the air. He didn't want to destroy the symbol of their love or the reality behind it any more than she did. And that meant he was still her husband, despite what he might think.

She couldn't test him any longer. She smiled as tears filled her eyes. “Only my husband knew that, so I guess that makes him you.”

His eyes widened. “Penelope…” So much meaning and emotion behind a single word. Twenty years worth of longing and waiting. Oh how she had wanted for him to say her name again. To hear his voice once more.

She cupped his cheek, and he melted into her touch, the tears streaming down his face. “I will fall in love with you over and over again,” she promised him through her own tears. “I don't care how, where, or when. No matter how long it's been, you're mine.” She stroked the faded scar on his cheek that he'd gotten from that boar hunt all those years ago. “Don't tell me you're not the same person. You're always my husband, and I've been waiting for you.”

He threw his arms around her, holding her close like his life depended on it, saying her name over and over again. He had been through so much to come home, to return to her. There would be consequences for his actions—trials he must endure and people he must face. But they would deal with all that together. And they would do it tomorrow. Tonight, he didn't need lectures or judgments or reckonings.

He needed his wife.

She pulled away a little and searched his face, then leaned closer, closer till her lips brushed against his. His breath caught, and then he was kissing her back with all the desire and passion of the last twenty years spent apart. One hand wove its way into her hair and his other arm wrapped around her waist, and she wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself against him.

He deepened the kiss, and her mind flew back, back to all the times they had done this before. To their first kiss under the olive tree that was now their bed. While they were older and more experienced, their eagerness and passion now reminded her of then.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless. She very much wanted to continue, but he insisted on cleaning up first. So she sent the servants to fetch water and heat rocks for the bath. When everything was ready, she glanced at Odysseus.

He still hadn't removed his bloody rags, and he stared at the water with fear in his eyes.

He’d never been afraid of water before. All those years at sea…had he almost drowned?

“Ody?” she gently asked, using his old nickname as she placed a hand on his arm.

“Poseidon has had his revenge after all,” was his cryptic response. “I don't think I'll ever be able to enter a body of water without panicking.” He smiled ruefully. “I can torture a god with his own weapon and slaughter over a hundred men in a single day, but taking a bath is beyond me.”

She glanced at the tub. It really wasn't that big, just large enough for the two of them. Maybe they could start small and he would get used to being in the water again.

“I'll join you,” she said, then carefully unfastened the fibulae holding her peplos in place as he watched. As the garment slipped off her, she had a brief moment of uncertainty and grabbed the fabric. He hadn't seen her in twenty years. Would he still find her aging body beautiful? He’d probably met plenty of stunning mortal women and breathtaking goddesses on his journeys. How could she possibly hope to compare—

He gently grasped her hand and led it away from her body, letting the peplos slip off completely. The way his eyes traveled up and down her body, the hunger and yearning in his gaze, she knew her fears were unfounded.

“You're even more beautiful than I remembered,” he told her, putting her fears to rest for good. He embraced her and kissed her softly, tenderly, and she gently tugged at his rags. Normally, it was the servants’ job to undress and bathe the king, but she wanted to be the one to help him.

When she’d gotten all the rags off at last, she wanted to cry. His scars were even more visible and numerous now. She knew each one carried a story of pain and suffering and survival, and she wanted to know them all.

He misunderstood her expression, shame crawling up his face and driving him to look away from her. She quickly put a stop to that when she kissed the scar on his right shoulder.

“You're more handsome to me than ever, my love. These scars are signs of your survival. Wear them proudly.”

He searched her face and then kissed her again, and they spent quite a while kissing and touching before finally making it to the bath. He braved the water with her by his side, and she carefully cleaned every inch of him. Washed away the blood and the sweat and the grime. Ran her hands through his tangled, matted hair until there were no more snarls or knots. And he carefully washed her too, washed away the fear and sweat and deceit until she felt completely clean.

When they were through, he looked much more like himself again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and was about to kiss him when a bright light flashed. When she could see again, it took her a moment to realize Odysseus was still with her, because her husband quite literally looked like a god. He was taller and stronger than ever before, and his hair graced his broad shoulders in thick dark curls. Going by his expression, she had undergone a similarly miraculous transformation.

Then he smiled, a smile so big and bright it lit up the whole room and made her smile too. “Thank you, oh goddess of wisdom, for your support in my romantic endeavors,” he called out to someone she couldn't see, “but I would've taken my wife to bed all the same.”

He grinned and swept her into his arms, and Penelope could've sworn she heard an owl hooting in return. But soon all thoughts of their divine supporter fled their minds as Odysseus carried her to their wedding bed.

Twenty years of absence could not easily be undone in a single night, but they were willing to try. Especially because the night went on and on and on, almost as if Someone was asking Dawn to wait until husband and wife were fully sated.

When at last they were, Penelope smiled and played with Odysseus’s hair as they cuddled together. His eyes weren't red anymore. They were back to their beautiful, natural brown. A sign that he wasn’t a god or monster but just a man.

“How long has it been?” she asked, knowing her answer but wanting to know his.

He grasped her hand and tenderly kissed it. “Twenty years,” he said softly.

Her lips parted. So he had been faithful after all. She had been faithful too, hoping and waiting and longing for his return.

“Twenty years,” she echoed to confirm his unspoken question.

They told each other everything after that, all that had transpired in each other's absences. Athena must be still helping them at this point because Dawn still hadn't arrived, and yet Penelope somehow had the energy to tell Odysseus everything and listen to his tales in return.

When he was through, he caressed her cheek as the first rays of Dawn spread across the sky.

“I love you,” he said, the words simple but profound. Like he was grateful she knew everything and yet still accepted him.

She smiled and kissed his hand. "I love you too.”

They'd both been through so much. She had worn herself ragged raising their son single-handedly and running the kingdom, and she had lied to the suitors. Odysseus had done such terrible things to make it home, had killed so many people. And yet she knew the man lying next to her wasn't a monster. He had much to atone for, but he was her husband, and he always would be.

————————————————————————

A/N: This story was such a joy to write. A big thank you to @aquariusshadow for introducing me to Epic and reading over the story for me and giving her suggestions, and a big thank you to @scoobysnack1107 as well for also reading and providing feedback ❤️ I love Greek mythology and musicals, so Epic is like the perfect combination of two of my interests that I never knew I needed.

Just a few notes about the writing process: I wanted to incorporate how Odysseus’s eyes turn red in the animatics for the song “Odysseus,” and how they seem a little less red when he reunites with Telemachus and Penelope. Also, all the stuff with Athena being his wingwoman is actually legitimately from the Odyssey (giving him a glow up, delaying dawn for him and Penelope, etc.), which cracked me up. I read the 23rd book before I wrote this story in preparation, and you truly cannot make these things up. Also, the scar from the boar hunt is on Odysseus's foot in the Odyssey, but I moved it to his face for this story. I also went down a research rabbit hole about ancient Greek baths and clothing to make sure those details were more accurate, and that was a fun diversion. And of course I loved including the callbacks to “Just a Man,” incorporating the lyrics of "Would You Fall in Love with Me Again,” and exploring Penelope's mindset more.

I feel really lucky to have gotten into Epic right before the Ithaca Saga released. It's been such a fun journey, or shall we say, Odyssey 😎 Congrats to all the cast and crew for all their hard work! And thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed! ❤️

[whispeyrains]

Hrrrrggghh Skade finally posted their Arknights Anniversary art and its gorgeous! 😍 but, the placement of characters here. Hm. Why is Executor front and centre. Are you trying to tell us smth Skade

[evilminji]

You know what I never see explored?

"Not on MY watch!" Superfan Dash Baxter. The young, limnal, quarterback built like a tank and willing to hit like one.

Because let's be real here. Imagine that scenario: Dash, heading to practice with his Bros. His best friends. The team. When? Oh shit! It's PHANTOM! Best day EVER right?

Except it's NOT.

Somethings wrong. He's not as graceful as he usually is. There is no clever comebacks. He looks beat up, man. What HAPPENED? Everyone looks confused when Dash looks around. But before he can call up to him?

Phantom is Shot Out Of The SKY.

Hits the football field HARD. The entire team is already running. Full sprint. It's those fucking GIW. Already driving onto the field and tearing it up. Jumping out, weapons primed.

Phantom's not... oh god, he's not getting up.

He looks hurt. Really hurt. Those bastards are closing in.

Dash's team? Has his back. They're also fans. Friends of his. Not a single one hesitates. They put their BACKS into it and welcome these sick fucks to Tackle Practice. With a follow up of "Taste Your Own Teeth". Amity special, coach would be proud.

But Dash... fuck, he can't wail on these guys AND protect Phantom at the same time. Kwan tells him to go. Throws him his keys. His car is least shit. Dash owes him SO many pizzas for this. First pick on movies for LIFE, man.

It hurts to leave his team behind. His best friend. But Dash has to GO. He can already hear the Fentons closing in. He grabs Phantom, his HERO, and runs for his life.

Barely manages to peel out of there in time. Floors it. Calls Paulina, obviously. She and Star are doing a spa day thing. She picks up because she KNOWS he wouldn't bother her if it wasn't serious. And-!

Oh...

Oh fuck.

In the rear view mirror. The Fentons and GIW just screeched onto the road behind him. Closing distance FAST. What does he do? Paulina he can't... he WON'T hand Phantom over!

And of course she understands. For God's sake, she in LOVE with the guy. He's never heard her sound so scared and furious. They'll get phantom over her twice dead body. She and Star are making some sort of noises, chanting, and...?

Giant Amazons with swords? GHOST Amazons. Suddenly in the road, jumping over his car to attack the cars behind him. Paulina what the FUCK?? She been talking to her Abuela, APPARENTLY. Who's friends aunt's "roomate" was particularly good at communicating with the dead. So OBVIOUSLY Paulina got her to send notes and studied them in secret.

Gotta be able to speak to you future husband's family in their native language. You win brownie points. Gives her a step up. "Not the point"? It's kind of a point! Giant warrior women! Who-?

Paulina made friends while practicing.

Of course she did. Why is he even REMOTELY surprised she chose the giant terrifying Amazons to be beasties with? He's know her for years. He should know better by now.

.....he feels small asking. Hates that his voice shakes. But... but what do they DO, 'Lina?

What he hates even more is the little shake in his childhood friends voice, even though she's trying to sound certain and strong. What they Do? What they DO is Dash drives his ass the her house, gets in her BETTER car, which she is going to load up, and they leave Amity.

She has LOADS of money. All sorts of jewelry. They're very last season. Frankly, she.. she can't WAIT to pawn them if they have too. They just have to drive. Get Phantom as far away from those freaks as possible. Get help.

And? It could go so many ways from there? Paulina LOVES Phantom. How will she reconcile that with her views on Fenton? How will Dash? Seperated from their roles as "the popular ones" and "the crazy people's son". Knowing that... that Danny likes her TOO.

But she's been AWFUL to him. She said so much. DID so much.

Do the even? LIKE each other? Or just the IDEA of each other? The person they made up in their heads.

They're afraid, tired, on the run. But free from school, the expectations of others, the baked in histories of a small town. Who ARE they as people? Do they like each other? COULD they?

I want to believe that Paulina really means it. That no one is at their best in middle and high school. They say and do stupid, mean, shallow shit. Because the world presses and presses and tells them it's all they are worth. Because they don't know who they ARE yet. Because she is a child. Not yet eighteen.

And Danny isn't perfect either. He saw a pretty, pretty face and got distracted by it. Didn't see how HARD she works. How smart she is. How ambitious and brilliant at reading people.

Are they trying to get to an Embassy? To Paulina's extended Family to the south, who would most certainly take them in, and would gladly fight gods for them? Or is this a crossover? Are they going towards other Heros? Older ones?

Is Paulina planning to pull a Lois Lane and Cause Problems On Purpose? Is Dash HAUNTED by "oh fuck, Wes was right." And now knows he's gonna have just... just WALK UP TO THEM. Broad ass daylight. Like "hello, I clearly know your secret identity! Please don't kill me!"?

Whatever the plan? Danny is in the back row of Paulina's once nice, now beat to hell car, bleeding irresistibly damaging acidic ecto-blood all over the seats. Wrapped up like a mummy. Texting Tucker.

The live tweets from Amity are... An Event. A Spectacle for the ages. His parents KNOW now, have speed run their grief STRAIGHT to RAGE, directed that rage at the GIW, and gone to WAR. Once a Fenton, always a Fenton. Jazz was right. "Anti-ghost" sentience testing once a week DID pay off.

Was it a pain in the ass? Absolutely. But results don't lie. He clearly passed. Is clearly sentient, emotional, and their son. All in hard numbers they ran themselves. Will it stop them attack FULL ghosts? Jazz has no idea. But it sure did convince them to put the GIW in a hole and fill it with concrete.

Danny's getting reports of "you SHOT MY BABY!" Being shouted in public. Sam has decided to channel her frustration at being unable to help him into Full Goth Dramatic Shit Stirring. Non-waterproof mascara, disheveled hair. Clutching a picture of him. Dramatic howling and weeping in the arms of her parents.

Apparently now that he's presumed DEAD, the Mansons ALWAYS loved him. Like a SON to them. A sweet, innocent child. Their daughters friend! The GIW are monsters and child killers, they decry.

And the Red Huntress is... Oh, yikes. Yeah he should call her. Val is one more bad thing happening from her villian origin story. At least she... PROBABLY... has killed anyone yet. Note to self: when Danny can actually move torso again, buy Valerie soothing anti-stress...everything. All the things. She responds to stress by punching. Deliver from safe, non-punchable distance.

All in all? My Dash? Needs more Dash! Give the popular kids a chance to prove they aren't just cardboard cut outs! That they can grow beyond the roles high-school and society has pushed them into! Give them some trauma! Why only Danny? Spread the psychic damage!

@stealingyourbones @hdgnj @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DP x DC prompt. ~“Unstable connection”~ Dead on main.

Part 9.3. "A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you." — Elbert Hubbard

~~~~~

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7.

Part 8. Part 9. New: Part 9.1. Part 9.2. Part 9.3.

Part 10. Part 11. Part 12. Meme break №1. Part 13.

Roy: Look, I’m deeply flattered that you decided to talk about your feelings with me because you bats are allergic to them, but you’re seriously telling me that you’re texting a guy from out of Gotham? What for?

Jason: Do I need a reason?

Roy: Usually not, but I know you’re paranoid.

A cookie flies straight into Roy’s head.

Jason: Shut up. I know how to relax. He’s just a guy. No harm from boyf- a friend.

Roy: What you see in him? No, I rather have to ask how he tolerates you. I deserve a reward for being your best friend.

Jason: Hey, actually, I like Bizarro a lot more, just so you know, jerk. And we actually have more in common than it seems. He gets along with dead people who hang out in his town a lot. And.. I don’t know, okay? It’s just easy to talk to him, and he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would yell if he found out about me something weird for any other stranger. He feels like home. Safe one. I can rest when I talk to him, you know?

Roy: So you trust him? With everything?

Jason: I’m not an idiot and I’m not going to reveal everything until we talk offline. I don’t even know if I want to. Of course he’s not afraid of the undead from his town and he didn’t convict Hood for his actions when I asked him for his opinion, but talking about a specific person and some vigilante from the shadows is different. I don’t want him to be afraid of me or be disappointed in me. But somehow part of me believes that he will take this side of me. I sent him a picture with knives on my thighs, and he didn’t care. And one time, I messed up the chats and I sent him a threat that was meant to check on my new guys. He yelled at me. Because I could be reported to the police.

Roy: Well, if you like him, just try not to screw it up.

Jason: I’m trying. And by the way if Dick finds out about our conversation, I’ll throw you in the river.

Roy: Dude, you’ve known me for years! I bet you don’t threaten your lover like that! Have some trust.

Jason: Okay. So, I don’t know what to do, Roy. Fenton is perfect. But he’s a civilian. Phantom looks dead handsome but I know almost nothing about him. And what I know I learned from Danny. And now the fic that I’m writing is full of adult-rated scenes. Of course, I don’t add them to my work on ao3, but it’s still so weird.

Roy: Have you tried sending this to Fenton? With any luck, he’ll take it as flirting.

Jason: What? Hell no! He thinks I’m a mercenary for Red Hood. He’s gonna think I have wet fantasies about my boss and I’m gonna lose all self-respect, and he’s gonna block me and...

Roy: Okay, okay, slow down a little. We both know you’re weird, but you’re not that weird. And he’s not even your boyfriend. So his opinion doesn’t really matter.

Jason *whispers*: He's my husband. And it does.

Roy: Dude, I mean, I support your vibe but isn’t this guy supposed to know that he’s gonna have the title of the husband of a crime lord first.

Jason: Fair.

~~~~~~~

~Next morning~

Dick: So, I heard my Little Wing has a boyfriend. What’s his name? When are you bringing him to the family dinner?

Jason:…I’m gonna kill Harper. ~~~~~~~

Bizarro *on his way to tell all to Artemis and impress his good friend’s boyfriend*. First, he can leave a Red Hood doll by the window of a couple of his friend. It’ll help him understand that Bizarro isn’t dangerous and then the boy will want to be his friend too. Good plan, Pup Pup!

[currentfandomkick]

So. Reincarnated!Danny and Tim has taken over my brain. And the trans headcannons for both Tim and Danny, and Kitty and Johnny resulted in what’s below. Debating calling this the RookAU as i like that for Tim’s future solo identity, and color palette wise it reminds of phantom.

Toddler-adjacent Tim with ghosts, Constantine and decent parents below in fic form

Tim was used to seeing people others ignored. The nice lady in the pearl necklace and the pretty green pendant that matches her ring. She’s always with this nice biker who checked Tim over whenever he fell and said he was “a doctor before i kicked the bucket again,” while doing a reflex and booboo check.

The pair had a habit of staying around his neighbors and hovering around a Tim a lot.

No one else said high to them. The biker said its because his shadow was bad luck, but Tim saw it wrap around Batman and Robin before and go through bad guys who stopped fighting as good in a bank robbery before. The biker’s shadow is really a big helper and chooses what type of luck you get.

He’s not sure if the biker worked that out—the one with the 13 on his bike and wore the green skull necklace—there are a lot of bikers that drive through people but no one gets hurt-hurt.

Tim drew a lot of the ignored people in crayon. Some were bleeding but Mr. 13 told him they’re stuck like that as ‘Thats how shades are’ and ruffled Tim’s hair.

Sometimes the pair visited instead of only seeing him when his parents let him go to boundary by their properties. It’s nice, but they’re very weird about names, and Tim.

The woman told him she has a few names, and so does her husband. She said Tim could give them names too! Having a lot made you safer and stronger.

The biker calls her “kitty” a lot so she has to be a Catherine, but sometimes she’s “Martha” too. Tim didn’t like the idea of using the biker’s names for her.

She calls the guy Johnny a lot, Thomas and Tom. Tim doesnt know which is their middle names or what crimes they did to use those all the time, but they’re really nice to him! He’s pretty sure he likes being Mr. 13 too!

Sometimes they mention they knew him “before you went round two, little man!” but they don’t call him the name he went by, as “you and your uh, cousin I think you two decided on? Shared a name and your old one was real close to it. So not the best thing to call you that little man.”

Tim chose his name for himself, and Mommy and Daddy got it changed everywhere. No one needs to know, just like no one will know since Mommy and Daddy are very sneaky and are teaching him to be sneaky!

He was still debating if Kitty Martha and Johnny Tom would like to be Miss Pearl and Mr. 13…

The two murmured he needed to be careful about which people he noticed, especially if they were blue or green, or if other people didn’t see them. ‘Shades’ can be tricky and Tim is little enough they can do a lot of damage, according to Pearl.

But the parade of people at home made it hard. There were other people in and out of the various houses he grew up in that his parents and others ignored. Mom called them his ‘imaginary friends’ when he saw them on the street. But they pretend not to see servants and the help too.

Pearl. he liked that for her; Martha Kitty Pearl. She followed him when he left the house and shooed the others away. Sometimes Pearl blew a kiss and a bunch of shades were gone!

Johnny Tom 13’s shadow buddy cursed people sometimes. Mostly it made their phone work worse. Shadow likes cheezits.

Dad thought it was a little funny, feeding the ‘Shadow’ and giving it to the wrong spots. Shadow didn’t care, but Pearl and Johnny didn’t like it.

Dad stopped laughing about it when Tim asked why there was a bird with a person’s face flapping at some of the jars his parents brought home from the latest dig.

Mom knelt down slowly, looking at her work friends and Dad. “Sweetie, can you draw what you saw?”

Bird person noticed he was pointing at them and made a lot of loud angry sounds.

Tim covered his ears and screamed back.

The bird person froze. Tim huffed before grabbing the crayon.

“Sorry, they were too loud. They stopped trying to grab the jar though. Do you still want a picture?”

Dad knelt down beside Mom and nodded slowly.

Mom looked at the jar. “Timmy, should Mommy move it back?”

Tim told her no, the bird person wanted it there and kept moving otherwise.

After showing off his drawing, Mom and Dad changed languages they way they always did when it was a grownup conversation.

The bird person flew over and looked at his drawing, and him.

“Pearl and 13 said I’m not supposed to say hi. But you’re not a shade—are you a meta?”

Tim. Had no clue what the bird person was saying, flapping scuffling about. They pecked his drawing. A lot. They were not, very much not, happy about being there.

Tim frowned. Mom and Dad were talking to their friends in hushed tones, and moving out of the room.

Tim huffed and grabbed a map of the world and put it out for them. The birdperson squaked at him, gesturing to the place they are on it.

Tim pointed to the continent they’re on. “Mom’s friend calls it the ‘new world,’ but it’s been here for longer than I’ve been alive. But shades can be a lot older than me… and you’re not a shade.”

Tim hummed, wishing Pearl or 13 was there. They said you have to speak and feel what you mean sometimes to talk to other ignored people.

“I’m not sure what you are if you’re not a meta. But I think you want to go, go home?” Tim tried to focus on what made home, home. Mom and Dad reading to him together, holidays and singing silly songs. It was warm and an invite to play and rest.

The birdperson flew to him and perched itself on his shoulder.

“You’re very light,” Tim commented. “Do you want any water?” He focused on cups and drinking this time.

The bird person huffed, gently hitting him with their wing.

“Got it. Not thirsty.”

He went back to his book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, and let the angry bird person hop down his shoulder, but stay touching Tim, as they grabbed the crayon and made marks on some paper he left by the map.

His parents came to check in on him and saw the bird person’s drawing on the paper, grabbed his drawing of the bird person, and whisper-yelled enough he knew they were not happy, but not to the point he knew what it was exactly.

“Do you think I did something bad?” Tim asked quietly, with this swirling abyss twisting in his gut.

The bird person ruffled their feathers and said a word that felt like a ‘no.’

A few hours later a man who said he could call him “Connie” came in. His parents kept calling him Constantine. There was a nice floating man with him that everyone but Connie ignored.

Tim waited for them to be distracted and asked the floating man one of the safe questions 13 and Pearl gave him for safe ghosts.

“What do you like to be called?”

The floating man paused, floated lower and stared at him.

“It’s okay, you’re a guest and it’s okay to talk to guests. I chose Tim!” He smiled, hoping his parents didn’t have to bring up his old name.

“Deadman,” the floating man offered his hand.

Tim shook it like Dad does.

“and try not to spread around your name to others ghosts. We can uh, overwhelm the ones who can see us.”

Tim frowned, ignoring his parents’ eyes and Connie’s look as their conversation quieted. They’d just say he was talking to an imaginary friend again.

“Is that what I should call the green and blue people? I know the one with the goop coming out are usually shades.”

“Some of us are obvious with the colors, some are more like me and very pale. Do I look solid to you?”

“If you aren’t a shade you’re solid. It’s why birdie is hard to workout. They’re more see through but feel very solid.”

“Right.” Deadman’s face tightened by the eyes and his mouth. “Most people see through ghosts like air. Sometimes we can be see-through like hair. Its. Not common to see us as solid, even at your age.”

“Oh. Is that why a lot of you glow if you get close? Not a lot, but like, like… sunset hair! but not golden just, other colors, but all of you—everywhere! Shades don’t glow unless they’re changing color.”

“I can’t say for sure, most mediums see me half here, half not.”

That felt familiar. Bird person flew over, absently grooming Tim’s hair with their feathers.

“That sounds annoying. Do you want to watch Blue’s Clues with me while Mom and Dad do the serious stuff? Blue takes a while to get what you’re saying but Mom said she’s hard of hearing and won’t get hearing aides—that’s why Dad said it’s important to learn sign language.”

“Did he?” Deadman asked.

“M’hm!”

Connie explained some adults only thing to his parents while Deadman and Tim tried to make Steve to understand they already knew where Blue was, and know just how bad he is at instructions.

When the episode was over, Tim, Deadman and Birdperson went to knock on the door where his parents were. Or Tim did.

Deadman floated through and told Connie they were ready.

Connie sat him down, and started asking questions Pearl and 13 made him promise not to answer as that’s what exorcists ask before making people go away.

He loves 13 and Pearl, and knows they watch over Mr. Wayne who acts happy when he isn’t. His happy face and his “happy” faces are very different. The “happy” face is more like Steve’s face movements, while his happy face is always soft and barely there if you don’t pay attention.

Tim always pays attention.

“Look kid, I know you can see souls who are stuck between the living realm and the dead realms. Deadman is dead.”

Tim scowled as he knows what dead is—it’s when bodies stop working. Souls and spirits are vastly different. “He’s not Gone or Ended, so he’s not dead-dead-dead. And that’s not uncommon to know or see at my age so bleh!”

“Tim!” His parents tried to chide him.

Connie waved them off and motioned for Tim to continue.

“It’s true! And if I did, then you’d make my friends Ended or Gone and they choose to stay.”

Connie paused at that, making the same face mom does when working out something weird going on in Drake Industries. “Does this guy choose to stay?” He pointed to the bird person.

“No,” Tim answered with a small frown. He did spend a lot of time trying to communicate with them afterall, and the weird ‘feels like’ thing going on. “He wants to go home, but he can’t. I think the jars are like,” Tim trailed off, looking around to find his hotwheels tucked away in a corner. “Like cars to get him home or something.”

Connie hummed. “Not wrong in his case. But, seeing souls can be dangerous kid.”

“Only if they realize you can see ‘em.” Tim argued like Mom does with the investors. “And you invited Deadman in after being made a guest, so that’s allowed.”

“And a friend of yours teach you this?” Connie guessed with the ‘fake knowing’ look his dad used on a bad shareholder before they started listening to Mom.

…Tim can admit he loves being with Pearl and 13 and Shadow. But he’s not sure if friends is the right word. But if he uses the right feeling word around his parents, they’ll get sad and mad and he… he wants them to be happy.

“Nope. Not a friend, but not-not a friend either.”

“Cryptic, little—takes after Janet, huh?”

Tim smiled back at him, even as Mom and Dad share a look where Mom pretends she has no involvement and Dad is trying to get her to admit she is involved.

“I chose me to take after thank you very much.”

Connie snorted. “When you’re older, we can talk about how to use it. Until then, I’m going to give your parents some wards to keep the nasties from you.”

Tim didn’t like it. Or the sudden craving for burgers and shakes.

“Aren’t you going to help Bird Person get home?”

Constantine sighed. “Yeah, I’ll drop ‘im off. Just don’t borrow problems from the dead, okay?”

Tim stayed quiet, trying to work out what that meant.

Connie knelt down. “Its not your responsibility. If you want to try anything, contact me first and we can get you set up as an apprentice for another paranormal detective first and foremost and work it out from there, but that will be a long, long ways out.”

Tim nodded slowly, looking at his parents. Dad had a pinched face. Mom had her Gala Jerk Repellant smile one.

Tim’s heart sank.

“If they look ghostly, ignore them unless everyone can see them. Then you call me.”

Dad didn’t like letting go of their find. Mom hated something about it all.

Maybe that Tim can see secrets and get ghost gossip that she can’t.

When Pearl and 13 moved to the Drake Estate Tim took their hands and introduced them to his parents carefully.

His parents jumped back when Pearl and 13 each put a hand on his shoulders.

“Mom, Dad, this is Pearl and Thirteen.”

Pearl smiled at his parents, her hair more inky and short than her more-usual green shag. “Pleasure to see you two again. Hope

You don’t mind us watching over Timmy here given what tends to try and stick to him.”

“As long as our son is safe and free,” Mom supplied while shaking Pearl’s hand herself.

Tim wondered if this would be another board meeting fight or not.

“Jack,”13 acknowledged.

“Nice to see you again Tommy,” Dad offered his own hand. “Didn’t know Timmy here could uh, bring you back?”

“Likewise, and its 13 nowadays. Tim’s a special case,” 13 explained while ruffling Tim’s hair. “We’re gonna need you two to keep a secret from Old Connie for us about this.”

“Why don’t we work out what we need to do while Tim wears the ‘silence headphones’ we got him and practices his penmanship and drawing?”

“I’ll help him pick out a book!” Jack called, scooping Tim into his arms.

“Pig Pancake!” Tim perked up, squirming out of his grasp and running to find his favorite picture book.

His parents put his headphones on and everything was quiet. Just him and the book. And him trying to draw the pages and wrote like the letters on the page.

Kitty waved a hand infront of him to get his attention.

13 pointed at his ears.

Tim took off his headphones.

“Tim,” Mom began. “We came to an agreement. When your father and I are not here or are busy, Martha—yes I know it’s Pearl too I was getting there dear—will stay with you. Shadow will stay with their son if they’re both with you, and Tom—Thirteen—will go between the two of you.”

Tim kicked his feet. “So no Nanny?”

“Yes you still have a nanny when we’re not around sweetheart,” Dad answered. “But you also have Pearl to play with and keep you out of bad trouble.”

“Like the rogues when they break into schools?” Tim asked.

“Exactly sweetie,” Mom smiled. “Pearl is very good at making problems go bye-bye, and can get you somewhere safe. But we have to keep it a secret from Connie when he visits to make sure the wards on the house and the repulsions we’ll be putting on you to keep nasties away are working, alright?”

A smile bloomed on Tim’s face as he nodded along.

“Can Pearl and me play mario kart now?”

“What am I, chopped liver?” 13 bemoaned.

“Yep! C’mon Pearl, you can be Bowser this time—he’s the coolest!”

[whereonceiwasfire]

Look. Look. I am as invested as the next person in a nuanced, well-developed exploration of the fractured relationship between the college trio, but I contain multitudes, and also just really need more AUs in my life where Maddie actually knows Vlad is now a ghost loser simp intent on getting Jack out of the picture and plans on ctrl-v-ing himself in his ex-best-friend's place like a badly photoshopped family picture, because I think this has the potential to be absolutely HILARIOUS.

Neither of them tells Jack because Maddie can't bear to break her husband's heart by revealing the truth about their long-lost friend, and Vlad won't tell him because, on top of the obvious reasons, Jack also keeps inviting Vlad to stuff. Family dinner? Danny's school events? Camping trips? It's remarkably convenient as it puts him in a great position to play Uncle Vlad until he can successfully enact his bonkers plan.

Except now, in addition to Danny knowing Vlad is up to no good and being very much not on board with the Fruitloop's whole shtick, Maddie's in the same boat too. But Maddie and Danny are keeping this info from each other because she still doesn't/can't know her son is Phantom and if Danny outs Vlad, Vlad will turn around and spill his little secret too. And for Maddie's part, she probably just doesn't want her son knowing that Vlad is a ghost. It's a bad look to admit you've welcomed a specter from the afterlife into your house (on multiple occasions) when you've spouted off how dangerous these creatures are since your kiddos could walk.

This sets up a scenario where you've got Jack: oblivious, Danny: trying not to reveal his secret while also keeping Vlad from murdering his dad, Maddie: being a badass ghost hunter protecting her family and blasting Vlad into next Tuesday every chance she gets, and Vlad: just, being very...Vlad about everything. Chaos and hilarity ensues.

Can you see my vision?

Jack's humming to himself while making dinner, back turned, unaware anything is amiss as Maddie saves his life, firing a blaster at Plasmius and sending him through a wall before he can attack her husband. She immediatley hides the ecto-weapon behind her back, giving a too-enthusastic "how was your day sweetie!" when Danny walks in the door, brows raised. Jack turns around at the interruption, giving a bright, oblivious, "Where'd Vladdy go?!" which prompts a groan and a "that guy's here again?" from Danny.

Maddie and Danny can bond over their shared aversion to Vlad's general existance, though neither of them admit there's a little more to it than just "he's an arrogant asshole." Or, better yet, they're both putting on the facade, keeping up pretenses, pretending they don't despise the dude, because how are they supposed to explain why they despise the dude? Vlad is impossibly amused by the whole song and dance they're doing, because of course, he's the only one who realizes that Maddie and Danny both know he's a half ghost and are keeping that from each other. And like, as if he's going to let them in on that little tidbit unless it directly benefits him.

Sometimes Maddie and Danny run into awkward situations where they're both trying to protect Jack, but they don't realize it, and they can't be overt about it without the other person realizing what's going on. "Don't you have homework? You go do that, I'll check on your father and...uncle Vlad." "Oh, no, no, don't you worry about it, you're so busy, Mom. I can go check on them!" "That's really not necessary. I don't mind at all." Meanwhile, Vlad is in the kitchen like "why don't you check that cooking oil with your face, Jack? Oh, I know it sounds unorthodox, but I swear that's how they do it in France."

[thehollowwriter]

Listen ya'll I know I'm literally the one who decides to make Finn and Silas cookie cutter sharks, but I'm ngl, at the time it was just cause I Iike cookie cutter sharks. I didn't realise it was accidentally thematically significant until later *wheeze*

Just a warning for discussions of cannabilism, fantasy racism, bullying, and some shark skull pictures under the cut. Also pretty pretty please read this for cookie cutter shark stuff, it's not very long XD

A big part of both Finn and Silas' lives (plus Morrigan's) was being percieved as more monstrous, animalistic, and dangerous, and even parasitic, partially due to Silas being from the Abyss, and partially because they don't look as human as other mers.

I have a hc (mostly because of Azul's backstory tbh) that throughout the many centuries of coexistence, human cultures and standards began influencing those of the merfolk.

Over time, more human looking mers (ones that look like your typical human idea of a mermaid e.g Ariel) came to be viewed as more civilised and desirable, while your more "animalistic mers" (such as Jade, Floyd, and Azul, tho even they still look quite human) that are a harder pill to swallow for humans came to be viewed as animalistic, stupid, and dangerous.

Essentially, the former were pretty fantasy creatures, and the latter were horror movie monsters.

Silas especially suffers from this due to being from the Abyss, and though his reputation is somewhat better than when he first came to Atlantica or during the time Morrigan died, he's still viewed as:

1. A creepy, violent cannibal just waiting for a chance to grab the next good hardworking citizen to devour, despite the fact that he hasn't eaten another merfolk in almost thirty years

2. A parisite (leeching off Morrigan, taking other people's money) despite the fact that he's self supporting (Can't be entitled to your dead husband's money or belongings when you aren't legally married bc you don't legally exist 🤷‍♂️ so it all goes to your shitty in-laws who hate you)

However I would be lying if I said that parisite imagery didn't work for Silas. Hell, his UM is parasitic in nature to reflect the life he jad to live in the Abyss, and even my idea for his OB phantom is the plush shark gorging on the ink bottle (and maybe the "cap" of the bottle puncturing the phantom's head and sticking out the other side like it ate too much)

His quiet nature, job as a butcher, and few ventures into public lets rumours run wild, which doesn't work out well for either him or Finn. And that's not even touching on the fact that when he does talk to others, if they're not acting like he's gonna suddenly lunge at them, they talk to him like he's stupid ("This is a phone, see!" Type behaviour yk) and only seem to take him serious when he copies Morrigan's more upper-class way of talking.

Finn, although certainly not treated anywhere near as badly as Silas, isn't free from coming under fire either. He may be treated with a very odd form of pity due to being raised by "someone like him (Silas)", but that's drowned out by being seen as a creepy problem child that upsets and scares his classmates. He's always been indirectly told he doesn't act "normal" and that something is "wrong", which is often blamed on either Silas or Finn's "nature."

Finn is largely avoided by other merfolk, whether it be fear of him attacking (mixed with a fear of the feeling the ghosts get others) or being lured by him to Silas, as some rumours went. Some children are banned from interacting with Finn or Silas entirely. For those who are more daring, they're quickly put off by Finn's unusual silence and "weird" or gross interests.

There are few who try and tease or bully Finn, and fewer who do it continuously, but those who do mostly target Finn's appearance (fat, "ugly" teeth, "ugly" shade of green, claws, too small, etc) and behaviour ("creep", dumb, too sensitive, weirdo, "doesn't talk/doesn't talk right", etc) or take advantage of his size to try knock him around (this ends poorly)

Cookie cutter sharks themselves are technically parasites, but not in the way people think. They are not true parasites, instead they are facultative ectoparasites. Although they do engage in parasitism, they don't depend on it to survive and do in fact hunt other sea creatures such as squid, like other sharks do. However, most people only know them as parasites that only feed off bigger creatures, similarly to how Silas (and by extention, Finn) is viewed.

Not only that, but cookie cutter sharks used to be called "demon whale biters" before they got their current name. It fits pretty well with Finn and Silas being seen as monstrous/demonic despite being extremely unlikely to attack anyone unprovoked and just want to be left alone.

Cookie cutter sharks are largely acknowledged to not be very pretty either. One of their nicknames is the "cigar shark" due to apparently looking like a rolled up cigar, and an article even described them as "ugly pencils" at one point. Their teeth aren't considered pretty either. I've actually got good pictures of cookie cutter shark skulls here:

Funnily enough, people do like more well-known sharks and even find them more pretty or even cute. Even their sharp and dangerous teeth are more palatable in a way since they appear more "neat" and appealingly organised.

This again fits with Finn, as Ariel-like shark mers are regarded pretty highly and found to be cool, strong and attractive (though this would probably be due to more acceptance of those kinds of mers in the recent past) while Finn's seen almost like a little freakshow of sorts.

So yeah that's my lil symbolism(?) ramble of the day lol

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @sillyslipperybananapeel @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @moonyasnow @skibidibabygirl

@quartztwst @yuizenihaswriten @devosin @oya-oya-okay @b0njourbeach

@kirans-wonderland @jovieinramshackle @lumdays

@coffinkissez

@tixdixl @distant-velleity @ramshacklerumble

[babycandle]

kindergarten teacher!reader x john price imagine 🖍️🧨❤️‍🩹

You first meet John when he comes to pick up his niece and nephew with his sister-in-law.

According to Lucy, his brother’s wife, he’s a government worker who is constantly traveling for work, and the kids missed their super cool uncle dearly. You’d heard many stories from the kids themselves, but this Uncle John remained sort of an enigma to you, like an imaginary friend.

Nothing could have prepared you for the real Uncle John.

He stands at a good head (and maybe half) taller than you, dressed in a casual navy shirt and utilitarian cargo trousers, a baseball cap embroidered with the British flag atop his head. Thick facial hair covers most of his lower face, but it doesn't do much to hide the bright smile he gets as soon as he lays eyes on the kids. The ease with which he picks up his niece and nephew, Olivia and Oliver, nearly leaves you breathless – not to mention, the sight of his thick, fuzzy arms flexing and unflexing as he tosses a kid over each shoulder, eliciting delighted squeals from them both.

(In some decrepit corner in your mind, you wonder if he could do the same to you. Probably.)

As you're chatting with her and updating her about her kids’ day, Lucy motions him over so she can introduce you to each other. “This is my husband's brother, John!”

“Hello there, lass.”

The smooth, brassy tones of his voice wash over you like a tidal wave that you’d happily drown in. You introduce yourself as the kids’ kindergarten teacher, and he gives you a good-natured smile as his niece and nephew start climbing all over him like a tree. “I hope they haven't been causing you much trouble,” he chuckles, a twinkle in his eye.

You try your best to swallow the dryness in your mouth. “Of course not! It’s a joy to watch them learn and grow everyday,” you reply sheepishly, clearing your throat as you avert your gaze.

You're too busy internally cursing yourself for not looking a bit more put together; there's dirt and sand all over the bottom half of your overalls, paint splatters going all the way up your arms and maybe even on your face, and your hair is matted and frizzy. Self-consciously scuffing the soles of your sneakers against the floor as you try and fail to get the sand off of it, you miss the way his gaze rakes over you from head to toe, the corner of his mouth curling in interest.

It's at that exact moment that Lucy plucks her kids off of John and hands them each their backpack to carry themselves. You deflate a little, knowing that that's their cue to leave.

However, you instantly perk back up again when John turns to you, his arms now empty, and extends a hand for you to shake. “‘Twas a pleasure meeting you, lass. Hope to see you around more often, yeah?”

Your heart catches in your throat as you reach out to shake his hand. When he grabs you in a firm, warm grip, you feel his calloused fingerpads brush over the back of your hand, and you have to suppress a shiver from running down your back.

“It was nice meeting you too, John.” You offer him a shy smile, praying that your cheeks don't look as warm as they feel.

You distantly wonder if you were imagining his touch lingering just a tad too long before he finally lets go.

As he turns around to leave with his family, you're quickly whisked away by the other kids demanding your attention. Consequently, you don't notice the way his eyes stay on you even as he walks out the gates, nor do you notice the way his sister-in-law waggles her eyebrows at him suggestively as soon as they're out of earshot.

You don't have high hopes of seeing him after that, of course. Maybe it's just the fact that you've been single for several years since your first serious relationship ended – yes, you convince yourself, that's why you can't stop thinking about him all night. That's why you still feel the weight of his hand in yours, the brush of his fingers on your skin tickling like a phantom touch. That's why the sound of his voice echoes in your mind like a broken record, and that's why you keep thinking back to the way his eyes crinkled when he looked fondly at his niece and nephew.

But you can't deny the way your chest squeezes when, the next day at kindy, he comes by to pick up the kids again – this time, alone.

bonus (an alternative pov):

There's a very short, concise list of the things Price lives for. Since the birth of his brother’s daughter, she’s been undoubtedly added to the top of that list. Then followed the birth of his nephew as well, who obviously followed suit and quickly became a serious contender for the number one spot.

He makes it a point to visit his brother’s family every single time he gets time off without fail. The kids grow up absolutely adoring their super cool, super strong uncle who always comes back from his business trips with funny stories to share. (Their favourite activity to do with him is hanging off his arm, almost using it like a monkey bar.)

So, when he’s finally granted leave after nearly a year of bouncing all over the world and eliminating several apocalypse-level threats, the first thing he does is call his brother and fly back straight to them.

He lands while the kids are at kindergarten, so when Lucy offers to bring him along to pick them up, he jumps at the chance. (He made sure to take a very thorough shower before hopping on the flight here, not wanting a single speck of dirt from foreign lands or speck of blood on him. Even so, before he leaves with Lucy, he takes extra care to wash his hands and scrub underneath his fingernails again. Just in case.)

It goes without question that he's absolutely over the moon to see Olivia and Oliver – the sight of them running to him, screaming his name in joy is nearly enough to make him melt. He sweeps them up in his arms, holding onto them like a lifeline.

Occupied with the kids for a few minutes, he glances up to see where Lucy has gone. Then, he sees you.

You're chatting with Lucy, your smile bright and your eyes brighter. There's wildflowers tucked into every pocket on your overalls and rainbows of paint on your arms, as well as a smudge of yellow on the side of your cheek. The soft afternoon sunlight hits your hair at just the right angle that it highlights the stray strands of hair on your head, making you look like you're wearing a halo.

For a moment, all the bustle and noise around him winds down into a fuzzy, white silence. You're the prettiest thing he's ever laid eyes on.

[flowerandblood]

Sweetly desire, bitterly deprive

Halloween Request Oneshots Series

[ Victorian Horror • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, partial rape, choking, violence, murder and suicide, obsession ]

[ description: Lost in his own emptiness and cold, Aemond lives with his family in their large estates, wandering their halls like a ghost, lost in his own madness. One day, his mother's friend arrived at their manor with her husband and daughter. He becomes obsessed with her, which leads to a series of unfortunate events. Obsessive, delving into madness, poetic, very dark! Aemond. ]

This oneshot is my idea and a reference to the wonderful work of Edgar Allan Poe, his Eleanor and Morella and is created with Halloween in mind, so unlike what I usually write, these fisc will be very dark and uncomfortable. Keep this in mind before you start reading.

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him that something in him had disappeared, collapsed when he lost his left eye − he had partly ceased to be human and had become some kind of caricatured creature, menacing, tall as a tower, pale and cold as marble.

He had never lacked anything − his family was wealthy, owning many mansions all over the country, all identically decorated, sumptuously adorned with portraits of their ancestors looking at him melancholy and proudly out of the canvas, continually judging him.

He had the impression that at night their faces changed − his great-grandmothers and great-grandfathers seemed suddenly to be some kind of phantoms, their faces contorted, displeased at the sight of him, his existence.

He still felt watched, he felt overwhelmed, he felt that something hovered over him, but he could not name this premonition, this certainty.

He had tried to explain it to his mother once, but she had looked at him with such concerned, frightened eyes that he decided he would never mention it again.

He knew that his family considered him insane − a man out of his mind, irrational, aggressive in his words, with a gaze that cut like a sharp blade, making interlocutors turn their faces away from him, unable to bear it.

He saw her for the first time when she arrived at their residence with her parents, Mr and Mrs Orwell, at the invitation of his mother, who had been friends with Mrs Orwell as a child. He watched closely her small, graceful figure standing in the corridor behind her parents, her gaze lowered downwards, thoughtful.

She shuddered as if she subconsciously sensed that she was being watched and glanced in his direction − her pupils dilated suddenly, as if from a dream world she had returned to earth with the cruel pull of some unknown force, as if his figure, his silhouette had crushed her.

They stared at each other for too long to be considered in accordance with good manners − only when her parents walked into the living room where he sat did he rise from his chair, reminding himself of such a basic thing as breathing, and straightened up, folding his arms behind him, allowing himself to introduce the people who would be guests in their home from now on.

He knew that Miss Orwell could feel his burning gaze on her, fleeing from him to the far end of the room, looking at the books stacked on the shelves of the old oak bookcase.

He watched from behind her beautiful neck, her hair pinned up in a bun and braids framing her head on either side − her gown was sewn from a delicate, light-coloured fabric, its cut was simple, perfectly emphasising her figure, her almost bare shoulders.

Her neck and her shoulders drove him mad.

The perfect curve of the transition of one part of her body into the other, her shiny, soft skin, the softness of the shape that was forming.

Then he lifted his gaze higher and discovered her slightly rounded, short, proportionate nose, forming a perfect angle with her straight, smooth forehead, the totality of this view framed by her eyes like precious stones, bright, shining, surrounded by long lashes like veils, emphasising its depths, giving her an aura of mystery.

Finally, he struggled to dare to shift his attention to the most intimate exposed part of her body, her fleshy, full, pink lips, both pressed against each other, still remaining virtually imperceptibly parted, the point of their contact seeming incredibly soft and moist.

He saw her throw him an uncertain, frightened look and clench her hands in front of her, not knowing how to act, how to dissuade him − she only relaxed when his sister, Helaena, walked into their living room.

They greeted each other as if they were old friends − even though they were seeing each other for the first time, they grasped each other's hands and from then on they were inseparable.

He often watched them through the window, seeing their silhouettes move unhurriedly ahead of them through their vast park, discussing with each other something in a cheerful voice and laughing, their pearly sounds reaching his ears muffled by the glass.

In his presence, her smile disappeared from her face, her laughter died in her throat and a faint dread coated her, her pupils dilated suddenly, her lips pressed together in fear.

His tall figure standing over her frightened her, his hands folded stiffly behind his back seemed frozen like a stone − unable to make a sound near him, she lowered her gaze quickly, terrified.

One day, however, she dared to take a step towards him − a step towards the unknown, as, realising that he spent every evening by candlelight sitting in their library reading books, she joined him.

He watched her every move vigilantly, not taking his eye off her − her delicate figure strolled around the room in a light, slow motions, her hands folded in front of her in a humble gesture.

He could not express how melancholic and heavenly she looked walking like that in the faint light of the candles, her person seemed as if enveloped in a mist, a glow.

He felt himself to be merely an observer of events, a point to which all her presence referred, being a counterbalance to her subtlety, spread out around her like the blackness of the night that surrounded them.

She looked at him at last, for the first time as if she really wanted to see him, what was inside him, what was inside his heart, inside his mind − he looked at her with empty eye, knowing that there was only nothingness there, an abyss, a coldness without end or measure.

He was surprised at her courage, at how confidently she walked towards him, standing by his side, looking over his shoulder, wanting to see what he was reading.

He did not turn his head behind her − he only watched the shadow of her silhouette out of the corner of his eye − he could feel beside himself the warmth emanating from her body, her scent, the rustling of her gown made him feel a tickle in his fingers.

"Machiavelli. What a brutal choice." She whispered, but there was no disapproval or judgement in her word, more a soft surprise − there was something in the way she said the last sentence, in the way the tip of her tongue clicked as she uttered the syllables, that made him lick his lower lip involuntarily, turning the page.

"Brutal?" He asked lowly, hearing the timbre of his own voice, glassy, cutting like a blade, clear, assured, cool.

He heard her swallow quietly and draw in the air, her body standing beside him somehow enveloping him in her existence, pleasantly teasing all his senses.

"Cesare Borgia was his ideal of a ruler. That says enough about him." She said lowly − he heard her avert her gaze thoughtfully, looking at some point in the distance.

Involuntarily, the tip of his tongue ran over his lower lip, moistening it − he grinned at her words, shifting in his seat.

"They are both no longer among us and have no way to defend themselves from your cruel judgement." He murmured softly, lifting his eyes to her at last.

Their gazes crossed, her eyes at once full of uncertainty and curiosity − he had the feeling that her figure was quivering and trembling, too filled with life, the desire to breathe, to move, to feel.

They looked at each other and he knew that they had both experienced this when he first saw her, when they were unable to stop, when they both realised that something was happening between them that they could not tell anyone about.

He didn't know how it happened, what moved his loins to stand up, towering over her to grab her with ease and seat her on the table. He decided that it was just purest curiosity, as his fingertips ran over her shoulder, over that gorgeous arm, and traveled up the hill of the length of her neck, his hand tightened around it, again, merely in curiosity, and he found to his surprise that it fit there perfectly.

He looked at her face, into her eyes glittering like the most expensive precious stones darkened by the veil of her lashes, looking at him hazy, hesitant, at once fearful and devoted, wanting and demanding. When he took a step towards her her thighs spread in front of him like a book, as if it were the most natural of reflexes that didn't even surprise him.

Without letting go of her gorgeous neck he began to travel and explore the mysterious nooks and crannies of her body occupying his mind, the finger of his free hand lifting tentatively the material of her gown and her petticoat, running over her ankle covered from him by the soft material.

He ran his hand upwards, higher and higher, as if running his finger over to the surface of the water, until he reached the soft, surprisingly hot skin of her naked thigh and they both parted their lips, looking at each other wordlessly, breathing deeply.

His fingers ran over her flesh as if it were the keys of a piano, pressing her skin, and made their way to what was between her thighs, to what he could feel the pulsing heat from, the source of her trembling, of her sleepless nights.

She let out a shuddering, sweet sigh as he touched her there and found her sticky moisture, with circular motions collecting it on his fingers, both of them looking at each other as if surprised by this discovery, this disturbing, intimate act.

With each movement of his fingers, with each circle across her warmth, her thighs spread wider and wider in front of him, her body finding support on her palms placed on the table top, her breasts hidden under her gown rising and falling, her hips beginning to meet his movements.

He had the feeling that they were both in a trance, that they didn't understand what they were doing and didn't want to understand it − they weren't thinking about it or judging it, they were simply discovering a new experience, testing the taste of the sweet, unspoken secret that hid deep between her thighs, the loud, shameless click of her wetness accompanying every flick of his hand.

He licked his lips when at last the tip of his finger met the tight slit between her folds which throbbed with heat, wet and pulsing. Encouraged by this intriguing discovery, he slid his finger there, wanting to see what she felt like inside − he found with interest that her core was rough and fleshy, throbbing and slick, clenching steadily on his skin, her head arched back with a cry of exertion.

He slid his finger deeper, feeling it stretch her entire structure, pushing deep into her flesh, and a quiet, ungodly mewl erupted from her lips, her eyes clenched, her mouth parted in something akin to elation, delight.

He felt his body react, a pleasant heat and pulsation in his erection, the same as he felt inside her − he thought they were like two parts of the same thing, like two sides of the same story, beginning and end, day and night, sun and moon.

Just as everything had its companion, just as the world had for centuries misunderstood the nature of loneliness, telling people to discover the joys of living with someone, man and woman were destined to explore themselves with amazement.

He slipped his finger out of her and, with a light, unhurried movement, untied the fabric of his breeches, lowering them slightly so that she could not see what was beneath them, hiding that sickeningly physical, animalistic sight beneath her gown.

She knew what was about to happen, and though she didn't understand it, she felt subconsciously that from the moment they looked at each other they were destined to connect, to take something and give something to each other.

She trembled all over as he directed the tip of his length with his palm against her burning, hot entrance, her body instantly refusing this sudden, unholy act of divine violation.

"− don't −" He hissed coolly, and she froze, looking at him tearfully, letting him force the pink head of his erection, dripping with his moisture, inside her.

With surprising patience and devotion she endured the discomfort of fitting him inside her, a weary, helpless sob came from her lips − he opened her slowly on his manhood, bit by bit, stretching her tight muscles, sinking into the warmth of her flesh.

He realised suddenly that he was inside her, that he was her and she was him.

That they were a whole, that he would never be complete again without her.

His hand tightened around her neck and did not let her escape, slamming into her with a quiet grunt of sickening pleasure, sliding into her so deeply that she throbbed, seeking fulfillment in it, any kind of relief.

He gave in to his animal instinct, the feeling that he craved to rub against her, craved for her to squeeze him, craved to move inside her − the thrusts of his hips were violent, intense, deep, sure, as if taking her, filling her with himself again and again, physical stretching of her body with his flesh was written into his nature.

Their bodies pounded against each other with wet, loud clicks of her moisture as if they were fighting, as if he was about to pierce her with himself − her head was tilted back, her expression showing simultaneous delight and horror at this unexpectedly pleasurable act.

She was panting along with him, giving herself over completely to his brutal thrusts, needed to be filled, to be satisfied.

"− you won't escape from me − you know that, don't you? − I'm going to fill you −" He growled between one quick, hard slap of his hips and the next, and she only mewled a desperate plea, refusing and at the same time asking him to do it, writhing beneath him, her face all flushed with pleasure.

"− no − please − God, forgive me −" She cried out with difficulty, tears of effort, pain and delight running down her cheeks, her body leaning back, surrendering at last.

He felt her insides suddenly clench violently against him and begin to convulse, a moan of sweet suffering came from her lips, her body shook with a wave of something he was yet to understand.

This sight made him speed up instead of slowing down, feeling that something was about to happen, that he was already so close.

"− yes − don't resist me − fuck! −" He cursed for the first time in his life, feeling that his whole body was in a hot frenzy, his hips moving deep inside her throughout her fulfilment, her hands trying fruitlessly to push him away with her loud, broken moans, unable to take any more, overstimulated and sensitive.

He made a low, throaty, animalistic sound as a wave of pleasure shook him − he felt his own fluid spilling over her insides, filling her like wine fills a chalice, and he thought it made him feel the most natural reflex in his life, the filling and that she felt exactly the same way about the sensation of being filled, as if it was her primal, most important need.

Not to be empty.

They stared at each other, breathing loudly, feeling the fog around them begin to blur and disappear, their vision began to sharpen, their cool judgement returned to their minds, and with horror they realised at last what they had done.

They pulled away from each other in pain, both feeling that the fact that they were no longer one was unnatural, ungodly, against some fundamental law.

They were incomplete again.

They were imperfect again.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she corrected her gown in despair − she stepped down from the table and ran out of the room with a loud, broken sob, terrified of their act, of what consequences it might bring.

He tied his breeches back, sitting down in his chair with difficulty and listened to the intense pounding of his heart, staring blankly ahead, trying to calm his breathing, feeling more empty than ever.

Over the next few days she avoided him again, her face even paler than when he first saw her − he had the feeling that she was in a progressive agony, that she was dying before his eyes.

Wanting to put an end to their torment, one morning he moved after her, seeing that she had gone for a walk through their park, and asked for her hand.

Only then did she confess to him, crying with unspeakable pain, that her fiancé had been waiting for her for weeks.

He felt like he had fallen into a state of complete emptiness and wasn't sure he understood her words.

He even thought they were amusing as he sat in the living room, taking a sip of wine from his glass, chuckling under his breath, much to the consternation of those gathered.

It wasn't until several hours later that people began to be concerned about her disappearance.

He took no part in the search.

As he walked down the corridor of his mansion in the evening heading towards his room, he looked at the appraising faces of his grandparents, their eyes seemingly bulging, terrified, their lips clenched as if in rage.

He began to rip portrait after portrait off the wall, destroying frames and canvases, causing a commotion all around him − his mother tried to calm him down, but he broke free from her embrace.

It was only when he walked into his bedroom that he noticed her silhouette, pale and corpse-like, her eyes wide open, looking towards the door as if she was waiting for him, his bedclothes all covered in her blood.

He saw out of the corner of his eye an open window facing straight into their park and realised that she had broken in here, taken his letter knife and slit her wrists.

He approached her slowly, feeling the pounding of his heart, the sweat on the back of his neck as he noticed the bruises on her neck, a clear marks matching his hands that he was sure he hadn't seen when he had spoken to her that morning.

How could that be?

He glanced at the floor out of the corner of his eye and saw his shirt, all dirty from the sand and grass.

He began to breathe deeply, feeling the whole room swirl around him.

He pushed from his mind the sight of her terrified face, the sight of her tears when she fell with him to the ground, when he told her that he was empty without her, that he had filled her with himself and she could not be anyone else's, just as he could never be anyone else's again.

It seemed to him that she had come to terms with his words, for she stopped struggling, looking at him with affection, and he praised and comforted her, telling her that the end would come soon, that she would fall asleep, that she would not be in pain.

When she stopped moving and fainted he took her body in his arms, numb and spilling in his fingers, and walked as if in a trance through his open window into his bedroom.

He laid her on his bed, where she belonged, right beside him, and left, longing to return to her in the night, believing that she had fallen into an eternal sleep.

She woke up.

She finished his work.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[gold-snek-hoe]

Hello and welcome to Opinions from an Internet Nobody. Today's essay:

"Ger therapy" is the new "You need Jesus": One Weirdo's Navigation through Cultural Shame

This is a supposedly well-meaning sentiment that is often weaponized against people who are behaving outside of perceived cultural norms. It's a favorite of homophobes who see queerness/transness as a mental illness, but I've been seeing it used to demonize kink (which historically is often linked to queerness), and more generally any "weird" behavior that makes people uncomfortable.

For example, otherkin, systems (especially those with fictives), and people who take fictional characters as partners. Y'know, "weirdos" who "can't separate reality from fiction." And, sure, sometimes there can be a problem with that distinction, but I know as well as you that most internet strangers saying "get therapy" don't actually give a shit about the mental health of those they target. It's code for "your behavior makes me uncomfortable, stop it."

Same sentiment as "you need Jesus."

This has actually taken me a long time to figure out. I've been in therapy for my entire adult life, working through various traumas, severe depression, anxiety, all that. Those were the biggest problems as they negatively impacted, and often endangered, my life. It was only after my hospitalization in 2020, where I was finally put on much needed medication, that I could start to grow into myself.

I changed my name. I top surgery. I came out as polyamorous. I finally got my official autism diagnosis. Now I'm fuckin' married! But... there are still things I'm working through in therapy. Mainly, shame over my "weirder" behaviors. My current therapist has been a huge blessing in helping me accept the things I was too ashamed to admit.

Now, I feel comfortable enough to share.

I'm otherkin. Always have been. My connection to my humanity is tenuous, and I'm sure that's connected to my autism. When mad, I feel phantom horns sprouting from my forehead. I have a tail that swishes back and forth at the base of my spine. In my soul, I am monstrous, and years of therapy has not erased that.

I feel like I'm only half in the physical world most of the time. This doesn't hinder my real-world success (I graduated college Summa Cum Laude, have an IMDB page, and am on my third book), but informs the way I look at the world. There's a whole other universe in my head that hums along with me in my day-to-day. That's part of why I'm so skilled as a writer. To ask me to divorce from that is to tell me to stop existing. Sorry, it's how I've always operated.

Lastly, and this is the one I'm really anxious about, I have a fictional husband. Now, looking at my blog, you might say "yeah, no shit," but I don't just ship myself with him. I mean I practice pop-culture Witchcraft, and the Goblin King is my patron. I mean I have a Labyrinth-themed tarot deck that I talk to him with. I mean I held a ritual to spiritually marry him. Basically, I Snape-wived myself.

And guess what? My therapist isn't concerned. It's not hurting my ability to live my life. I have other interests, hobbies, and goals outside of him, which he actively encourages in all our tarot sessions! I wouldn't be doing this if he didn't support me. My IRL spouse is usually there for whatever magical shit I'm doing, and supports me! Some of my closest friends know, and the only complaint I've gotten is "this guy seems important to you, I wish you told me sooner." Hell, my MOTHER knows and supports me, which is huge, because our relationship was pretty damaged after I came out as trans.

If you have a problem with the way I live my life, when literally nobody else does, take a good long look at why. You don't give a fuck about my mental health. You just don't like that I'm weird.

Tl;dr: My mental health is better than it's ever been since embracing the weird, so leave me and my imaginary husband Marak Sixfinger alone.

[analumina]

I wrote a little something.

~~~~~~

The descend was longer than he had presumed. How long had it been since he last saw the stars? The nebulas? The constellations he was so proud of creating? How long since he last felt gleeful and holy?

He closed his eyes and grabbed onto his chest where he could still feel the phantom hand, the sacred hand, that had pushed him. He didn't deserve it, the push, he thought. If need be he was ready to go willingly. There was no need for the humiliation. That push was made for a good laugh, it must've been, otherwise why do such an act?

Did he regret it? He pondered.

Regret being able to create something wonderful. Regret feeling that constant content feeling since his own creation. Regret everything he was hoping for. Regret asking all those questions. He should have, he smirked as it was the cause of his condemned outcome.

Slowly, he opened his eyes to a changing scenery where gone was anything and everything he was used to. He felt as if he had fallen into an oubliette; no end in sight, only darkness. Meanwhile, he began to pick at his skin as it began to feel hot and intolerable. It was a new sensation, he did not even know the word for it. Moments would go by until he understood pain was the word for what he was going through.

The lower he fell, the less worthy he felt. The more pain he felt. The hotter it became. “Please.” He blinked his tears away, tears he was not aware had come to be. It was unbearable. The push, the regrets, the darkness, the pain…the heat.

He let out a small gasp as he noticed his pristine wings blending into the darkness. He thrashed, wanting nothing to do with the transpiring result; however, just before the heat consumed him, before he felt completely hopeless and unwanted, a small light invaded the darkness. Heat turned into warmth as the feeling of pain turned into something lively.

He blinked and blinked until a dimmed light made itself known. He felt soft hands on his cheek, wiping away his lament. His mouth felt dry as he looked up and met soft eyes. “You're having a nightmare, my dear.” His forehead was kissed. “It's alright. I'm here.”

“Angel?” He sounded hoarse.

The angel smiled down upon him with an adoring expression. “You'll be alright.” He pulled him in closer. “I'm here. I will always be here.”

He sniffed and buried himself into the angel’s comfort. “Don't…leave me.” He shuddered at the thought.

“Would not dare think of it.”

He didn't know when it happened but one minute all he could hear was the ticking of a clock, and words of affirmation, the next, he was in that one bookshop in Soho. That one place where he could feel solace, not solely because of the atmosphere, but because of a nonjudgmental angel who he had come to love and who had loved him in return, questions and all.

Did he regret it? He pondered once more as he smiled at his angel who was far too busy informing him of his day. If being pushed meant meeting his light, his comfort, his purpose, his love, he would gladly fall a million times again.

—

The angel looked down at a now sleeping demon on his chest. He ran gentle fingers through the demon's red locks while his other hand sought out his hand. He entwined his fingers with the demon's left hand, and brought his knuckles to his lips. “I love you, Crowley.” He kissed the small silver band on the demon's ring finger and continued to hush his husband's once upon a time aching memories.

[cinmngirlnfr]

Juan Borgia Arranged Marriage Headcanons

Note: I'm trying to make this as close to the show as possible (Juan being an asshole) I in fact can't fix him. Shout out to the Phantom of the Opera. Also, I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, english is not my first lenguage.

Summary: It is 1493, Rome. After a long friendship with Lucrezia Borgia, where you spent most of your childhood at her house, so much, so that Venozza and the Holy Father himself started seeing you as their child. When The Pope was looking for a spouse for his second son, naturally, you were the first to cross his mind. Your parents of course showed no opposition. It seemed perfect, The only problem? You and Juan Borgia had hated each other since you first met all those years ago

Warning: Allusions to sex, Allusions to sexual violence, violence.

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ENGAGED

When your parents told you about the arrangement, you wanted to puke. Juan Borgia was the last man on earth you would like to marry, and even if he was the last man on earth, you were not sure if you would take him.

Lucrezia was delighted, finally, she would have you as her sister. At least you would get something good out of this.

When Juan first heard of this, he was enraged, he wanted to marry a princess! Someone up to his level, not his sister's annoying best friend.

It was very weird at first, you had always seen each other as brother and sister, you grew up together, and grew irritated and annoyed by everything the other did.

Venozza would be basically the only one planning the wedding, although she asked for your and Juan's opinions, both of you would just say yes to anything with hopes of the whole ordeal being over.

I think the only thing Juan would be interested in picking, is the entertainment, like he did at Lucrezia's wedding.

Juan didn't think you were ugly, but the image of spending the rest of his life with you would make him want to drown himself.

I imagine the Pope hosting many events to present you guys as a couple, but also, he had an agenda of making the two of you like each other.

In these gatherings, you were very polite to the guests, and both your parents and Juan had instructed you to act in love. Juan already had a reputation in Rome, and the way the Pope to such the rumors, was by creating a love story where his son was in the center.

Your fake smiles to your betrothed were clear. The problem lay when Juan had too many glasses of wine and started to hug you by the neck and kiss your cheeks, screaming in a mocking tone "OH MY SWEET WIFE TO BE!" You were beyond annoyed.

WEDDING DAY

Juan gets very drunk.

He will flirt with the actresses he hired.

You would probably be sitting annoyed on a table, sipping wine and eating bread, contemplating your future with the man who is currently drunkenly singing on top of a table.

The first dance was awkward as fuck.

Although Juan is not able to deny how beautiful you look in that wedding dress, and how good you would look without it.

Is he actually getting impatient for the wedding night?

However, he keeps drinking. It's a celebration! There is not such a thing as "Too much wine."

WEDDING NIGHT

You were young, and this was the Renaissance, there wasn't much sex ED.

You actually were not sure what to expect, your mom had told you that intimacy was painful, and the nuns had told you that it was only meant for procreation and to serve your husband.

You had been told that you could never say NO to your husband in any context, but especially not on this.

So naturally, you were confused but relieved when Juan Borgia was too drunk to even stand on his two feet, let alone consummate a marriage.

You tried to guide him to the bed, but he was much bigger than you.

He fell on the bed dragging you with him, leaving you trapped between his semi-unconscious body and the mattress.

"Look at my pretty wife..." He mumbled, and you rolled your eyes.

Somehow you managed to get him on his back and release yourself.

"Good night, Borgia" you sighed once you finally were able to get comfortable.

You thought he was done bothering you for the night.

Boy, you were wrong.

Hours later, the sun was starting to rise, and you woke up, by a slightly less drunken Juan Borgia on top of you, kissing your neck.

The sensation was strange... Not bad, almost ticklish. It made you want to giggle, GIGGLE! FOR JUAN BORGIA!

"What are you doing?" you ask confused.

"Finishing the task we had last night..."

And so he did... Let's just say, intimacy was way better than your mom and the nuns had described it.

MARRIED LIFE

Every hour he had, every second he spared, was to either think about doing you or actually doing you.

God! You were so annoying, acting all bratty, and making his life impossible.

He still couldn't keep your naked body, or your soft whimpers out of his mind.

At first, it was pure lust, it really was.

You both kept the same dynamic of annoying each other, yet there was a new element, sex.

When intimate life is that good, when the bed chemistry is so powerful when all the lust is only fueled by hatred, and of course, being no condoms at the time, it wasn't a surprise that you got pregnant very fast.

Yes, Juan pretended he didn't care for you.

Seeing you pregnant with his child tho... That fucked with his brain chemistry a bit.

Why did he suddenly want to hold you? He felt disgusted with himself.

Before this, all the sinful thoughts he had about you were fulled by the need to ruin you, to corrupt you, almost to make you submit to him since he knew that in any other way, even if it was hard for him to admit, you could easily outsmart him.

But now... He wanted to protect you, to make sure you never suffered again.

He realized he was down bad when you asked him to join you in a walk around the town.

He didn't want, for you to expose yourself like that, but he would have never admitted to you that he cared for your well-being.

He followed you closely, while you gracefully walked around the plaza rubbing your belly.

And it all went downhill, when a man, a peasant, walked your way and tried to touch your belly without your consent.

You politely tried to get away, but the man kept harassing you.

The next thing you saw was your husband beating the man to death, while he yelled things about, how dared a peasant even look at a noblewoman.

I mean, he was the head of the papal army, no one blinked an eye.

He then realized he would kill for you, he had done it, and he would do it again without hesitating.

The next time he realized how much he cared for you was when your son was born.

Then he realized, when you held that baby in your arms, sitting in the bed next to him, humming a sweet song for the child to calm down. He realized that what he felt for you was love.

[celestialdragoncookie]

Have ever dark dragon and dark shadow cried what will dark cacao do

" The Shattered Resolve":

Dark Dragon Cacao cookie it's not the type of guy to in state of broken mess nor pitiful mood, during those years of hardcore or hellish training his resolve and personality hardened making an impregnable steel wall heart. If others, his opponents taunt or degrading him with harmful and disgusting words or vocabulary he wouldn't be shaken nor move an inches usually glare his opponents to death mumbling he wasn't worth my time at all. But his resolve or hardened expression and spirited will will only be broken down when his family especially his father Yorrichi Tsukagami whom he looked up to said with disappointment and indifference your a disappointment and a failure of being my son or if one of his brothers labeled him a monster it will critical hit towards his feelings especially his heart but the most critical arrow was his beloved wife Blizzard Queen Cookie, if he would try to affectionate she said with colder chiller tone how pathetic for to be my husband, how useless monster of you are. This would directly shattered his heart especially his emotions as he would literally be a crying mess, Dragons are aggressive to others but tender to thier mates if those mates act aggressive use degrading words it will leave a scar on thier heart and they will die of heartbreak alone. So he will cry alone in his room as his younger brother Dark cacao cookie will be thier to console him trying his best cheer him, his tulip purple eyes will softened and filled with worry for his brothers shattered heart broken state.

Just like his father, he too walk through the path of hellish training to hardened his mind, will and resolve. But no matter how his opponents or enemies taunt he wouldn't budge a bit, but his will and iron resolve will only be broken down by his family especially his beloved mother and his dearest wife Starlight star cookie. At his freshly young age, due to his appearance his mother accidentally mistook him for a "IT" clown because she has a phobia of clowns calling him a monster clown which broken his tiny heart. Due to that incident he would be sensitive about his appearance if someone question it, he wouldn't show that weakness Infront of everyone but his phantom eyes gave away. One-day due to stress, his wife Starlight star cookie throw out all of her stress and depression in the form of wrath and rage Infront of him but one sentence broke his resolve and will leaving him a whimpering state " pathetic king of a monster clown, I wish you weren't my husband so useless". Hearing that he left the throne room in a whimpering and crying mess outside the courtyard he cry his heart out, standing besides him was his eldest cousin Dark Choco Cookie his one good crimson red eye staring at him with pity, worry especially sadness like his father he would try to encourage and console the tender giant of the cookie. Dark Choco Cookie go through such phase so he will try his best to gave his elder cousin some advice and encouragement.

[haleswallows]

OOOOOO

Teaser:

“Unable to sleep?” he murmured. Tim nodded, looking about for somewhere to sit. “Here.” And Phantom stood, offering his rock. Tim hesitated for a moment, but decided he was too tired to think about it very hard or pick apart Phantom’s behavior. He dropped onto it, finding it pleasantly warmed from the fire.

No wonder Phantom had been sitting here.

He blinked blearily into the fire, his mind slowly spinning up to consciousness. When a heavy woolen cloak was draped over his shoulder, Tim startled badly.

“Sorry to surprise you. Didn’t want you to get cold.” The press of night demanded hushed voices, and Phantom’s baritone was pitched low.

Tim slowly wrapped his hands into the material. It was worn, well-traveled, but lovingly cared for. The thickness of it quickly helped trap the heat of the fire and Tim found himself warming quickly. Waking his vocal cords, Tim whispered a thanks.

“No need. I don’t suffer from the cold as others do,” Phantom explained.

“Ice magic?” The man - his husband, Tim reminded himself - nodded at the question. “You also could not sleep?”

Phantom dropped to the ground, leaning back on his hands. He slowly stretched his legs out before him and frowned at the fire. “This body does not require much rest.”

This body. As if it was not his own. Tim frowned. The odd statement stuck in his mind, noting something strange, almost melancholy in Phantom’s tone.

“A good night to be sleepless,” Phantom spoke up again. He gestured broadly to the night sky. “No clouds, the stars are beautiful.”

“I never studied the stars much.” Tim followed the sweep of Phantom’s arm, stunned at the sight of the sky speckled densely with stars. “Do you know the constellations? I’ve never had an eye to find them.”

He didn’t notice Phantom standing, or coming to sit as close as he could to Tim as possible. “Here, follow my hand.” Tim leaned forward at his command, his face just a scant breadth from Phantom's, the man’s hair tickled his ear. With an unfathomable patience, Phantom pointed from constellation to constellation, naming them in turn. Moved on only when Tim finally could see the vague shapes.

For once in his life, Tim understood why people stargazed.

“And there, the brightest star.” Tim followed his hand. “Aquila, the guiding Northern star.”

It was hard to miss. He nodded. Phantom let his arm fall, which was when Tim noticed how close they were seated. Slowly, he withdrew.

“Aquila?” Tim asked, hoping it would be a distraction from their nearness.

Phantom hummed, eyes trained on the star. “I named him when we were bonded. Dragons have their own names, but they’re unspeakable by human vocal chords. I needed something to call him, I like the stars. Thus, Aquila.”

There was probably something poetic in there, the dragon being Phantom’s guiding star. But Tim wasn’t a poetic soul. In fact, he was probably allergic to poetry and anything romantic. Suddenly, he felt very awkward. Why would Phantom share this with him? Sure, they were married but… it was for the treaty. It wasn’t real.

“It’s late.” Tim struggled to find his voice.

Standing, Phantom rolled his shoulders. Even in the loose shirt, Tim should see his muscles bunch and shift. Although he was watching the other man closely, it still surprised him Phantom pressed the back of his hand against Tim’s forehead, cool against his own skin.

“You were overly tired earlier. I worry about sunstroke. There’s not a lot of shade on the roads. We should make sure you have extra water tomorrow.” He paused. Tim realized he was holding his breath. “No fever though, that’s a good sign.”

“Oh. Good.” The hand withdrew, and Tim felt the tension fly out of his body. “I would hate to be a burden.”

“There is no ‘burden’ when it comes to you, Your Highness. You are my husband. We should rest some before the morning. Tomorrow will be another long day.”

Phantom offered his hand. The firelight flickered over his bare skin, highlighting faded scars on his forearms where the sleeves hung loose. Slowly, Tim placed his hand in Phantom’s, wondering again at how much cooler Phantom’s flesh was. 

He allowed himself to be led back to the tent, feeling like a maiden about to be bedded. But Phantom was as gentlemanly as ever, releasing Tim’s hand as soon as they were inside. Tim settled under the plush furred blankets, curling his arms against his chest. Ignoring the way his hand tingled and watching Phantom lay back on his own cot, on top of his own blankets.

“Goodnight, Phantom.”

[not-my-final-account]

A Ghost Can Still Grieve

“After centuries of protecting Amity Park the residents started to notice a pattern in Phantom. He would be there to fight for them everyday, except for one day. No matter what happens, he would never show up! And it was the same date every year, the 31st of October.

So the residents of Amity Park dressed up as ghosts every year on the 31st of October, hoping this would stop ghost attacks or lure Phantom out or something else. Nobody really knew how exactly it started just that it did and it was because of Phantoms disappearance. That is how the 31st of October because Phantoms day.” I said mysteriously

“Does he really not show up on Phantoms day?” Tucker asked worriedly “I though it was just called that because we were honouring him and everything he’s done for us.”

“Yeah, that’s one of the reasons it might of started. They thought that if we didn’t do it every year he’d think we’d forgotten about him and move on. But seriously, he never shows up and no one knows why.” I said

“Sam! Why are we going to a grave yard on the one day Phantom isn’t here to protect us from ghosts!?” Tucker yelled

“Sush, don’t be disrespectful and yell.” I said as we walked into the graveyard.

“Then why are we here?!?” Tucker whispered loudly, I rolled my eyes.

“We’ll be fine, come on Tucker. We come here everyday to hang out, just because it’s Phantoms day doesn’t mean a ghost is randomly going to show up.” I said, as I finished speaking we arrived at the tree we hung out at everyday before and after school. Bullies didn’t beat us up here because once a mugging happened in a grave yard and Phantom gave the guy so many bruises he looked like a ghost, respect for the dead I assumed but what ever it was we could at least stall until we got onto school grounds.

Tucker pulled out a salami sandwich and started chewing

“Eating isn’t disrespectful is it?” Tucker asked me

“Not unless you’re being rude about it.” I replied. We sat there for a while and talked about various topics, most related to graveyards or Phantom. It was relaxing and quiet which was a nice contrast to school.

Suddenly a figure flew down to some of the graves

“Is that Phantom!?” Tucker whispered

“I think so.” I whispered back

“But it’s you just said this is the one day he never shows up!” Tucker whisper-yelled

“I know!” I whispered, I stood up determinedly “Come on.” I said and I began pulling Tucker to Phantom

“But that’s Danny Phantom! This is such a bad idea!” Tucker squeaked

“He doesn’t even hurt the ghosts he stops. He’s a good guy. Good guys don’t hurt kids.” I said back

“Quiet!” Tucker whisper-yelled

“I’m sure he’s heard us by now.“ I said. I walked up behind him and looked at the graves in front of Phantom, there were four graves: John Fenton a beloved father and husband, Maddie Fenton a beloved mother and wife, Jasmine Fenton beloved daughter and sister, Daniel Fenton beloved son and brother.

Phantom had already started cleaning Jasmines grave and I noticed that while John, Maddie and Jasmines graves all had evidence of being cleaned each year but Daniels had years of grime and muck on it, Phantom had also only brought three flowers “Why not Daniel too?” I asked Phantom

“You don’t honour your own grave.” he said. Danny Phantom, Daniel Fenton, oh.

“Sorry.” I said, Tucker hesitated then spoke up

“How did you die? It doesn’t say.” Tucker said

“Mum and Dad were scientists and/or ghost hunters. I was cleaning Mum and Dads ghost portal, Dad insisted safety for situations like this wasn’t necessary and I accidentally turned it on. Activating it when it wasn’t ready made an explosion that killed them but I was in the portal, it saved me from the explosion but activated and killed me anyways. However the nature of my death meant I was different.” Phantom said

“I’m sorry.” me and Tucker said in unison

“It was years ago,” Phantom sighed “Just don’t ask any other ghost that question. Trauma and all.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Tucker said with a wince.

…

The next year when Phantom visited the graves of himself and his family he found his grave cleaned with black, white, and green roses left on it.

By the way, I don’t know what the cannon date of his death is so the Halloween thing is just made it up.

[luneemeritus]

Love Never Dies slander because I can (it's ok if you like the show, I'm just giving my personal opinion)

The wasted potential of Love Never Dies haunts me.

Because a sequel to the musical is not a bad idea, actually. But writing an adaptation of "Phantom of Manhattan" (very famous for being horribly written) was definitely a terrible one.

Andrew basically wrote a bad E/C fanfiction that ignores completely Erik's redemption (and obviously, his past terrible actions) and Christine's arc of empathy and indepedence. Meg Giry and her mother became villains for some reason? And they have the worst swerfy slutshaming against Meg, really disgusting. Gustave is a useless character, he only exists to bring Erik and Christine together (Beneath a Moonless Sky woulndt exist without him, I don't know if that's a bad or a good thing). And, even though I heavily dislike Raoul, I agree that it's pathetic what they did to him. Raoul became an alcoholic caricature of himself that mistreats both Christine and his son for no reason other to make Erik look better. Again, I don't like Raoul, I also think he's toxic and he could be portrayed REALISTICALLY as a bad husband. But not like that lol

And, like. What is the purpose of erasing Erik's redemption and giving him Christine's (and Gustave's) love as a prize if you make him even worse? This Erik abandoned Christine after FUCKING HER. He and Raoul make a bet over owning Christine like if she is some kind of object. This Erik is horrible to Giry, which makes no sense, he even creates a freakshow and exploits disabled people??? Literally what has done to him in the past??? Also, Erik being a rich business man with little to no social struggles is so ridiculously out of character lol. "Mister Y" doesn't act like Erik himself.

The ending is straight up bullshit. It's too ridiculous and irritating to be tragic. Christine has absolutely no agency in LND, her entire arc is choosing between her boring alcoholic husband or the teacher that abandoned her after fucking her 10 years ago (not to mention that Erik's past mistakes, like, idk, maybe KIDNAPPING HER, killing Piangi and Buquet, is not even mentioned. No one remembers that). And then she sings a pretty song, chooses Erik, and dies. Wow. Amazing. She dies by accident by the way, because Meg shot her... unintentionally? Depending on the actress, I think. I won't even talk too much about Meg's character assassination because it just frustates me. "Oh the deranged sex worker that is punished with abandonment and pain by the end". Ugh.

The songs are amazing though. This I can't deny, even like, Bathing Beauty, it has nothing to do with POTO but it's a good song honestly.

Love Never Dies could be a good sequel. Erik trying to make amends for his mistakes, having terrible coping mechanism (as always), maybe they could explore his relationship with Madame Giry (even if she is depicted as a morally grey character). Christine realizing that she and Raoul were too young when they made the decision to marry, and that she has much more potential than what the victorian patriarchal society has to offer her. It could even end with E/C being canon, but like, with actual development??? Him learning how to behave apropriately, actually healing and being a better partner? (because he doesn't grow in Love Never Dies, he just gets Christine for sometime before she dies, he learns nothing, he just becomes an asshole that is portrayed as the good guy 'cause "Raoul is worse")