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arachniee · 10 months ago

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✰ The Arbiter of Justice.

Ex Situationship! Alastor x Female! Overlord Reader , Vox x Female! Overlord Reader, Lucifer x Female! Overlord Reader

₊˚✩彡 Summary: Famously known as hell's only demon that can break contracts between other sinners, you were very sought after by those who wish to free themselves from the wretched hands of their soul owners, much to the dismay (annoyance) of the other Overlords.

₊˚✩彡Notes: okay so, i know you're probably wondering why this came out faster than the parts of my other series, lets just say that i absolutely despised the first drafts i had and had to redo and edit some stuff again, but hey, here you go (this is not proofread, you have been warned)

╰⪼ “Those fuckers are back!”

Vox yelled, flailing his arms out with each syllable that left his petty mouth. Great. First, he found out that the radio demon was back from whatever hole in hell he's been hiding in for the last 7 years, and second, that bitch in the shadows made her appearance again after a whole decade! God, isn't his life just fucking great.

Valentino wanted to snicker, mock him because of his childishness. But he couldn't, for he too was not pleased with someone's return. Sure, he could live without Alastor, and yeah, he could live with the radio demon around. He didn't really care about him, it was only Vox who hated Alastor so much to obviously express it. But the Arbiter? Valentino would even thank any exorcist who manages to kill her. Though, he knew not to expect anything. Since the Vee’s have never really laid a scratch on her skin, no matter what they did.

“I thought she was gone for good too.”

It's been almost 10 years since she left, leaving the Vee’s to assume (hope) that she'd never return and potentially ruin their status. Ever since her sudden disappearance, they've made it their goal to savour this experience, the feeling of making as many contracts as possible without the restraint from that wretched woman who was dubbed the “Arbiter”.

“Can’t this day get any fucking worse?!”

Vox was fuming, it was very prominent. Of course he'd be angry, a threat has been posed to his business. With the Arbiter’s return, surely he'll lose most of his employees again! And that is NOT happening. And to add to his already boiling anger, the radio demon is back as well. He could feel the temperature of his screen almost overloading, if he doesn't calm down soon, he might even crack his screen.

It was only a matter of time ‘til the word reached Velvette, and they were sure that she would also be displeased with the news. All these deals and contracts they made to build themselves up, climb the ranks, all of these may potentially be snatched away by the Arbiter again in a matter of time. They can't afford for that to happen, not now, not again, not ever.

“The upcoming Overlord meeting… Are you going to attend?”

Valentino asked, eyebrows furrowed as he waited for Vox’s answer. His question was hinting a very obvious thought, with the return of the radio demon and the arbiter, surely almost every Overlord will be present. No, the Arbiter has never really attended the meeting personally, but they always send a shadow in their place. That's the most interaction a person has with her, aside from those who manage to successfully summon her and make a contract with her for her services. So attending the Overlord meeting and speaking with the shadow would be their only way of communicating with her. That is the only way they'll be able to receive some sort of response.

Even with how problematic the Arbiter is for them, little to none is known about her. Every person whom she freed from a contract will always do and say the same thing. Their finger pressing to their lips, a eerily soft smile, and a gentle voice that would speak the words;

“Sh, her shadow might hear you!”

Well, that didn't fill up with any context. It was the same actions and answer, no matter how many times a demon would ask them. Did the Arbiter do something to them? Did they say something? Regardless, it was really frustrating. Especially to those who wanted to gather information about her to bring her down. Ehem, the Vee’s, and maybe a few other Overlords.

───〃★

Ever since your disappearance, Alastor and his dear friends were quite bummed (more so than he'd like to admit). And maybe because of the fact that he may favor you more than the others, who knows? But the pain you unknowingly left in his heart was a feeling he could never forget. A feeling he can’t seem to get himself past. Petty, call it as you will. But the memory you engraved in his mind kept him up all night, every night. You consumed him and his thoughts, especially in his sleep.

Which is why he wanted nothing more than to never sleep again.

Despite him not wanting to acknowledge it, he liked you far more than the rest. And he hated himself for it. No matter how hard he tried to avoid any indication of your presence, you still bled into every crevice and corner of this shitty hell hole. Every corner that touched the light and casted shadows, all of it haunted him.

Everything was so similar to you.

So he left. For the longest time, he tried his very best to forget you, spending his time doing who knows what. It has already been 7 years, before he knew it. He knew it was conflicting, but a part of his wretched soul wondered.

Would you be there on his return?

Most likely not. He hoped that you wouldn’t. But he also hoped to see you, even just once. A single glance at you would’ve made him crumble. The wall that he built to keep romance away, it’ll all come crashing down, without a doubt.

“Alastor? What’s botherin’ you, dear?”

A feminine voice cut through the thick tension in the room, a gentle hand resting on his shoulder. Ah, he almost forgot he was in his dear friend’s Emporium. Well, it wasn’t entirely his fault his thoughts wandered off, especially after seeing a picture with a familiar face on it.

“Oh, worry not, Dear Rosie! Nothing a little work can’t handle!’

He assured her, that wide, signature smile of his visibly staring back at the woman. She mirrored it, though she seemed a little less hostile, even with her razor sharp teeth. She had been worried since Alastor left, of course, but what worried her more was how she’d often find him in a daze, seemingly unaware of everything around. Now, in hell, being unaware of your surroundings is the last thing you want. It’s not like she was doubting his strength and power, oh no. But she really can’t help it. She’s often the one taking care of everyone, so naturally, she wants to be there for him out of instinct.

“Well, it certainly doesn’t look like it, Cerf.”

A husky voice piped in, peeking from behind the couch that Rosie and the radio demon sat on. Another figure, who seemingly appeared to be a more masculine version of the Cannibal District’s leader. Same pitch black eyes, pale skin and mop of greyish pink stands. Adorned with a rather lavish suit and a light colored fedora that contrasted Rosie’s more pinkish hat.

“As sharp as always, I see you are!”

“Oh come on, pumpkin! We gotta give Alastor his own personal space, okay? If he doesn’t wanna talk about it then we won’t force him.”

Rosie interrupted, glancing behind her to finally eye the person that the voice belonged to. The previous smile on her face seemed to grow, of course, why wouldn’t it? Looking at her younger brother has always been pleasing to her, especially since they look too much alike.

“I am well aware, my Rosa. Must you always treat me as an unknowing child?”

Her younger brother sighed, momentarily closing his eyes and shaking his head left and right, his greyish pink locks swaying with each movement.

“But my dear, it seems that you are!”

The radio demon replied to his question. This was one of the ways Alastor tried, in hopes of forgetting you. Spending time with his dearest friends was something he cherished, especially with how much he saw that they genuinely cared for him. But it was a bittersweet feeling.

How differently would things be if you were still here?

“Word has it that she has finally returned.”

The same figure from behind the two seated Overlords exclaimed, tone now an octave lower and stirring with an unknowing emotion. Was he trying to be cautious? Or was he trying to not be insensitive towards Alastor’s feelings? Well, whatever the reason, this topic was bound to surface in their conversations anytime soon, so might as well talk about it now.

“My Riose, that is not something you must bring up so suddenly!”

The said young man let out a huff of air, out of amusement or interest, not quite sure. Gosh, he certainly is still like a child in the two Overlords’ eyes. With a shrug, Riose decided to change the topic. Man, he was expecting to hear more stories about the Arbiter, but that can wait another time perhaps. Once the radio demon has fully moved on, he supposed.

Alastor knew you were back, he has connections after all. But he hated how he hoped so much that you’d meet again, after all these years. But that was closer to impossible, to be honest. He’s accepted that fact, not fully, but he’s trying. Trying to move on, trying to forget you.

Though Riose had a feeling that he’d share this stuff with you and tell you about the shit the radio demon has been ranting to him and his sister, and unfortunately, you don’t know if you want to let Alastor go yet.

#hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel rosie #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel

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xf-cases-solved · 4 months ago

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i am aware that this is likely not a new take at all, and i'm not like, claiming it as mine, but i never had the chance to have this opinion (or hear other ppl have this opinion) on a public forum before, so i just want to take this opportunity to say to another person, possibly for the first time with the exception of mb my mother, who is no longer here to agree with me, that "existence" came out when i was 8 years old, i watched it live, and literally the day i watched it i remember thinking to myself "why did they have a boy named william? they should have had a girl named samantha. OF COURSE they should have had a girl named samantha," like it felt so obvious to me

and tho i couldn't rly articulate it this clearly at the time, my little muddy 8 year old thought process was that the entire story of the xfiles starts with samantha, right? mulder has his beliefs bc samantha was taken; he says so in the very first episode. the whole reason he even thinks aliens are real to begin with is bc of samantha. the person he spent his whole life searching for was samantha. he MET SCULLY bc of samantha. samantha is the thread that ties the whole story together, so then how beautiful--how narratively perfect--would it have been to tie THEIR story--their love story (bc xfiles is, at the end of the day, a love story, fight me) up with a bow, where the beginning starts with samantha getting lost, and then ends with samantha there in their arms, finally found, just in a different iteration. (instead of naming the baby after mulder's dad who he doesn't even like? or scully's dad. or scully's brother. or mulder's middle name, which is after his father ik, but still, why are there so many fucking williams??)

like, imagine it. rly sit there and take a moment to imagine how the end scene in "existence" would have gone if mulder had said, "what are you going to name her," and scully had said, "samantha"

not only does it get the "ding ding ding, you're the dad!" point across, but how fucking Touched would mulder have been to have the woman he loves--the PERSON he loves--more than anything on earth honor the sister who took up so much of his soul for so long? who always will take up part of his soul, just in a healthier way. it would be scully saying, "we know she's gone from this world now, but she's not gone from our hearts" emphasis on OUR hearts, bc mulder's pain is scully's pain; mulder's quests are scully's quests. she never met her sister-in-law (they're married, fight me), and will never have the chance, but by naming their child after her, she would be saying, "i love her anyway. i love her because you love her, and because anyone you love deserves my love as well, bc we are intertwined at our core. our fundamental values, our suffering, our joy, it is felt in us both concurrently, bc i am your person, and you are mine, and together we made a whole other person who is a literal representation of our combined selves, and we are going to call her SAMANTHA, bc that little girl you watched get stolen from you however many decades ago has been the pillar that has kept us going as a team for the last eight years"

or maybe it would have been even simpler than that. maybe she would just be saying, "your sister is IMPORTANT, mulder, even in death, and her memory isn't held only by you. it is unrelenting, and preserved forever in our child"

i wanted that scene. i wanted to feel the heaviness of mulder's grief mixed with his elation and gratitude and love. i appreciate william for who he was in the scheme of things, but that moment in the bedroom, with their baby between them, shouldn't have been lessened for me bc they chose a name that made me pause and go "his dad was named william? oh yeah! forgot about that guy, it's been a few YEARS since we saw much of him, and what we did see of him wasn't like... awesome. but sure, name your baby that ig, if you must"

that scene should have hit so much harder, and if that baby had been a samantha? it could have hit like nothing ever has, and for all the mishaps that show took after that (and there were MANY), i think the thing i will always have the most resentment for is the fact that i felt robbed of something that would have meant so much to me as a viewer who had followed their journey from the start (or, well, almost start. i was born the year it came out, so i didn't start watching until 1998, when my brain came online, but i'd seen the past stuff at least)

anyway! that's all to say, 8 year old me was salty as hell about that, and ykno what? she was RIGHT and should have been able to say it. but, again, 2001, 8 years old, not old enough to participate in fandom, so that thought has just festered and rotted away in my brain like a piece of old, putrid meat. but! finally i can give my 8 year old self some catharsis by letting her bitch and bitch and bitch to her heart's content about how "existence" should have been the series finale, and how that baby should have been a girl named samantha, and how i climbed onto that hill 23 years ago, and how i will die there with my heels dug down deep

ty, internet, for coming to my extremely overdue tedtalk. somewhere in the past there is a small child (who definitely shouldn't have been allowed to watch xfiles as young as she did, but what can you do?) finally has a weight off of her chest. it's just a tv show, and in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter, but also, it's a tv show that i grew up with in my formative and unfortunately very traumatic years, and it genuinely feels like a loved one who has always been there to comfort me, and so yeah, it doesn't "matter," but the truth is, it Matters so incredibly much

that's all

-diz

#this was supposed to like #a paragraph #whupsie #guess i had some Things to Say #i will probably have more things to say later #baby me is finally allowed into the fandom and that is dangerous as hell #anyway i should write that au scene 🤔#otp: maybe if it rains sleeping bags #msr #txf meta #txf #the x-files #diz spouts conspiracies

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bogwaterparasite · 11 days ago

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Stalking

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Paring: Miles Morales-42 x Reader

WC: 2.1k

CW: None

A/N: Third chapter and oh lord… no wonder this project was abandoned LMFAOOOO, uhm, well!! I hope you guys enjoy this? I practically rewrote the entire thing but kept the whole plot I had in mind at the moment, so you might see a change in the writing. It seems like I also only had 3 chapters, and honestly? I don’t know where to take it from here.

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Growing up teaches you a harsh reality that not many are able to accept, days off are a myth. Even when you're supposed to be relaxing, there's always something demanding your attention. For high school students like me, "free time" is just another opportunity to study, to prepare for the next exam, to keep that perfect grade that might not even matter in the grand scheme of things. Weekends become a continuous cycle of burning words and numbers into your brain, hoping to maintain that elusive 100 on a piece of paper.

This particular weekend, I found myself drawn home to study, seeking some undefined comfort in family proximity. Looking back, I'm not sure it was the smartest decision.

The cacophony of my family home crashed against my already frayed nerves. My mother's music battled with the construction-level noise of my younger nephews, her occasional disciplinary yells cutting through the chaos. The two earbuds wedged in my ears offered minimal protection, more a psychological shield than an actual sound barrier. Typically this wouldn’t have bothered me, my family is huge and the years of being in this exact position should’ve made me immune to the noise, but no. Stress has a way of amplifying every sound, every movement, until the world feels like it's pressing down on you.

When my nephew's cry pierced through my music, something inside me cracked. I needed to escape before I joined him in tears.

"Alvaro Deja eso ah- Mija? Where are you going? Do you have practice today or something?"

My mom paused her cleaning, lowering the vacuum's roar and dimming her music. I fumbled with my shoes, leaning against the wall for support as I struggled to slip on the boots.

"No, I'm gonna head to the coffee shop for something to eat. I'm craving a croissant," I replied, managing a light chuckle.

She rolled her eyes. "Tu y esas cochinadas.. Be back before dinner, alright? And don't fill yourself up with food, it's bad for you!"

"Yeah yeah, I know."

After finally getting able to get the shoes on my feet, I proceeded to pick up the bag on the floor, quickly slipping it over my shoulder before walking to her side, giving a quick kiss on her cheek, and practically bolting through the door.

Brooklyn's streets were a symphony of urban noise - horns honking, construction drilling, people chattering. But with my earbuds firmly in place, the world transformed. As corny as it sounds, the music became my runway, and suddenly, I was more than just a stressed teenager. I was a model, head high, stride confident, face stoic. It was a momentary escape, a fantasy that I fabricated to escape the reality that haunted me, a fantasy that lasted right up until the mortifying thought of someone reading my mind would snap me back to reality.

The familiar cafe welcomed me, a sanctuary of warmth and routine. In the corner behind the counter you could see, and hear, Linda and her husband, an elderly couple who'd run this place for decades, who continued their eternal love story. They laughed like teenagers, their connection a beacon of hope in a world of fleeting connections and situationships. Some part of me hoped someday I would be able to have something like that, a relationship so full of love despite being together for so long. But during this day and age? It’s highly unlikely

I took out the earbuds from my ears, pausing the music from my phone as Linda greeted me with her usual brightness. We chatted about school, her children, their latest adventures. Talking with her was like a breath of fresh air, a small moment of genuine human connection that could lift even the heaviest mood.

After our conversation, I settled at a window counter, laptop out, diving deep into my studies. The world around me dissolved. Sounds became a distant buzz, my focus laser-sharp on the screen, analyzing every word, every detail.

"Weirdo..."

The coffee shop had always been his sanctuary - a place of quiet study just blocks from home. Today, however, something felt different. Different, because *she* was also there.

Miles caught sight of her hunched over her laptop, that distinctive hairstyle instantly recognizable. A smile crept across his lips before he could stop it. He'd never considered himself particularly social. Just days ago, she was just another face in his biology class - someone who existed out of the corner of his eye, boring and easily ignored. So why couldn't he stop thinking about her now?

Grabbing his usual drink, Miles approached her table with a casualness that mimicked his usual demeanor. He sat down besides her, avoiding any direct interaction with her. Don't seem desperate. Don't seem like you're trying

The window became his focal point, the shield against his confusing emotions. Each sip of his drink was calculated, each glance carefully measured. But concentration proved impossible. Ten minutes passed, and she remained completely absorbed in her studies, unaware of his presence.

An unfamiliar restlessness grew inside him. Irritation? Curiosity? His emotions tangled themselves into something he couldn't quite name..

Finally, he turned. His cheek rested against his knuckles while studying her profile. *Should I say something? Would she even notice?* The internal debate felt ridiculous. He, Miles Morales, was overthinking an interaction with a classmate who’s name he couldn’t even remember… ironic.

When she finally looked up, the shift in her expression was fascinating. Initial confusion transformed into recognition, surprise prominent in her face. His own lips quirked into an unexpected smile, a small laugh following afterward.

"I was wondering how long it was going to take you," he found himself speaking first, the words coming out more confident than he felt. "You need to be more aware of your surroundings, especially in public spaces. Someone could've stolen something, and you'd have no clue."

It was a deflection, really. A way to cover the fact that he'd been watching her, wondering about her, trying to understand this sudden fascination that seemed to consume him whole these last few days. His friends would never believe this. The guy known for his stoic demeanor, practically staking out a spot just to sit near someone who, mere days ago, he'd found merely tolerable? It was ridiculous.. laughable, and that just made him feel even more ridiculous.

"Are you stalking me or something?"

The words slipped out of my mouth before I could fully comprehend the situation. Before the day he lost his sketchbook, he could be compared to a ghost. A person I only saw during biology, but now? He was everywhere!! The library, the hallways, the goddamned coffee shop that I frequented.. it was only plausible to assume he was doing it on purpose!

To my surprise, he laughed at the accusation. Not a small chuckle, but a genuine, full-bodied laugh that seemed to surprise even him. His usual sharp features softened, revealing a vulnerability I'd never seen before. This all just made it contagious, a smile tugging at my lips before I started to laugh as well.

“I think it should be me asking you that question.. suddenly you’re everywhere I go. It’s getting creepy” he spoke, his laugh diminishing yet leaving a small smile remaining on his lips.

“Let me remind you that I was here first” I answered, resting my elbow on the table and leaning my cheek against the palm of my hand, “and besides, I am not the weirdo that sat there staring at an oblivious person for god knows how long”

My intentions were to tease him, however, his reaction made me realize that it indeed wasn’t the way it played out. His smile faded, his eyes falling on the window once more as he coughed to clear his throat. My smile slowly faded as well, looking away sheepishly. Maybe I’m getting too comfortable too soon? I mean, we just started talking to each other not too long ago.. I’m definitely being weird.

“Anywho..” Imitating his actions, I coughed to clear my throat. Shutting my computer close and stuffing it back into the bag. “I was already done either way. I’ll get out of your territory now”

As I was about to stand up he reached over for my bag, yanking it away and looking up to meet my eyes once again

“Chill ma, I didn’t say you had to leave” he replied nonchalantly, placing the bag back on the floor next to the bar stool where I once sat “what test were you studying for?”

As we talked, the initial awkwardness I had created dissipated. He wasn't just the intimidating boy from biology class anymore, he was something more like… a friend? I couldn’t quite place what I could associate him with. He spoke passionately about his art, his hands moving expressively, his eyes lighting up with each story. I found myself captivated, not just by his words, but by the way he revealed layers of himself I'd never imagined existed.

My gaze drifted, tracing the lines of his face - his long braids, those sharp yet soft eyes, the subtle curve of his lips, simple and minuscule details I hadn’t ever taken the time to notice. Part of me felt regret for not seeking out a relationship with him before, despite all the opportunities that I was given at the time.

Those thoughts consumed me whole, given away by the fact that I continued shamelessly staring. When he caught onto the fact, I quickly looked away, heat rising to my cheeks.

"Hey, are you even listening?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I zoned out," I mumbled.

“Figured.” He replied quickly, taking out his phone from his pocket and checking the time “it’s getting pretty late out. You should head home soon”

Checking my phone, I realized I was well past my mother's expected return time. Panic seized me.

"Shit... I've got to go!"

I gathered my things in a whirlwind, promising to see him at school, leaving Miles alone in the cafe.

Miles found himself trapped in a dangerous dance of denial. He was spending time with someone he'd previously dismissed, and the very thought made him uncomfortable. People had always seemed to speak about her fondly - mentions in passing during lunch, casual comments about her wit or intelligence, even his own friends had made a few comments about her in some of their classes, but he'd never paid attention. To it

When she sat back down, a strange mix of relief coursed through him, straightening himself out for a moment before returning to his typical relaxed stance

The conversation was typical of those who were just beginning to meet each other, casual comments about their classes, stuff at school.. but then the inevitable topic slipped from her lips. Art.

His whole life, art had become somewhat of a lifeline for him, an escape from a world that could either be your worst enemy or your best friend. He began talking about his passion, the way colors blended, how a single brushstroke could tell an entire story. His hands moved animatedly, revealing a vulnerability he rarely showed. Each word was a piece of himself, carefully being unwrapped and presented to her with an ease that seemed to amaze even himself.

But something was off. Her gaze seemed... different. Not quite listening, but not disinterested either. She was looking at him with an intensity that made him simultaneously uncomfortable and exhilarated.

'Am I boring her?' The thought crashed into him like a tidal wave, a new sense of nervousness beginning to rise within him. Stopping mid sentence, he began eying her carefully. Her gaze was fixed on him, her attention also focused on his being, yet not really his words. Something about her stare felt different. Admiring? Analyzing? The distinction blurred.

"Hey..? Are you listening to me?"

The spell broke. She apologized, something shifting in the air between them. He had planned to ask for her number, to formally start... something. A friendship? More? But before he could gather his thoughts, she was gone.

The walk home was a wind whirl of emotions. His mind battled with the newfound sense of intrigue that overwhelmed him whenever she was around. The questions circled like vultures, offering no resolution to his problem.

His home greeted him with a familiar emptiness. "Pa, Ma, I'm back!" The words echoed through silent rooms. His father was perpetually chasing a promotion, his mother working endless hospital shifts. Loneliness was a familiar companion.

Dropping into his chair, Miles pulled out his books. Study materials stared back, a reminder of why he'd gone to the coffee shop in the first place. Yet all he could think about was her - the way she looked at him, the conversation they'd shared.

"Stupid"

Hi hi!!! I hope you enjoyed this one last snippet, just as I was finishing with the edits I remembered some of the original story that I was gonna go with! Yet, I don’t really find the whole plot line of the female character becoming Spider-Man very interesting… I know a lot of yall don’t comment, but if you have been enjoying the story so far and decide that’s something you would like, please let me know! Otherwise I have a few alternatives to it.

#fanfiction #writing #oc x canon #cc x reader #cc x oc #earth 42 miles x reader #prowler miles x reader #earth 42 miles #miles morales x reader #spider man atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman x reader #bogwaterparasite #bogwaterparasite fanfic

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babytarttdoodoo · 1 year ago

Note

The team somehow find out about what Jamie’s dad did in Amsterdam and are horrified/furious.

I’m skipping ahead to write this one because it won’t leave my brain alone. I apologise to all readers for the pain this is about to inflict.

If it makes you feel better, I am not okay after writing it.

It will also be in multiple parts since I really feel like the Reveal and the Reaction are things that need separate room to breathe.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (pending)

(Prompt Fill Masterpost)

—

It came down to the timing, really.

Every locker room Jamie had ever been in had worked its way around to this topic sooner or later. Especially in the Academy, where the typical teenaged obsession with ‘who had done it’ reigned supreme.

Jamie had never had a problem with it. He’d shrugged or laughed or lied and no one ever called him out. He was Jamie Fucking Tartt, after all.

He’d never had to breathe a word about Amsterdam.

Telling Roy had been a spur of the moment decision, and one that hadn’t really bothered him at the time. It hadn’t fundamentally altered their friendship or made Roy tiptoe around him (thank fuck).

But his reaction - Jesus. Must have been traumatising. - had played on Jamie’s mind. So much so that when his talks with Dr Sharon had broached the subject of ‘intimacy’, he thought it was probably worth bringing up.

Yeah. That conversation had gone a bit differently.

And now, here Jamie was, two days into processing his freshly unpacked trauma and his teammates were cheerfully regaling each other with stories about losing their virginity.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

“It was my last night before flying out here.” Sam was telling the group, a sweet, bashful smile on his face.

“Didn’t know you’d had a girlfriend back home.” Isaac chimed in.

“We had already decided to break up, instead of doing the whole long-distance thing,” Sam explained. “It was a nice way to say goodbye, though.”

There was a general sound of agreement and Richard took the opportunity to launch into a questionable story about charming a runway model at the ripe age of 17.

Jamie just continued getting changed in silence, letting the voices wash over him and trying not to let the sudden nausea show on his face. Removing his jersey felt like a Herculean task when all he wanted to do was get the fuck out of here.

Sam’s experience sounded like something out of one of Ted’s rom-coms. That was good. That’s what someone as nice as Sam deserved.

What had Jamie deserved, then?

He quickly cut off that line of thought. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to think about it. Not here. Not now.

It was like trying to cover up an open wound when everyone else had a morbid impulse to poke at it.

A ripple of laughter pulled him back to the room and set his teeth on edge. He pulled a fresh shirt over his head and tried to breathe through the swelling, pulsating anger and shame that threatened to surface.

It was utter bullshit. He hadn’t thought about what had happened with anything more than vague disgust and detachment for years. A whole decade, even. Fuck Dr Sharon and Roy and all these giggling idiots for changing that.

“Oi, you’ve gone quiet, Jamie.”

A few curious eyes turned in his direction and the only thing that stopped him from shrinking away was years of playing at being untouchable.

Instead, Jamie scoffed and plastered on a smile, hiding his fists in his clothes and digging his nails as deep into his palms as they would go. “Eh, a gentleman never tells, mate.”

But he had hesitated a second too long and he saw the potential for mischief light up in a few faces. They knew him too well, he realised, the knowledge churning in his gut.

He wasn’t Jamie Fucking Tartt here. He was just Jamie.

“You are not a gentleman.” Richard stated bluntly, eyebrows raised and a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

“That is true.” Jan agreed, because of course he fucking did. “You have bragged many times about being with women.”

“What happened, amigo?” It wasn’t fucking fair that Dani sounded so genuinely interested.

“Maybe she didn’t like his pink pants.” Isaac threw in and it drew another round of laughter. The noise echoed in Jamie’s head.

He knew, he knew they were just teasing because they didn’t know better. They were being dickheads because they were always kind of dickheads to each other. It was banter. On any other day it would be fine.

His neon underwear had nearly caused a riot the week before and it had been hilarious.

Why couldn’t he just act like it was funny now?

“It’s none of your fucking business.” he finally managed, not quite keeping the harsh edge out of his tone. He turned away and pretended to be looking for something in his bag so he wouldn’t have to meet anyone’s eyes.

“C’mon, mate, can’t be more embarrassing than mine.” Colin added easily, utterly comfortable with the conversation, in spite of all the implications it had for him specifically. Jamie really fucking admired that.

He was ridiculously, fiercely envious of it.

“Guys, he doesn’t have to talk about it if he doesn’t want to.” Sam admonished lightly. He was offering him a liferaft and it rankled at Jamie in all the wrong ways.

He didn’t need fucking saving. He wasn’t some soft, delicate little thing that needed Sam Obisanya of all people rushing to his rescue.

Suddenly, he was speaking without having made any conscious decision to do so.

“14.” Jamie’s voice was too loud, too sharp in this safe space that on any other day felt like home. But his fingers were clenching and unclenching, and his shoulders were coiled tight, and there was a rushing in his ears.

The vitriol pooled like acid on his tongue and Jamie couldn’t help but spew it out before it began to eat him away.

“I were 14.” He smirked and it felt wrong. It felt cruel and bitter. He rounded on Colin and relished in the flicker of unease that crossed his face. “No fucking idea how old she were but I can tell you how much my dad paid for her to fuck me straight.”

The silence should have been oppressive, he thought distantly. The way the air stilled should have made it hard to breathe. The colour leaching from not just Colin’s face, but Jan’s and Richard’s on either side, should have been concerning.

It just felt freeing, in a twisted, emptying sort of way.

“Jamie-”

“No! No, it’s alright!” Jamie turned wild eyes and a manic grin on Sam, finding it abstractly funny that the younger player took a step back. “You wanted details, right?”

He shrugged, looking around at the slack faces of his teammates. He’d moved forward, he realised, making himself the centre of attention. Typical.

“Tell you what, yeah? Next time we’re in Amsterdam, I’ll take you all on a little tour. Don’t remember her name but I’m pretty sure I could find the place again, no problem.”

And he probably could. He remembered his dad talking to some bloke smoking in a doorway while Jamie stood in the rain, confused. He remembered loud people and neon lights all around. He remembered how the place had smelled when he’d been pulled inside…

Someone else was saying his name now. He didn’t care. He just got louder.

“You wanted a show, didn’t you Thierry? We could put on a repeat performance. Play-by-play reenactment, ‘cept you’ve got to think I can do better now, right? Better with age and all that.”

Arms closed around him from behind and whatever vile shit he was about to spray out into the atmosphere died in his throat. Jamie’s entire body bucked, trying to break away.

“Fuck off!”

It didn’t sound like his voice, a screeching snarl that cracked partway through.

“Jamie.” Roy’s voice in his ear. Roy’s arms around his chest. “Jamie. Stop. Don’t make it worse.”

And what response was there to that except to laugh? Fucking hilarious, that one. Too little too fucking late.

Jamie only registered that he was being half pulled, half carried out of the locker room when the laughter started to hitch in his chest. When the air wasn’t coming like it was supposed to. When Roy manhandled him into an office chair and the tears started in earnest.

All the fight went out of him like a marionette with its strings cut and he just cried.

(TBC)

#legitimately had to go for a walk in the rain after writing this #jamie tartt #fic prompts #my fic #ted lasso #afc richmond

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copiousloverofcopia · 1 year ago

Note

I could also use some more Papa Terzo getting his face sat on by anyone. nemA. 🙏

Hey there ghestie!!!

I have so many things in the works for you lol but to start here's a little taste....no pun intended.

For your reading pleasure....

Smeared Paint

Featuring Terzo x reader for some face sitting/riding fun 😏

Also available HERE on AO3!

Definitely NSFW below the cut

"Are you sure about this?" you asked him. Your thighs tingling in anticipation. Trying hard to stop your legs from shaking as your wet core hovered just above his painted lips.

"Si, sorella…now sit. I'm growing impatient." Terzo whined. Licking a trail up your thigh. Teasing his hot breath at your folds. You let out a sigh, ready to feel his mouth on you—insides pulsing just at the thought.

After all, he preferred it this way. Face buried into your folds. Ready to give his life in worship of your cunt. And though you had been his altar many times before, you always hesitated, worried you may facilitate his meeting Lucifer before his time.

Before you could say anything else, the choice was made for you. Terzo quickly wrapped his arms around your thighs. Fingers dug deep into the flesh as he pulled you down hard on his face. The tender flesh of your cunt meeting with his mouth.

"Ah!" You cried out. His sinful tongue slithered its way from your taint to your clit. Dipping into your opening a moment before he continued on. Lapping at you like melted gelato on a hot summer day. Both of you moaning as you instinctively rolled yourself over his face. The vibrations from his enthusiasm—heading straight to your clit.

"Hmm... Sorella, la tua figa ha un sapore così buono. Come il frutto divino dell'albero proibito…" Terzo praised as he came up for air. His decadent words–followed by a string of moaning and indiscernible Italian.

"Mmm…yeah…mmm…" you moaned. Your pussy gliding with ease across the broadness of his tongue. Terzo, kissing and nipping and sucking on your folds and you rode his face. You became lost in pleasure, grinding on him with wild abandon. Overwhelmed in your lustful haze.

You tried to raise up, but you were quickly forced back down. Terzo holding you, like a vice grip against his mouth. Your whole cunt dripping with his saliva—messy and wet as he continued. The pressure built up inside you, slowly starting to release.

"Oh Papa, I wanna cum." You mewled; hand grabbed firmly on a tuft of raven black hair before you. Terzo staring up at you as he devoured you. Gently sucking on your lips and sliding his tongue once more over your cunt.

"Then cum." He told you, his voice full of that suave, devilish charm that had made you fall for him in the first place. "Give me communion sorella."

That was enough to send you over, yanking harder on his hair. Terzo hissing, his paints smeared all over his face and the inside of your thighs. Mixing for a perfect shade of gray.

You came. The third Emeritus son drinking you down like the richest of wines. Savoring the notes of pleasure, divined in the way you tasted. Your fluids running over the corners of his smiling mouth. Still refusing to release his hold on you.

You were breathless and spent, finding yourself falling. Collapsing down beside him in the ocean of violet sheets. A smile on your face—speaking to your lover's skill. Maybe you'd be the one to die from the sheer ecstasy he brought you.

You kept your eyes closed. Enjoying listening to the sound of your shared breathing, when you felt Terzo get up. Taking hold of your legs and flipping you onto your stomach. Pulling you up on your knees before you could even speak.

"Ass up sorella. I'm not done with you yet." Terzo teased.

"Oh!" You called out as he guided the swell of your ass higher in the air. Marveling at the sight of it, before adding two fingers carefully into your entrance. Pressing hard and deep into the bundle of nerves. Cloaked within you—a place only he was able to find.

"That's a good girl sorella." Terzo praised you as you rolled your hips back against his fingers. Terzo glided his hand across your ass. His fingers sprayed out over it before giving you a good smack. Your cunt, jolting back even harder onto his hand. Face pressed against the bed, trying your best to quiet your moans. The mid-morning rendezvous, proving to be more noisy than you intended.

"Tell me how bad you want his cock sorella. How much you long for my fingers to be replaced with it. So I can fill you and have you dripping with me." Terzo commanded.

"Uh! Fuck…Yes!" You called out as he made you cum again on his hand.

"Tell me what you want." He ordered you, removing his fingers and stroking himself with your slick. Cock hard and at attention and ready to do as promised.

"I want your cock. Please…"

"Please, what?" He taunted. Allowing the plump, leaking head of his cock to tap against your core.

"Fuck! Papa! Please!" You cried, desperate for it now. Terzo, giving a sinister smile as he obliged you. Slamming himself through your folds and taking hold of the lush curves of your thighs. Pounding inside you with full fervor.

"See…all you need is to ask nicely…"

"Mmm…Papa, yes. Ah…ah…." You moaned, feeling him spreading you out. Pressing all around inside, your body tugging against him with every thrust. You began to compress around him. Clamping down on his cock as you began to cum. Practically screaming now in your pleasure. Both sure the whole of the Abbey could hear you. Not that either of you cared.

"That's it…ah…yes…sorella…" Terzo groaned. Quickly losing his stride as your pussy fluttered around him. "Your. Cunt. Is. Mine." He growled as you felt him kick inside you. His burning seed, flooding deep inside. Your Papa, continuing his movements until he was sure you were stuffed full.

He hung limp over you. Kissing the small of your back as he pulled his softened cock from inside you. Continuing his row of kisses as he met with your ass. Coming to lay beside you and shielding you from the cool air with the cover of his sheets.

"That was incredible…" you began before you realized what day it was, "...uh…Papa. Isn't it your day for confession?" You asked.

"Oh shit, yes!" Terzo panicked. Springing up from the bed in a fury. Rummaging around the room for his discarded vestments. Quickly redressing before giving your forehead a kiss. "I'll be back for you later." He smiled attempting to head out the door.

"Wait! Wait! You can't go out like that!" You told him. He turned to face you, eyebrow perked and that puzzled look on his face.

"And why not?"

"Your paints!" You told him, half laughing, motioning to your lap that looked like a grayscale painting.

Terzo smirked, "Hmph…let them see."

Notes:

Hmm...Sister, your pussy tastes so good. Like divine fruit from the forbidden tree. -Hmm... Sorella, la tua figa ha un sapore così buono. Come il frutto divino dell'albero proibito.

#you asked i answered #Smeared paint #terzo #papa iii #papa emeritus iii #terzo x reader #terzo x afab reader #terzo x sibling of sin #terzo x sister of sin #ren writes #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction

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ipatrichor · 2 months ago

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my thoughts on dead boy detectives after watching episode one

okay first of all i gotta say i love the vibe. two ghosty boys running around solving cases and helping trapped spirits move on? that's so fun i love them

tbh. i don't know whats going on btween these two if it's platonic romantic whatever and i don't think any distinction can be drawn that matters. maybe that's the aro in me but they are each other's most important person and who cares about the semantics!!!

charles trying to get edwin to learn self-defense is very sweet. however i will say girl how has this not happened sooner. you literally just got chased through london by a knife ghost and your next case involves fistfighting a possessed psychic Please learn to throw a punch minimum. i would say learning how to fall properly is more important but it's not like they can get more dead. so.

unless they go to the afterlife or something i guess? interesting stakes, especially with the lady from the end of the episode who's looking for them. also the scene hanging outside the window was very sweet, with edwin promising he won't let them get separated. at this point i think it could go either way whether that was to establish their dynamic or to foreshadow, so we'll have to wait and see if the promise holds, but either way very touching moment

crystal my girl crystal!!!! i love her so much holy shit she is so messy!!!! i love love love her getting angry about her shitty situation bc. yeah! that's scary as hell having amnesia bc ur literal demon ex stole your memories and she's got no one except the boys, one of whom very openly doesn't want her around. that's really rough and i Love that she blows up at them about it in a moment of extreme stress instead of being unnaturally chill about an objectively awful situation like many mystical characters (especially when they're women)

anyway i think crystal should get a knife and stabbing privileges. she'd for sure misuse them but i think it'd be funny

edwin is so real for the 70 years in hell thing. girl if i was in the torture dimension for SEVEN DECADES i'd be awful to everyone, it's actually impressive that he restrains himself to being a petty bitch. good for him tbh, i think he's earned the snark. don't get me wrong it's unhelpful and sometimes downright mean, but it's also funny so i'm letting it slide

the witch... esther i think? god what do i say about her. ok im first gonna start with this: she's fucking chilling, it's so scary watching her body the group with ease until charles basically hail-marys and possesses her AND EVEN THEN it's for less than a minute til she forces him out!! it feels like encountering the bbeg when your party is level five- you know you can't touch her and have to play the situation carefully so she doesn't just end you, and the win is getting away with a different objective (here saving the kid) while knowing she's gonna be actively hostile to you now. scary stuff!

idk if this is the popular opinion or not but i just don't find her hot 😭 like yeah she's serving incredible cunt, but her awful pta mom energy keeps that from being attractive. idk if it's the mommy issues but i would feel unsafe and constantly judged in her presence which is usually a dealbreaker for me finding people hot. sorry ma'am i deeply respect your vibe and the cunt you serve i would just avoid u like hell if u were real

the whole snake in a bone dimension in her cupboard is pretty cool though, and i love that her blowing smoke in people's faces isn't just a power play but a paralytic that's So clever

any other thoughts.... the girl with long hair is pretty, and that interaction with crystal has me wondering if the show got cancelled for lesbianism. i feel like maybe not? idk, if it was the start of a relationship that seems weirdly at odds with the tone of the rest of the show, so im leaning more towards crystal was picking up a weird psychic vibe from her that might be important later. who knows though!! i'll just have to find out haha

anyway i got sucked back into reading a novel but i should get caught up on that sometime today and then it's on to episode two, lol. very interested to find out what's up with the cat's vague ominous warning and what esther's gonna do when she finds out they rescued the kid she kidnapped

#pat.txt #pat watches dbd #idk if im gonna do this for every episode but here's a tag anyway #im having a good time! it's a fun show & i like the characters and their dynamics #they actually feel like friends which is always a treat #dead boy detectives

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lemonmaid · 2 years ago

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Fast food jobs I think Dorm Leaders have worked.

I'm at work so I thought of this while making food, but send in request!

Riddle Rosehearts : Dairy Queen and Trey's family Bakery.

I feel like after his overbolt he wanted to explore and experience things he couldn't before. So he got a job to try things out.

"Riddle how was Dairy Queen?"

"It was alright for a first job, I hated making blizzards though".

"Yeah when Riddle came to work at the bakery, his muscle memory was the worst".

"How so?".

"Let's say when he was making milkshakes for customers he was flip them upside-down".

Leona Kingscholar : Waffle House

During his teenage angst years he was badmouthinh servants and food workers, so his mom has enough and decided to get him a job so he will understand how hard it is being a worker.

"Leona?"

"..."

"You know that stigma around waffle house? The fights? Let's just say he ran a fight club!".

"WHAT"

"Ruggie cut the shit, I didn't start them, but I did finish them".

Azul Ashengrotto : Family Restaurant

Since it is said his family owns their own restaurant, I can imagine him as a child coming from school and doing his homework in the corner of the restaurant and when he got older (old enough not to break child labor laws ) he worked as a host/server or dishwasher.

"How do you feel about tipping Azul?"

"Well my family pays our workers above minimum wage in the Atlantic, so tipping isn't necessarily but it is seen as a complement".

"PSST Yuu/Name, people tip there more because there's rumors that their family works with the mafia"

"Floyd, stop."

Kalim Al-Asim : Sonic

He saw an ad where the employees got to Rollerblade to cars to being food. He begged for weeks just to have a job. His family complied but he was only allowed to do it for a week with Jamil's help.

"Yeah! It was super fun!! But I wasn't allowed to rollarskate, they said 'we don't do that anymore'. So Jamil took me to Roller-Rink after work!"

"He would pout everytime we passed it on the way home...."

Vil Schoenheit : Starbucks

A video circled around of a blond Karen who looked kinda like Vil (maybe or maybe not it was him, PR teams worked hard) bitching about her Chai latte not being hot. So Vil decided to work at Starbucks for two weeks just to bring up his reputation and "be humbled".

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Kinda, it was a nice experience but so many people came in asking just for autographs to the point where the manager had to put a sign up saying if you bought 20 dollars worth of food or drinks they get a free autograph".

"So we're you the karen?"

"... listen we all have our bad days, but now I get free Starbucks for life. Now what do you want to drink?".

Idia Shroud : McDonald's

Remember when BTS meal was available at McDonald's and workers got shirts are started selling them for hundreds of dollars? I feel like Idia would do the same thing for like a game collaboration or a popular idol group. Literally only applies for the merch.

"Did you enjoy working there?"

"No. The social interaction was awful, people are so fucking rude. I'm sorry that I misheard you when you said you want a fucking mcnugget".

"Damn, salty much?"

"You know how many rude customers got spit in their food? Alot. That's why I will never eat there again" *shivers*

"Welp atleast you got this cool shirt".

Malleus Draconia : None.

I'm sorry but I can not see this man working a day in his life unless he was told to do the dishes as a punishment, but even then he didn't finish doing them because Lilia felt bad

"Child of Man, I don't understand why you have to leave to work".

"Some of us aren't from old money or have a whole ass castle decaded to their "hoard"".

"I don't like your attitude".

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kirango-rouge · 3 months ago

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@ghostofashina this one's for you ;)

i thought about it while falling asleep and found it very funny.

Godwyn flustered kisses Messmer to convey his feelings, but Messmer stares back at him, pleased, but asking what's that for (just to be sure of the meaning of the kiss), and Godwyn panics and stammers that it's a very verrrry old traditional "good boy reward" in the Lands Between given to people who perform their tasks exceptionally well.

Messmer is a bit puzzled but accepts the explanation and Godwyn sighs as the crisis of his embarrassment is averted. (Fortissax tells him soon after that lying always comes to bite you in the ass eventually.)

When many moons later he visits his brother in his keep, he notices a long queue of soldiers coming out of his brother's throne room. All of them are so excited and cooing and swooning and puffing their chests proudly. It is only when Godwyn reaches the throne rooms that his jaw falls to the ground in realization.

Messmer is currently giving "good boys and girls rewards" to every single one of his soldiers (because they're very good boys and girls doing their job diligently) and is very thorough in making sure everyone in his army gets a proper reward. Godwyn feels like liquefying on the spot while Gaius, Rellana and Huw stare at him judgementally and knowingly. Not that they mind of the "reward" of course, but now they know where it came from.

It doesn't stop here as once they return to Leyndell, his knights timidly ask him if they can have these "tradditional rewards" as well. And Godwyn, because he's so very nice (and currently in a huge pickle of his own making), obliges them and his knights are very happy.

When he talks about this problem to Fortissax and Lansseax to have some kind of emotional support, the two dragons just burst into laughter and find this karmic retribution extremely funny. Godwyn knows that Fortissax will tease him with this for decades to come, but Lansseax decides to implement the "traditional reward" in her dragon cult temple in the form of "blessings", and the dragon knights are also very happy and boosted to continue the good work.

Of course nothing escapes Marika's watchful gaze in her queendom. And she always answers "yeah sure this is a very ancient traddition everyone knows about" to her son's dismay when someone asks her about this "reward" thing.

By now everyone in the queendom has heard of this "custom" and while some people are not sure about how old it is, since it is a traditional thing it would be rude not to respect it, even if it popped off out nowhere and they never heard about it before.

Meanwhile, in Caria, Radagon finds these "distractions" to be very unfunny, Rennala fondly shrugs it as an "Erdtree business", but Rykard and Ranni never miss a chance to gossip that this is just one more absurdity that the lazy inhabitants of Leyndell came up with to occupy themself (later Rykard will enrage about how he wants to do the same with his inquisitors and Ranni will always deny that her kisses to Blaidd have anything to do with it).

Radahn on the other hand completely accepted this "custom" and found it to be very virile and broski to do. So he arranged the "custom" to his sauce and started to give neck-crushing hugs to his man and women and very soon everyone in Redmane had adopted the "tradition". (Jerren had his suspicions but when he witnessed Godwyn try to hide himself in an abductor virgin, red as a tomato, one day he was visiting, he undertood almost the whole picture of it but never said a thing to his general).

Malenia, Miquella, and Godrick grew up with this "traddition" however.

Miquella did his research and learned very quickly the truth, but decided that since this is not an actual ancestral custom in Leyndell, he would make it the true custom in Elphael. No need tp say that the inhabitants of the haligtree are very pleased by this custom, especially the misbegotten.

Malenia is more timid and less tactile than her brother, but she would praise her knights every so often and give a quick peck to all of them on her better days. The cleanrot knights are all very honored to be praised by their general and kissed by their prince. At this point Godwyn just accepted his fate to see his lie being thrown into his face everywhere he goes now.

Godrick is the only one who legitimately grew up thinking this "custom" always existed but he thinks anyone beneath his is unworthy of receiving such rewards from him. Meanwhile his knights don't really like him in Stormveil and are very well without having their face anywhere close to their lord's, but since this is a very old and customary tradition, both Godrick and his knights find themselves sometimes in the very awkward and uncomfortable position of giving and receiving the "reward". None of them is happy with that but Godrick is the last scion of the golden bough and traditions must be respected.

As for Morgott and Mohg, Mohg took this reward tradition to his dynasty (with some collateral damages on the way, because blood and violence etc...), while Morgott found himself having to continue the lie of his brother because his remaining knights were convinced that this reward custom is a thing that has always existed now (and if anyone in his inner circle has any doubt about it, they won't ever say a thing because they want to keep kisses privileges).

And this is the story how reward kisses became a tradition in the Lands Between :)

Meanwhile in Shadow Keep:

Messmer: Guys. Hypothetically speaking, if my brother were to confess to me one day, how do you think he would do it?

Huw: *chuckles*

Gaius: Oh i don't know Messmer. Maybe he would just kiss you~

Rellana: Or create an entire myth about it that would last for the ages to come~

Messmer: Oh that sounds so romantic. I know how timid he can be with me. I must keep my eyes open now in case it happens for real.

Rellana, Huw and Gaius: *wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze*

#kiran blabla #silly ramblings #elden ring #everyone x everyone #er people forgive me for putting this thing on your dashboard

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mandaplease10 · 6 months ago

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A Polin Take Nobody Asked for #7

Show Polin VS Book Polin Part 2

Comparing Polin in the show vs the books since so many are complaining about the differences. Part 1.

Show Polin: Falling in Love

I actually prefer their love story in the show because we really get to see it develop, plus it's a true friends to lovers trope compared to the book.

I know that several people think that Colin didn't have feelings for Penelope until Season 3, but I beg you to give their scenes in season 1 & 2 and the beginning of season 3 another watch.

Yes, there was the only Marina storyline, but it's very obvious that Colin was into the idea of her than actually being with her. He wanted a purpose/meaning in life and he thought by getting married was the answer. By that's another post for another day.

Personally, I think Colin started having more than friends feelings for Penelope at towards the end of Season 1 and got stronger in-between season 1 & 2 and even more in season 2.

What about the "Never Court Penelope line?" This was another example of Colin trying to fit in with society and trying to play down his feelings. Just before this scene, he talked about how special Pen was to him, so yeah it was a bad thing to say on his part, but it doesn't mean he didn't have some type of feelings for her.

When he comes back in Season 3, it's so obvious that he has feelings for her!!! His outfit at the garden party, the way he tries to flirt with Pen, and how upset he looks when she walks away from him. The fact that he is eager to make things right with her and willingly seeks her out. I mean, the mans speech in the Featherington Garden is practically a love declaration in and of itself.

Book Polin: Falling in Love

Colin returns back to Mayfair after being away for a while. He starts spending time with Pen and he notices there's something different about her. She's more confident and sure of herself and they have genuine conversations. We know how Pen feels about Colin and we get a little inkling of Colin slowly developing feelings for Pen. We get more uncertainty of whether Colin loves Pen because he doesn't really know what love is, he assumes it's a "thunderbolt from the sky" , but realizes it doesn't have to be. Loving someone is created by their smiles and spending time with them and never wanting to be away from them.

So, basically, I feel like in the show we get a better visual and story of how the two fell in love and why they love each other, whereas in the show, it's very quick and we aren't provided a lot of details/self journey like in the show.

Show Polin: Lady Whistledown Reveal

So many people hated how the show handled this storyline because it wasn't the same as the book. I actually like how they handled this, the only thing I wish they did differently is the timeline of events. I think Colin finding out would have worked better at the end of Ep 5 and then have Cressida's announcement as LW come out in Ep 6.

Regardless there are so many reasons why Colin reacted differently in the show compared to the book. The main thing is Colin is a decade younger in the book, so he's more immature and still finding himself. The other main thing is Colin has more issues with LW because of the whole Marina revelation, Eloise, and of course him not knowing himself. So, to him, he is finding out that the one person he thought he knew, the one person who he loves more than anything, has written these horrible things about him and people close to him (even if they were all true) and of course that is going to hurt. Especially, when you think this person has been 100% honest with you, only to find out they haven't and then you start to question everything.

Those two reasons in and of themselves are enough to justify his actions. Then the writers added in the jealously storyline on top of that, which makes it even worse.

Book Polin: Lady Whistledown Reveal

This happens before Polin actually get together, which means that there are no secrets amongst them when they get engaged or hook up in the carriage. However, the stakes also aren't as high because the worst thing LW wrote about Colin is the fact that he's charming. The biggest issue at first that Colin has is for Pen's safety, which makes sense. She's been living this double life, going to a shady part of town unchaperoned for years, and knowing that she's written things about some powerful people who could easily hurt her.

But one thing I keep seeing people who prefer Book Colin is how angry he got when she published after Cressida's announcement. He was so upset that he grabbed her arm to the point of bruising and mentioned wanting to kill her. So, yeah, Book Colin may not have separated himself from Pen, but he was very angry, more so than Show Colin.

Show Polin: Wedding & Aftermath

The simple fact that we even got a wedding, a wedding breakfast, a wedding dance already makes it better. I mean it was beautiful and everything I could have wanted for Polin. Yes, I would have rather them not still be at odds, but it shows that they were willing to put that aside and fight for their love despite them having trouble. That in the end they loved each other and they would make it work.

I wish we got them reconciling before the end of the episode 8, but when we look at other seasons, this is pretty much how those went as well. Hopefully, next season we just see them happy and if there is any drama they are a part of they are facing it together.

Book Polin: Wedding & Aftermath

We're told about the wedding. We don't actually get to 'see' the wedding happen in the book. Colin and Pen aren't at odds or sleeping separately. However, Colin is trying to deal with his jealously of Pen with her success of Whistledown. This all happens within the last few chapters of the book, so there really isn't much time to spend on how each are feeling in the moment until Cressida's blackmail comes in, which I will talk about in part 3!

#bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton spoilers #polin #bridgerton s3 #polin bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #colin and penelope #penelope x colin

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earlgreytea68 · 1 year ago

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Host: So where did this one start? Patrick: So, uh, typically I kind of just start with Pete's lyrics and see what that inspires me to, you know, how does this sound? You know, when I read this, what do I think this sounds like? Host: And when Pete sends you those lyrics -- So, is Pete working on lyrics all the time? He's just working on lyrical ideas and then -- Does he ever put a tune to it? Or does he send you a blank page? Patrick: No. He doesn't even send me lyrics in lyric form. He just sends words. And it's interesting when you see it. It's almost like one-liner after one-liner. (chuckle) And I'll just get an email of those. And then you kind of have to-- Neal: The Henny Youngman of lyrics? Patrick: (laughs) Yeah. And then you have to -- Kind of. It's like the -- My dad had a Yogi Berra quote book sitting on his coffee table. It's kind of like that, where it's just one-liner, one-liner, one-liner, and you have to figure out what thematically goes together, what feels like the same song. But then also I do try to keep things together as much as possible, because I feel like he's in a place where it does feel like one thought, you know? And, um -- But yeah, when he sends it, that's all he sends. There's no music or anything. And so when I read there's a kind of, for me, almost passive thing, where I read it and just imagine what it sounds like to me. And so this one scared me a lot because it felt kind of sparse, and I don't really like sparse, I don't really like singing by myself, I don't really like -- You know, I like orchestras, I like being one musician out of, you know, hundreds. I don't really like being so front and center, and I could tell there was something really intimate about this song and that was a big challenge for us. Well, for me. Everybody else seemed convinced. As soon as I finished demo-ing it and I sent it out to everybody, everybody went for it. This I think is the first song that we started, or one of the first songs that we started, Neal, when you and I got together. It's from the first session. And, you know, we had done that first session of "are we going to work together?" This came from that first session. But I think we also spent the longest on figuring out how to actually realize it because I wasn't satisfied with just my voice. With just my voice over keys, it was killing me. It was too naked or something. And I needed more of a story happening with the synths and stuff, with the guitars and all of that. So that took us a long time. Host: Interesting. And is Heaven, Iowa a place? Patrick: I believe so. I don't know if it's real or not. I believe it's the place from "Field of Dreams." Pete was really obsessed with "Field of Dreams." There's something in that story that really, like, set his vision for the whole record lyrically, I guess, so I think that's what it is. But I don't ask. I try not to ask about his lyrics because I feel like there's a thing about it where -- First off, he gives you terr -- He will not explain things. But second off, it also kind of -- I think there's something to that, you know? Where I'll read his lyrics and I'll interpret it one way and years later I'll realize it's another way. There's so many double entendres that I've only gotten, you know, decades later. (chuckle) I'll be singing and I'm like, "Oh, it's a sex thing! I didn't catch that." You know? (x) (this is around 45 minutes in)

#patrick stump #pete wentz #peterick #fall out boy #fob

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fallen-gravity · 24 days ago

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can we stop while we're ahead and rewind?

Scratch dies. For real this time.

Molly's gonna be thrilled to see him! Three years apart is nothing to get all worked up over, right? After all, Molly's always been the forgiving type.

...Right?

Notes:

For @the5n00k, for always being my shoulder devil.

This fic is inspired heavilly by the hypothetical time-skip continuation of the series that Bill Motz mentioned on Discord a little while back! Something about Scratch dying and returning home to Molly, except when he arrives their dynamic has flipped on its head; now he's the one trying to encourage her to be positive and look on the bright side of things, and now she's the tired one who feels like she's been through too much heartbreak to hear him out. It's delicious. I love that sort of codependant angst.

Molly haters DNI, this fic is not for you <3 she's allowed to get a little mean and nasty if she needs it.

(also, short PS: I never read any of the leaked scripts for season three, so this fic takes place under the assumption that none of that ever happened. Just an FYI! there can't be inconsistencies with things I never knew about in the first place <3)

AO3

He remembers.

All at once, like he’s being thrown head-first into an icy cold lake in the middle of winter, everything comes rushing back, sending waves of shivers all the way down his nonexistent spine.

Scratch remembers everything.

Of course, he remembers dying. For real this time. That just happened. Something about feeling a little too cocky after a few too many cocktails and a little too much confidence that he could “practically hang glide all the way across the resort with his eyes closed and an arm tied around his back”. That’s pretty hard to forget, and certainly something he’ll never live down for the rest of his afterlife.

But…no.

As soon as that portal opened up to the ghost world, he remembered something far, far more important. At first he mistook it for nothing more than just a burning ache in his chest, but the longer he sat on it the more he remembered the feeling.

Longing.

Yearning.

Love.

Sure, he felt an indescribable love for Adia, the sort you only have for childhood friends you reunite with after an unbearable amount of time apart. But this kind of love that he felt in his chest upon dying was a different sort of love; the love for lost family, for belonging, for a feeling of home.

Molly. That’s the first word that leaves his mouth upon regaining consciousness as a ghost. He remembers Molly. He remembers how much Brighton meant to him, and the true reason he was so hesitant to leave even after reaching back out to Adia. He remembers the McGees, he remembers Libby, and Geoff and Jeff and all those other ghosts with the decency to treat him with genuine kindness, and he even remembers the Chens. He remembers everything and everyone that made him whole again when he thought he had nothing.

He remembers everything.

…and then he panics.

Losing track of time. That’s his biggest weakness.

He went decades without contacting Adia. He’d spent so much time moping over what could’ve been that he forgot to pay attention to how long it’d actually been.

Once he was back with Adia, he no longer needed to keep track of time, because they were always together. Why bother, right? Nothing else mattered as long as they promised to stick together.

…He remembers promising Molly that very same thing, and a wave of nausea comes over him.

So, yeah, maybe he never wanted to have to talk to the Ghost Council again. Maybe he hoped they’d be disbanded by the time he died again. But if there’s anyone who would know how long it’s been it’d be them, because he knows how obsessed they are with keeping track of death records.

Much to his annoyance, they’re very much the same exact Ghost Council, right down to their boring stack of paperwork strewn all over their desk. They’re so invested in it, in fact, that they don’t even notice when he floats right up to them.

“Are we sure this is right?” Lucretia asks the rest of the group, digging through the massive stack of paperwork nearly covering her entire body.

“Has the paperwork ever lied before?” Sir Alister replies, sounding equally exasperated. “It must be correct. His name is right there, clear as day. It has to be him.”

“So soon?” Bartholomew sighs. “I thought for sure that after everything that happened that he’d have at least twenty more years.”

“A-HEM!” Scratch clears his throat as loudly as he possibly can. He already can’t afford to lose any more time, but he’s sure that whichever poor dead sap they’re blabbering about can wait five more minutes.

All four barristers shriek in unison, and Scratch can’t help but smirk at their misfortune. So much for all that old talk about him being a terrible scarer.

“Scratch!” Sir Alister yelps, scrambling to shove all of his paperwork aside.

“It really is you!” Grimbella cuts in. “When your paperwork came in we thought for sure it had been an error! How is this-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m dead, big whoop, we’ll all catch up later like the bestest of buddies that we are,” Scratch bites, the worried crack in his voice betraying the sarcasm he’d intended to convey. “Look, I don’t exactly have a lot of time here. I remember how you all are with your paperwork. Is there any way you’d be able to tell me how long it’s been since the last time I was here? Any weird letter of resignation when I gave up the Chairman robe that you forged my signature for? Something about leaving Brighton?”

“Oh, please!” Sir Alister guffaws, and snaps his fingers. Scratch flinches, squeezing his eyes shut, but when nothing happens to him he hesitantly opens his eyes, only to be met with the sight of Sir Alister holding a scroll in his hand that’s neatly wrapped up with a blue ribbon. “...As if I’d ever leave home without it!” He carefully unties the ribbon and begins reading through it, and the longer it takes the more Scratch wants to start ripping his cutie bits out from the agony of waiting.

“Aha! Here it is!” Sir Alister beams, and summons a monocle and a tiny magnifying glass to get a closer look. “It looks like it’s been….”

Scratch squeezes his eyes shut again, preparing for impact, and…

“Three and a half years!”

“THAT’S IT?” Scratch blurts out.

He…can’t be that lucky, can he? Three years is nothing! That’s just long enough for everyone to miss him, but not nearly enough time for everyone to forget about him! This is the best possible outcome!

Well, okay, maybe not dying would’ve been the best possible outcome. But as far as outcomes where the dying part is important, this is the best possible outcome!

“But there’s something you should know about Brighton’s misery levels, Scratch…” Lucretia starts, but Scratch cuts her off before she can continue.

“Lower than they’ve ever been? That’s Molly for you! Bye!” He sends them off with a quick peace sign, and disappears through a portal to Brighton before they can talk his ears off any longer.

He zips through the streets of Brighton as fast as his ectoplasm can carry him, not allowing himself to stop for even one moment before he reaches the McGee residence; even if three and a half years isn’t really that long of a time, he remembers Molly talking about how often they moved, and even though they had promised that Brighton would be their forever home, he also remembers the time they came dangerously close to eviction; forever means nothing on such a fragile promise.

Thankfully, though, the McGee’s rundown old minivan is still parked in the driveway when Scratch arrives to their house, and he sighs heavily in relief.

That’s the scariest part out of the way.

The next part?

Scratch chuckles quietly to himself.

He can picture it now; he bursts into Molly’s room, loudly announces his presence, and she’s gonna tackle-hug him to the ground so hard that he’ll practically melt through the floorboard. She’s gonna be so happy that she’ll start bawling, and he’ll roll her eyes and laugh at her, and then they’ll pick right back up where they started, like he never left at all.

Molly’s forgiving like that. He’s always loved that about her.

Scratch pats himself down, adjusts his nonexistent bowtie, and floats through Molly’s bedroom window. He dramatically opens his arms and prepares himself for impact from the biggest hug anyone’s ever going to receive. “Oh, Molly!” he singsongs, “Guess who?”

“Go away, Scratch,” she responds instantaneously, and-

…Come again?

Scratch’s arms droop to his side. That certainly wasn’t the welcome wagon he was expecting.

Matter of fact, he’s not even willing to believe that’s how she truly feels! Maybe this isn’t really Molly at all, and he accidentally flew into the wrong bedroom!

…The bedroom of someone else who knows who he is solely by the sound of his voice! Yeah! That’s it! That’s gotta be!

He opens his eyes to confirm his suspicions, but the sight of the room around him is so much worse than he ever could’ve expected:

It’s Molly’s room for sure. He recognizes the layout all the way down to the empty space where his dollhouse used to be. That much is clear.

What he doesn’t recognize is…why it looks like the life’s been sucked out of it. The splashes of neon colors and bright, happy posters all over the walls that he once complained gave him migraines are missing entirely. There’s no fairy lights hanging from the rafters, or the remnants of any so-called “enhappification schemes” scattered anywhere on the floor. Instead of a massive pile of stuffed animals laid carefully atop her dresser, there’s maybe two or three of them laying around, with the rest of them poking carelessly out of the hope chest in the corner of the room.

Weirdest of all, the lights are flicked off. Last Scratch checked, Molly was never one to mope around in a dark room in the middle of a sunny day unless something was really bothering her, but there’s not enough context clues around the room to let Scratch know what it could possibly be.

He’d almost think she wasn’t home, but no, that was definitely Molly’s voice telling him to go away. He turns towards her bed, and sure enough, there’s a Molly-shaped lump of blanket curled up on top of it.

“...Molly?”

“I said go away, Scratch.” There’s a tinge of bitterness in her voice that Scratch isn’t used to coming from her, and that breaks his heart.

“But I thought…”

“Yeah, I thought so too.” She sits up in her bed and turns to meet his eyes. Despite only being sixteen, the exhaustion in her eyes makes her look ten years older than the last time he saw her. “But every time you come by here and tell me you’re ready to come back, you always change your mind again and you’re always gone by morning.”

“Every time?” Scratch blinks in surprise. “Molly, what are you talking about? I died this morning. I haven’t been back here in years.”

She glares at him. “Yeah, you’ve told me that one before too. I’m tired of it, Scratch. I’m tired of waiting for someone who doesn’t want me around.”

“Wh-Molly, you’re acting crazy! I’m telling you the truth!”

She laughs at him. It’s sharp and bitter and stabs him right through his unbeating heart. “You’ve said that before too. Try and convince me all you want, but we’ve done this all before and I already know how it ends.” She lays back down, bringing the blanket up over her head.

Scratch floats in silence for a moment, baffled out of his mind.

I know how this all ends?

We’ve done this before?

What on earth is she talking about? There’s no way he could’ve come back before if he didn’t recover his memory until he died this morning, and even if he had recovered those memories earlier, there’s no way he would’ve come back just to tell her he was better off without her. In what world could she possibly think-

Think.

Gone by morning.

Oh corn, she thinks she’s dreaming. She still thinks he’s off who-knows-where in the world with Adia. She still thinks that there’s no way he could be coming back to her like this, as her Scratch.

She thinks…that given the opportunity, he would leave her behind again.

He could never.

He’d throw himself into the Flow of Failed Phantoms a thousand times over before he’d ever do that again. He’d bring the original Chairman back from permadeath and beg to be thrown into his own personal Flow of Failed Phantoms before he’d ever do that again.

But…how could he convince her of that when she doesn’t even think she’s awake? Better yet, how could he even convince her that she is awake, and that he is right in front of her?

“I can prove it!” Scratch splutters, which is thankfully enough to get her attention. Molly sits up and squints at him.

“Prove what?”

“That you’re awake!”

Her eyes widen for a brief moment, but she’s quick to steel herself like she doesn’t want to set herself up for heartbreak. “How?”

Well, he’s not proud of this, but…

He floats to her bedside, turns on her bedside lamp, rolls up his nonexistent sleeves, and…

He slaps her clean across the face.

“Wh…Hey! Ow!” She yelps, rubbing at her cheek, but then she freezes in place, her eyes going wider than he’s ever seen before.

“Scratch?!?” Molly shrieks, scrambling into the corner of her bed away from him. So, y’know, also not the reaction he was expecting. “What happened to you? What are you doing here?”

“Well, wouldn’t you know it?” Scratch shrugs. “Turns out that hang gliding and alcohol don't mix all that well.” He scratches awkwardly at the back of his head. “Guess I should give Pete a prize for guessing how I’d eventually go, huh?”

Her face pales. “I…”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a lot to take in, I know” Scratch waves her off before she can spiral and things start getting all dark and depressing in here. “But hey, what does all that horribly painful death stuff really matter, anyway? You’re thrilled to have your ol’ buddy Scratch back, aren’t you?” He grins, and opens his arms again for that inevitable tackle-hug.

…But it still doesn’t come. She’s just sort of staring at him, her eyes looking deader and deader by the second.

Something’s not right.

“No?” Scratch’s arms droop to his sides again. “What, is it ‘cause I died in a tragic accident? I thought you wanted me to have a gory death story! It’ll make for a great death-day party, right?” He tries for comedy, but gets nothing more than a heavy sigh out of her.

“Is it ‘cause of Adia?” He tries a different direction. “Nah, she’s fine! Alive, I mean. I’m sure she’s probably pretty broken up about it, but I’m sure if she knew that ghosts were real then she’d-”

“It’s not about you, Scratch!” Molly yells, throwing one of her spare pillows at him to get him to stop rambling. “Corn on the cob, not everything is about you!”

There’s a heavy waver in her voice, and Scratch isn’t sure whether he’s hurt more by the yelling or the fact that she sounds moments away from bursting into tears.

“Did you even take a second to look around and see how awful everything’s gotten? Did you even stop for one minute to see how worse off everything is?”

“I…” he tries to defend himself, but his voice comes out as nothing more than a hushed murmur. “I don’t understand.”

“Brighton, Scratch!” She throws her arms into the air, exasperated out of her mind. “I’ve been running myself ragged running around all over town doing everything in my power to keep everyone happy, and do you know what I get?”

“Uh…” Scratch fiddles with his cutie bit. “The key to the city for doing such a good job?”

She glares daggers into him. Okay, so maybe now’s not the time for cautiously optimistic humor. Got it. Got it.

“Heartbreak after heartbreak, Scratch! That’s what I get! Oh, I try to raise a little money to renovate the nursing home? Oh, guess what? My renovations backfire, literally, and half the first floor catches fire. Oh, I try to organize a town-wide park cleanup? Oh, too many people show up, somehow, and the parks are even bigger messes because everyone spent too long socializing to actually clean anything up! Oh, do you remember the windmill factory that reopened? Do you remember all of those jobs that opened back up? Whoops! I guess the management of that mess was stealing money from the company, or whatever happened, because guess what? It shut down again! Do you know how many families were out of jobs? Do you know how many people had to move out of Brighton because they had nowhere else to go?”

Scratch tries to reach out and place a comforting hand on her shoulder to stop her from spiraling, but she whips out of the way before she can.

“And the failed charities! The pushes to make crucial improvements that fell on deaf ears! At this point it’d take me all month for meto list everything that’s gone wrong! Yeah, once upon a time, everything was great! Everything was peachy! But do you know what changed?”

He’s about to hazard a guess, but she continues before he can open his mouth.

“You.” There’s something venomous in her voice, and yeah, okay, that’ll do it.

Scratch feels like he’s been shot in the heart. A deep chill runs through his ectoplasm, colder than he’s ever felt in either of his lives.

He recognizes that bite. He’s very familiar with the sort of demon that bites like that.

That’s hatred.

He knows it well. He vividly remembers how the Ghost Council used to treat him. He remembers how they celebrated when he was sentenced to the Flow of Failed Phantoms. He remembers the glares and the sneers and all the not-so-passive aggressive comments he’d get from the other ghosts before he rose to the position of Chairman himself. He remembers feeling like some of their devotion to him as Chairman was fake, like the only reason they were sugar-coating how much they still despised him was because they were afraid of what he’d do to them if they were honest.

He’s used to it. From anyone else, he’d laugh it off as their problem. But…from Molly?

Does Molly hate him?

N-no, she can’t, right? No. Of course she can’t! She loves him. She told him so religiously. She promised. Through thick and thin, no matter what comes their way, she’d always stick by his side. She-

Promises. He’s really starting to hate those.

“M-Molly?” is all his traitorous mouth can say, and he hates the waver in his own voice most of all.

Whether she’s ignoring him on purpose or she simply didn’t hear him, Scratch isn’t entirely sure. She goes to look out her window, and Scratch is intensely relieved when she’s still willing to keep talking.

“Without you around, everything’s gone downhill. Every time I tried to tell myself I could do it on my own, every time I told myself things would get better if I let go, every single time I tried to separate myself from us and from what we had, everything fell apart. I tried to help Brighton on my own, but each and every time I tried, I fell short, and the more times I fell short, or the times where I fell flat on my face, the more exhausting it all became. I got tired of it, Scratch.” She turns to look at him again, and it’s only now that Scratch is noticing the giant, puffy bags under her eyes. “I got tired of waiting.”

Scratch doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure what he could say. Even if he tried to come up with an excuse, he knows deep down that there’s nothing he can possibly say to win her favor back.

He sighs.

If this is how things have to be, he’s not going to fight it. After all, who needs him when she’s got all of her other friends, right?

“I understand.” He replies, as matter-of-factly as he can manage.

That’s clearly not the response she was expecting from him, because for a brief moment all of the steel and anger in her expression cracks, and her eyes soften, and it’s like he’s looking at her thirteen-year-old self all over again.

“I understand how exhausting it is to wait for someone who you think is never coming back. But Moll,” he pauses, unsure if he’s still allowed to call her that. “I know you have others.” He smiles sadly, trying his hardest to find comfort in the fact that even if she doesn’t want him back in her life, she’ll have others who love her just as fiercely. “I mean, c’mon! What about ‘ol Swoopy Bangs, huh? If you two were all over each other when you were thirteen I can’t imagine how touchy you are now, huh?”

For some reason, Molly flinches.

“He left, Scratch.”

“He left?” Scratch splutters. “What, like he left you? For someone else?” He rolls up his nonexistent sleeves, ready to fly across the street and whoop that kid’s butt for thinking he can do better than Molly, but she grabs him by the shoulders and stops him before he can.

“He left Brighton, Scratch.” Molly picks her phone up off of her nightstand, and shows Scratch a text conversation full of heart emojis as if to prove to him that she and Ollie still together. “He didn’t want to, but after his family’s whole ghost hunting business went under, they decided they needed to broaden their range to hunting cryptids and move to New Jersey to look for the Jersey Devil, or whatever it was they said.” She places her phone down on her bed. “I, uh, don’t remember all the details. I think I was too busy crying to really give them my full attention.”

She clears her throat to dismiss that last point, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“I could’ve handled the move,” she continues on. “I get it. Parents get new jobs all the time. They can’t always control it. But…” she grasps tightly at her skirt. “We were gonna go to prom together, Scratch. We bought each other promise rings so we wouldn’t forget.” She walks to her hope chest, and pulls out an art canvas that had been shoved behind it. “I was gonna give him this the night of.”

She turns it around to show it to him. It’s an abandoned, half-finished painting of herself and Ollie slow dancing in a ballroom. They’re both wearing crowns, like they just won Prom King and Queen, and there’s cutesy hearts floating over their heads.

“One month. That’s how much longer we had left. His parents tried the hardest they could to hold off for us, but without…” she starts, but clamps down on that thought and shakes her head to make it go away. “There’s nothing they could do. There’s nothing anyone could do.”

Without you being there to prevent the move from happening at all. She didn’t say it, but Scratch knows that’s exactly what she meant.

“Molly, I…” he starts, but then sighs heavily. “I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could’ve done.” He droops. “Not just about Ollie. About…everything.”

There’s a deafeningly silent pause.

“Me too,” she replies bluntly, but the increasing pace in her step tells another story about her composure. “It’s just…it’s so frustrating!” She begins to pull at her hair. “Because, you know, I wanted you to be happy! I wanted to tell myself that things were better off this way, because you were happy and I was happy for you! But then, you know, less than a year after you’re gone, and suddenly everything starts falling apart again. I knew it couldn’t possibly be your fault, because you weren’t even there, there’s no way that your lack of presence is the sole reason Brighton started falling apart again, but when there wasn’t anything else I could possibly do, and there was nothing anyone else around me could do, I don’t know…” she sighs, stopping in her pacing and drooping towards the floor. “It started to feel a lot easier to put all the blame on you.”

Ah.

Scratch didn’t think it’d be possible for anyone to break his heart so many times in one day, let alone Molly.

She really does think that he was happier without her, doesn’t she? She really thinks she needs to protect her heart because of some imaginary truth that he’s found his true happiness elsewhere and that she’s this awful selfish person for wishing he was still there with her.

What she doesn’t know is that he remembers that bus ride to the airport.

Maybe he didn’t remember all the details at the time, but he remembers getting onto that bus and feeling like something was missing. He double and triple checked his luggage all over to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, but even after being made certain he had all of his belongings with him, he’d still had this nagging feeling that he was leaving something very important behind.

He knows now.

It wasn’t something.

It was someone.

“I’m not, you know” he says, and it’s apparently confusing enough to make Molly fix her posture to look at him.

“Not what?”

“Better off.” He replies without missing a beat. “Without you, I mean. I’m not better off without you.” He looks to his hands to avoid eye contact with her. “Look, I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s something deep in my core that needs you, Molly. Maybe if you’d asked me at one point I would’ve thought it was because I was trying to fill some sort of gap in my afterlife. But I know there’s more to it than that, Molly. You were the first person I thought of when I died. Not Adia, not Geoff, not even any of the dumb pranks I could pull now that I’m dead again! It was you, Molly. It’s always been you.”

He’s not going to ask for forgiveness. He’d never forgive himself if he were in her shoes. What kind of forever friend is he, forgetting all about her and leaving her behind the moment he got a second chance at life?

But…he still needs her to know how much she means to him. He’s not really expecting a response, but if he’s going to have to leave again he should at least give her a proper goodbye this time.

Because that’s probably what’s best, right?

He may not be better off without her, but it sure sounds like she’d be better off without him. If all he’ll ever do is hurt her and crush her spirit in the long run, then he’d prefer to leave sooner rather than later for her sake; the sooner he’s gone, the sooner she can forget him, and the sooner she can forget him, the sooner she can find her true happiness and get her heart the healing it deserves.

“But…if it’s not mutual, and if you really hate me that much, I can go. I don’t mind.”

He minds very much, but it’s not gonna do her any good to make this all about him again. He doesn’t wait for a response, because he’s not sure his heart can handle any more of it, and heads towards the window. Even he has the decency not to open a ghost portal right then and there, because he just knows that’d be rubbing even more salt into the wound.

Molly throws something at him so hard that it nearly slices him in half as it passes through him and lands on the floor with an aggressive squeak. He freezes in place, and looks to the floor.

A stuffed unicorn.

Twinkle Spot, she’d called it, right?

He’s about to turn and question her, but when he catches a glimpse of her expression in the reflection of the window, every word in his head melts to goop.

She’s frozen in place, her arm stuck in the position it’d just been in to throw Twinkle Spot at him, but it’s trembling violently. Her chest is heaving rapidly, her feet are locked in place, and her face…she’s angrier than she’s ever looked, but also the saddest he’s ever seen anyone look. She looks exhausted to her very core, but also like she’s got enough adrenaline coursing through her veins to run an entire marathon.

She’s trying to hold it together, but she looks absolutely petrified.

Like someone who just had the whole world placed gently into her hands only for it to crumble to pieces right in front of her.

She’s trying to stop him.

He slowly backs away from the window to comply, and Molly comes undone.

All at once, like the invisible force holding her up with strings decided to cut her loose, she crumbles to the ground, bawling so hard that it makes her breathing ragged and shallow. If not for his own hesitation, Scratch is sure he would’ve rushed forward to catch her out of habit.

“I don’t…” she tries, her voice broken up by her sobs. “I don’t hate you.” She sniffles, and forces her head up from the floor to look at him. “Nothing you could do could ever make me hate you.”

All of that bite and venom from earlier is gone, almost as if it was never there to begin with. All he’s left with now is a dim glimpse of the Molly he once knew and loved, shadowed by what he can only assume is three years’ worth of heartbreak. He wishes there was something he could possibly do to go back and undo everything, but he fears that any attempt at conveying that sort of sentiment would only come across as a half-hearted apology.

He simply floats to her side instead, and for the first time all day she doesn’t flinch or move away from him.

He’ll take it. Any progress is better than moving backwards.

“I just…” Molly continues, trying her hardest to calm herself down. “I hate what you did. I hate everything that happened after what you did.” She tries to rub her hands up and down her arms in a weak self-hug, but that only seems to make things worse, because she’s starting to tremble again. “I hate myself for letting you go in the first place.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Scratch exclaims, utterly exasperated. “Absolutely not. I’m not allowing that.”

“Huh?” She stops rubbing her arms to blink at him in confusion. “Which part?”

He grabs her shoulders, his eyes widening in disbelief. “I’m not letting you hate yourself over me! I’d rather you hate me!” He shakes her, realizes what he’s doing, and retracts his hands in horror. “Look, Molly, it doesn’t matter how awful things have been, I never want to hear you blaming yourself for any of it. I don’t care that you were the one who encouraged me to leave. I don’t care that I’d probably still be stuck in some dusty old attic if you hadn’t come along in the first place. I don’t care. Do you want to know why I don’t care?”

She tilts her head at him. “Why?”

“Because it was still my decision to leave! I was still the one who chose to go! I don’t ever want to hear you blame yourself for my stupid decisions!” Scratch yells, scrubbing at the tears building in his own eyes. He’s not trying to raise his voice at her, but it’s really starting to eat him up inside just how much she’s starting to remind him of his old self.

“It wasn’t a stupid decision…”

“And neither were any of yours!” Scratch throws his arms up into the air. “You don’t want to blame me? Fine! But I’m not gonna let you blame yourself, either.” He crosses his arms over his chest stubbornly to get his point across, but she still doesn’t seem entirely convinced.

Scratch sighs.

He’s gonna have to bring out the big guns.

He places a gentle hand on Molly’s shoulder, and waits for her to meet his eyes before he continues.

“Look…I’m sorry, okay?”

Her eyes widen in shock, and she goes to reply, but he silently hushes her before she can.

“I don’t care if you don’t want to hear it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I promised I’d always be here and then took off anyway. I’m sorry I told you I’d never forget you and then brushed you off like you were nothing to me. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder. I know I could’ve. I know that you know I could’ve. But I didn’t. I know I could just blame it on a lapse in memory, but…you still deserved better. I’m sorry.”

“Scratch…” her facial expression softens, looking dangerously close to bursting into tears again.

“Up up, I’m still not finished,” he holds up a finger, and maybe he’s just seeing what he wants to see, but he’s almost certain that she just cracked a tiny smile.

“I love you, Molly. I must not have said it enough times before if you’ve got it in your head that I was ever happier without you. I don’t even know who or where I’d even be without you. I could maybe count on one hand how many people ever had any faith in me before you came along. I know I said this earlier, and it probably just sounded like I was begging for you to pay attention to me, but I’m being as sincere as I can. I need you, Molly. There’d be something missing from my afterlife if I tried telling myself any different.” He shakes his head. “And I don’t wanna be too bold, but there’s something telling me that you and I are stuck in the same little boat.” He taps at his head. “So I’m not gonna make that same mistake again, okay?”

She’s staring at him slack-jawed, but there’s still some remnants of that scared little kid in her eyes.

“Which mistake?” asks under her breath, like she’s even scared to ask at all.

“Leaving.” Scratch replies. “I’m not leaving again.”

Very hesitantly, he opens his arms.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

A thick, heavy pause.

But before he has the time to lower his arms, he’s finally, finally tackled to the ground in a hug so tight he worries he might fall apart in her arms.

“Scraaaaatch!!!” she wails, and Scratch can’t help the face-splitting grin that spreads across his face as he winds his arms around her over and over and over again to give her the biggest, tightest hug he possibly can in return.

All of those years he spent looking for home, he thinks. All of those years trying to chase a far-gone dream, and all along it was right here in Brighton, right in the very same spot where he thought he’d lost his home forever.

He never truly lost his home, not really.

He’d just needed to find it again.

#my writing #tgamm #the ghost and molly mcgee #molly mcgee #scratch the ghost #molly and scratch

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