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greenninjagal-blog · 3 years

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Deja Vecu

Hello, its been a while!! Please accept this release of the unpublished scene from Chapter Two of Deja Vu. Its basically 4k of Remus being gay for a stranger he keeps seeing die, and ain’t that a mood? :)

Summary: The Missing Scene in chapter 2 of Deja Vu, in which Remus agrees to help a stranger rob a casino.

Words: 4397

Read on Ao3 || Hero Worship Series || My General Writing Masterlist

At twenty-one years old, Remus finds out that robbing a casino is a lot less fun than Ocean’s Eleven led him to believe. It’s almost ridiculous the amount of security that went into protecting the chips and the cash on hand: following the path of the cash box from earlier, there’s two hired security guards framing the employee’s entrance, neither of whom like being touched nor can be persuaded to leave their posts together. There’s a card reader locking the door which despite looking like walnut wood, is actually steel with a clever paint job. And that’s just the first level.

“Predictable,” Dee says from where he had made himself comfortable on Remus’s bed with the complimentary note pad the hotel had supplied him. He had left his suit jacket on the desk to avoid the wrinkles but lounged on the foot of the bed without taking off his shoes. Remus had tossed himself down next to him, stretching out to gather all the pillows and built a throne for himself like he was eight instead of twenty-one.

Dee had watched him, back to wearing the face of the man who had approached him in the casino. Remus thinks he looks nice like that: hansom enough to please anyone who looked his way and charming enough to disarm anyone who might have seen him as out of place and forgettable enough that Remus couldn’t remember if they had gambled together previously.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Remus had pointed out. “I know what the real you looks like.”

Dee’s pen digs into the paper a little harder than necessary and Remus pretends he hadn’t noticed. The smile he receives is light and joking but it doesn’t meet his eyes at all. “I happened to like this appearance.”

Remus hums, “Lame. The scales are cool.” But he had let it drop in favor of twisting the purple casino chip between his fingers.

Dee taps his pen on the comforter in thought, his borrowed blue eyes distant as he mulled over Remus’s reports from futures that won’t happen. “What else did you notice?”

“Tessa isn’t your wife anymore, Danny.”

Dee snorts, which, by all means, should not be as graceful and elegant as he makes it seem. There’s a fluidity to the way he dips his head and scribbled on the pad of paper that makes him looks dignified. Or maybe that’s just the angle that Remus is looking at him with. A lock of his dark hair slips into his eyes and he brushes it back with two gloved fingers.

Remus falls back against the stack of pillows he had built around himself, breathing deeply and settling himself. The air smells like the lemon cleaner that the hotel staff had used to clean his room earlier when Remus had been out and about, but there’s hints of something else—something sweet and spicy with an undertone of wood.

--Dee blinks at the question, shifting so that he’s lying on his stomach, his head resting on his palm. “I wonder,” He says, with eyes so bright and blue and innocent that Remus feels like he’s stuck in them, “if you mean the Cardamom scent from my aftershave.” And Remus’s heart beats just a little faster, a little harder, a little more.—

“When I ask what else you notice,” Dee says, drawing Remus back to the present, “I meant your other senses. You’ve told me about what you’ve seen. What about sounds? The smells? You said you experience this as a first-person thing, correct?”

Remus waves a hand. “Its both. I’m there in person but I’m also having an out of body experience, too.”

Dee squints. “Doesn’t that…get confusing? How can you interpret all the stimuli at once?”

“Stimuli! What, are you a scientist in your free time?” Remus mocks, but Dee’s shoulders tense at the insinuation.

“You don’t have to tell me.” He says, “I was just curious.” He’s not, though. Remus isn’t quite sure how he knows, but Dee’s curiosity is more than just a simple question. It feels like it’s more, like he’s gathering information and sorting it away for later, like he’s making decisions based on Remus’s answers that have nothing to do with the how they are going to get into a Vault protected by a six digit code that only three people have and then get back out with more money than they can physically carry.

“Shame,” Remus says, feeling the shift in the bed as Dee’s shoulders unwind. “If you were a scientist you could dissect me for all the goodies inside! Of course, you can do that without being a scientist, too, but it’s not as fun.”

“Are you speaking from personal experience?”

Remus flips the coin in the air and catches it with the same hand. It comes up heads. “Why, does that scare you?”

Dee watches him, the pen absently twirling in the air between them. Remus can feel the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, pressing on his chest and making him self conscious of exactly how many breathes he’s been taking. The cotton comforter has a square pattern on it that he hadn’t noticed before, but he can count only three squares between the two of them. For some reason that information feels important.

“No,” Dee says after another moment passes and the air simmers. “I supposed it concerns me.”

Remus swallows the urge to laugh at his face.

“You just seem to be a useful person,” Dee continues, defensively. “I would hate to see that usefulness be squandered.”

This time Remus does laugh and it’s a bumbling bubbling burst of noise in their quiet world. His lungs shake and his heart hurts, but he laughs and something about it makes Dee’s smile softly too. The air is light, but there’s an underlying tension there, lurking in the shadows and reminding Remus that for all the dashing good looks and the semi honest expressions, the man before him is a stranger wearing a borrowed face and absolutely no one would miss him if he disappeared.

He flips the coin again, watching it roll over itself too many times to count, bounce off his hand and then flop to a stop direction between the two of them. Dee pokes it with the butt of his pen, like he was expecting it to get up and walk away.

“To answer your question,” Remus says, breathing in deeply enough to smell his cardamom aftershave and wondering why no one else in his twenty-one years of living had thought to ask him. “Seeing the future does get confusing. But it’s whatever. It never causes anything worse than a nosebleed.”

Dee hums and scribbles something down on his notepad. If Remus sat up just slightly, he would be able to see it, but he finds he likes the mystery more. Was it notes to use against him? Or was it things to think about in the future? Or was it still the colossal list of numbers they weren’t even a fraction of the way through?

--They manage to draw the guard’s attention away with a faked emergency: Remus never put stock in his own acting skills so he stumbles and falls on another patron and lets his head crack against the corner of the a craps table just far enough away that the guards are drawn the few steps over to check on both of them. Remus doesn’t bother responding to any of their prompts until Dee with the face of Tim the dealer swipes his borrowed card and lets the door behind him close. They had radios from the same place where Dee had procured the keycard from, and Remus thinks he could fall asleep listening to Dee’s breaths.

“Left, right, or center?” Dee asks.

“Left,” Remus hums, watching the casino patrons around him. A woman in her thirties just won at a baccarat table and tried to kiss the dealer. “There’s a camera at around the corner, but it roves. Your future self said to wait five seconds then go.”

Remus waves down a waitress and orders a mojito while he waits. Dee gives soft laugh at the concept and Remus tries to calm his nerves.

“You’re so uptight,” He says softly, almost to the point where Remus can’t hear him over the chattering of other people. “Relax a little, Remus. It’s just my life.”

“The Elevator code is 7-1-3-2,” Remus tells him. “And you’re going to want change your pretty little face to someone of a higher ranking on the casino hierarchy unless you want Terry Benedict to know what we’re up to.”

Remus holds his breath as the elevator dings, and then as Dee repeats the code as he types it in, and then as the doors rumble closed. He twists the glass of his drink when it comes as he listens for the subtle clues on how far Dee is inside the belly of the beast. It takes him a moment to realize that Dee is humming softly, and his lips twist into a smile without his permission.

There’s some garbled conversation on Dee’s end, pleasantries and greetings and nice things that Remus never bothered to memorize. Dee glides through the conversations with ease, deceiving and grifting like he had been born to do it. And who knows? Maybe he had been. Polite conversation gets them through another three doors, including a hall wracked the cameras and the final elevator that can only be opened with two keys and a pin code graciously provided by an aware high-level friend that followed them in and was still chatting about their Perfect Child’s first steps.

Remus sips his mojito and watches the girl at the nearest roulette table eye the betting board. She’s still going to lose so Remus finds himself more entertained by trying to extract the lime from his drink than from watching her pout yet again when the ball lands on the red 36.

“Ah yes, the vault code,” Dee’s voice says, dragging Remus back to the mission at hand. He’s casual, loose, and ready, and Remus doesn’t understand how he does it. He glances down at the piece of paper in his hand and reads off the six-digit combination that was next on their list.

“5-1-3-2-7-6,” Remus presses a hand to his earpiece, listening as closely as he can. His breath shortens with each second, crafting infinities out of each passing tick. He can hear Dee’s laugh and his he listens closer he can make out the guard that’s next to him still chattering away. Each button bings when Dee presses it in, soft and charming and not at all like a guillotine that’s cut their mission off a hundred-some times before.

“Hey man you, okay?” The person with Dee asks, less out of curiosity and more out of suspicion.

“Yes sorry my finger slipped,” Dee says quickly and punches in the next number in ascending order out of blind hope that it might be the correct one but it isn’t and Remus knows it because that’s when the person next to Dee asks him to back away and demands to know who he is and Dee’s placating answers are never enough so he tries to shift but bullets are faster than he is and Remus rips out his ear piece right before the gun goes—

“Another bust,” Dee sighs, drawing a snake on the corner of his paper. “Somehow I feel like we could win more playing on the casino floor than doing this….” He trails, off eyes distant again, thinking more about money than about the number of deaths Remus has witnessed.

It seems strange, that Remus would care so much more about that then he does, but in a way that doesn’t surprise him. Its Death with a capital ‘D’ and in Remus’s twenty-one years of experience, the only people who feared death were those who were aware of how close it was. Remus was practically best friends with Death, with the taste of the asphalt on the highway, with the feeling of a free fall, with the awkward fit of a hotel bathtub. He’s familiar with the cold silver of fear, but it doesn’t make him any less afraid.

Dee knows he keeps dying, though. Dying alone, deep inside a labyrinth of a building and Remus wonders if he should stop this while he’s ahead. He knows once that half hour mark hits in the future there’s no more Dee to be waiting for, no pay out. Just the pain of seeing a swarm of S.W.A.T. officers covertly weave between the patrons and leave with a human sized black bag. But Remus still waits and watches, holding dutiful vigil over a fruitless endeavor and letting hope build just for it to shatter with reality.

“Why does this mean so much to you?” Remus asks, somewhere between the fifteenth and the hundred fiftieth casino themed wake procession. His eyes burn a little, and he tries to tell himself it’s just the brightness of lights.

“Money is everything,” Dee marks the next two number off his list on his notebook and talks without listening to his own words. Its not fair that he sounds so convinced it’s true, when his mouth moves like he’s practiced this in the mirror. “What about you? Why do you continue to watch?”

Remus sinks back on his pillows, holding on to that faint scent of wood and spice and the feeling in his gut that comes from every time Dee listens to his advice from the future, from every time Dee listens and adheres, from every times Dee just believes.

Remus wonders how so much trust could be from this stranger who’s known him for an hour or two, and yet Roman had never been able to just accept what he said without an argument. He sounds crazy when he talks about what will happen, but Dee just nods and lets his lips twitch into a smile when handing him a roll of toilet paper.

Remus rips off another length the cheap paper and folds its in half before shoving it on his face. There’s blood in his mustache, which is frustrating and tastes just as gross as all the other times he’s had blood dripping down his chin.

“Remus,” Dee says, without looking up from his notepad.

“Yes, dearest stranger taking up half my bed?” He inhales hard.

“This is a fourth, at most.”

“Tomayto-tomahto.”

Dee shoots him a look that he can just barely make out around the clomps of flimsy paper he’s holding to his face. He looks like he’s trying not to be amused. Which is funny! Because, well, Remus can’t remember the last time someone who wasn’t related to him was in his company long enough to find him amusing.

“Why are you doing this?” Dee asks. “Other than the money, which we agreed would be a fifty-fifty split, regardless of how much we manage to walk out of here with….but somehow I don’t see money being enough for you to watch me die over and over again. Otherwise you wouldn’t have stopped me from lunging for that cash box.”

Remus is twenty-one when he shrugs and says, “It’s something to do.”

Dee huffs another dazzling laugh and for a moment Remus thinks he can see a flash of sharpened teeth in that smile, fangs like a vampire come to life, but it’s too fast for him to be sure. “Ah, I see we’re both liars tonight. Ready for the next attempt?”

Remus wonders if it’s still lying when its technically the truth. He’s doing this because its time spent with this shapeshifting sham, this enlightening enigma, this confusing con artist who lies as easily as breathing. Remus has a hard time believing anything personal he says is true, and yet he finds himself eyeing the three squared spaces on the comforter again wondering if it would be too much to make it two, one, none.

For someone who trusts Remus to see the future seven billions times as they try to figure out the vault code, who follows every direction Remus gives without hesitation, who continues to act as if Death is not something that can happen to him, he is extraordinarily hard to trust in return. Words are meaningless because he flaunts them, and Remus grew up watching Roman practice lines enough to know when someone was acting. Dee probably isn’t even his real name.

But Remus…Remus hasn’t been seen the way that Dee sees him before. Isn’t that enough for him to want to spend as long as he can with this stranger? Regardless of the danger Dee is running straight into? Regardless of the slight thrill that he gets from the prospect that they might get away with this?

-- There’s some garbled conversation on Dee’s end, pleasantries and greetings and nice things that Remus never bothered to memorize. Dee glides through the conversations with ease, deceiving and grifting like he had been born to do it. And who knows? Maybe he had been. Polite conversation gets them through another three doors, including a hall wracked the cameras and the final elevator that can only be opened with two keys and a pin code graciously provided by an aware high-level friend that followed them in and was still chatting about their Perfect Child’s first steps.

Remus sips his chocolate martini and watches the girl at the nearest roulette table eye the betting board. He knows from all the other times he’s watched that she loses, although as he peaks over at the numbers she’s never far off. It must be that excitement of the near win that keeps her there.

“Ah yes, the vault code,” Dee’s voice says, dragging Remus back to the mission at hand. He’s casual, loose, and ready, and Remus doesn’t still understand how he does it.

“5-1-3-3-4-1.”

He can hear Dee’s laugh and his he listens closer he can make out the guard that’s next to him still chattering away. Each button bings when Dee presses it in, soft and charming and not at all like the bells of victory when the code is right, holy shit. The Code was right. Dee’s breath catches in his throat, and Remus nearly drops his martini on the floor. His heart races in his chest with an emotion that he can’t quiet put a name too.

They did it.

They…won. Remus makes his way towards the doors where they were set to meet back up, and Dee continues a casual conversation with the armed guard about children as he fills both his briefcases with as much money as he can fit. By the breathless excitement in his voice, Remus can guess there’s more money in front of him than he expected to be able to get. He invites the guard over for family dinner next night because he’s an asshole and Remus finds that quality admirable.

He waves down a waitress to get a second drink, Dee’s celebratory drink, because as soon as he got past the doors they were home free-

“Hey! Hey! Stop him!” A voice yells in Dee’s ear and the shapeshifter curses.

“Remus!” He yells, “The executive is in the halls! He-!”

There’s a gunshot and a thud and Remus rips out his earpiece and screams loud enough to make all the nearest games freeze in their tracks—

“Let me guess,” Dee says, rolling over, “Another bust? The next numbers ar—”

“No,” Remus throws himself into a sitting position, and blindly grabbing for more toilet paper. The back of his throat is slick with a metallic taste and his head spins a bit when he tries to stand up. “No, Dee!”

“No?”

“Dee, we did it! That’s the code,” Remus says, pretending like his knees don’t buckle when the floor rolls under his feet. Dee is there in a moment, hands under his arms and holding him up completely. Its almost like a hug, Remus thinks distantly. He’s twenty-one and he can’t remember the last time someone hugged him even as a joke. His skin itches at the contact, blistering and burning at the warmth of someone else being so close to him. The cardamom scent is so strong, but Remus thinks he might be okay if that was the only thing he smelled for the rest of his life.

“Are you…okay?” Dee asks. “Why are you…?”

Remus uses the back of his hand to wipe away the stream of blood from his nose and inhales hard. “You died again. The executive you choose to impersonate is in the building and you run into him right before getting out with the cash.”

“Who was it? I can change into someone else.”

Remus shakes his head. “Oh no. I’ve got no clue, but if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s get someone’s attention.”

Dee grins, “You certainly got mine. What are you going to do?”

Remus slides his weight back and manages to stand on his own legs. Remus’s heart does a dance routine in his chest, moving like if it slows for even a second Dee will lunge forward and rip it from his body.

Remus tells him, “I’m going to go make a girl win at roulette so much they think she’s cheating. With a hundred thousand dollars on the line that should have their attentions, right?”

It’s not really a question. Remus knows from experience that the more games in a row that you win during a game involving so much luck, the more interest people start to take in it and you. He just needs to convince the girl to bet only where he tells her to, and then bet as much as she can.

He knows how to do it, too: simply walk up to her and offer her a free Barney if she bets on the square he tells her too. Once she wins, he tells her the next one, and maybe she puts a nickel down, or a quarter, just in case he’s wrong. When she wins again, he’ll tell her the next number, and she’ll put more on it. Then more. Then more. She doesn’t even need to believe that he can see the future. She just has to reap the rewards.

“Oh,” Dee says staring at him. “Oh.”

Remus isn’t sure what he’s looking at. He just knows that Dee’s eyes are as blue as the ocean and deeper than anything he’s ever drowned in. He’s looking at Remus again, like this is the first time he’s seeing him in this lighting, and when he smiles, his teeth are definitely sharper than before.

“I do believe,” Dee says, “we could make the best team of thieves there is out here.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?” Remus asks. “Come on. I didn’t listen to you die nine hundred times just for you to chicken out now.”

He grabs his jacket, and buttons it. With a swipe of his hands he’s hair sets back in the position before, like some type of magic act. If Dee’s the magician, Remus thinks he would be honored to be in the front row every time he performs.

“So, you’d be up to doing this again, correct?” Dee asks, with his hand on the doorknob.

“They won’t fall for the same trick twice,” Remus says, “And what makes you think that this is something I enjoy?”

“I didn’t ask if you enjoyed it. I asked if you’d do this again. Not here, but somewhere else.” Dee glances at him, side eyeing him in a way that makes the hair on the back of Remus’s neck stand on end. “You still owe me.”

“What?” Remus turns to face him, and if there’s a spark in his chest, a nudge of excitement, well who can blame him? People don’t usually want him to stay around.

Another step in the hall. “We made a deal, unless you’ve forgotten. You said that if I could figure out how you were cheating, you’d do one thing that I want you to do.”

Remus snorted and motioned between them, “What do you call this? What we’ve been doing for the past hour?”

“This?” The man gives him a shark-like smile, “You did this of your own volition!”

“I seem to recall you asking,” Remus challenges.

Dee shakes his head too innocently. “Not in this timeline.” He pulls out his pale-yellow handkerchief and offers it to him, “You still have blood on your face by the way.”

There’s something nice about the way that this man is looking at him, the way he’s still looking at him, like Remus is something more than a nuisance, more than a distraction, more than an unwanted, frustrating intrusion. It makes his knees weak and the back of his throat taste like blood again and he so desperately wants to look to the future but won’t let himself do it.

“What do you want?” Remus says, because the uncharacteristic fear in his chest is slowly turning all his organs to butterflies and he never goes back on a promise.

“Well, you did say anything I wanted right? Anything at all?”

Remus nods, rolling his finger over the snake design on the stolen poker chip. Suddenly there doesn’t seem to be enough air in the world, and he’s afraid if he inhales too deeply trying to get more, the whole reality will shatter.

Dee’s form shimmers, shivers, and dissolves into Tim the dealer as they wait for the elevator to take them back to the casino floor. It’s an entirely different person but when he looks at Remus all he can see is Dee’s expression.

“Well, Remus,” He says, “After we finish up here, I want you to come with me. Work with me a bit. Let me help you amass a bit of a fortune. Strictly professional, of course. I won’t ask about your past and you don’t ask about mine. We don’t even need to be friends! Just…”

Dee offers out a gloved hand to him. “Business partners?”

Remus is twenty-one and he thinks there might be a timeline out there where he says no, but he doesn’t even entertain that thought.

“Business Partners,” He says and shakes on it.

#Demus #sanders sides #janus sanders #remus sanders #deja vu au #robbing a casino for your mental health #Oceans eleven references because I love that movie #superpowers #Remus from before things get bad #tw: temporary death #Remus can see the future #Janus can shapeshift #Everything is GREAT :)

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infinitelytheheartexpands · 3 years

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Responses from the Opera Screencaps Captioning Quiz

Hello, everyone, and thank you for taking my quiz! I had SO MUCH fun reading your captions-- there were several times I literally started crying from laughing so hard at the amazingness of your work! With that in mind, the captions (which I will continue to add onto as more people take it):

(also, thank you to @dichterfuerstin for translating the German captions I got)

originally taken from: the Wiener Staatsoper’s 2020 production of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail, featuring Regula Mühlemann (center) as Blonde, Michael Laurenz (right) as Pedrillo, and an unnamed extra (left) as the Grim Reaper

Responses:

(Backstage warm-up) “ok so someone dropped the pulse”

me and my friends watching the fire burn after doing arson

Introducing the polycule to the parents

*boom* ... did...you guys hear that too?

Ma Signor !

Knight in whinging armour gone wrong, look at how he holds the egg. Polyamory with weird knight and death.

the father, son and the holy ghost are very gay

the gays meeting for brunch, 2021, colorized

chicken lady forces death and a very flamboyantly homosexual anthropomorphized pink bird to be parents of her egg (they dont want to be)

That’s just me and my friends on our night out (before covid rip)-- closest

A Good Friday night

good omens (2019)

["the pocket guide to boy/girl/mischief" meme] who's the boy and who's the mischief though????

Papageno and Papagena take their first-born egg trick-or-treating

Angry Birds - The Musical. A pig stole an egg and the bird unites with death to take revenge.

I love my bird wife

Someone got murdered during the funky chicken dance

throuple murders child and steals sibling of said child

When you and your friends have widely different tastes in literature

angel leading twink to his rightful place (hell)

draco malfoy from a very potter musical and a death eater are very much in the wrong show

What have I gotten myself into

Mlm/wlw solidarity but I’m not telling who is who

A woman stands with a pink dipshit with an egg and a reaper.

A bird-couple makes a pact with Death, sacrificing their first-born bird-child in order to bring good luck upon their unborn bird-baby

There are three types of people on Halloween:

Uh oh, I don’t think the mother hen is very happy about this...

oh god, they’ve invented seussical. It’s too early!

gay brunch

Three little maids from school are we

guys maybe if we dress gay enough we can distract everyone from the dead flapper bee in the back

those three killed a duck for her egg and are facing the conswquences.

Duck has egg with human, shocked and upset due to biological impossibility

When you bout to make a banging omelet so you invite your fellow queers

"No mortal man could pass that egg, but heaven shall repair your rectum."

originally taken from: the Salzburg Festival’s 2007 production of Hector Berlioz’s Benvenuto Cellini, featuring Maija Kovalevska (left) as Teresa Balducci, Laurent Naouri (center, in chimney) as Fieramosca, and Burkhard Fritz (right) as Benvenuto Cellini

Responses:

“In this same interlude it doth befall That I, one Snout by name, present a wall; And such a wall, as I would have you think, That had in it a crannied hole or chink, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, Did whisper often very secretly. This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth show That I am that same wall; the truth is so: And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.” - a midsummer night’s dream, act v scene 1

"ah yes a prime specimen. see here, right in this box is our one of a kind hob goblin that can be all yours for the low low price of your soul"

what, YOU don't have a special eavesdropping chimney window?

Hänsel und Gretel plotting against the witch

man takes a wrong turn and ends up in a chimney, catches his girlfriend cheating-- closest

when you end up third wheeling the straight couple

lady cheats on her leather jacket wearing scummy boyfriend and when he unexpectedly comes home she hides the lover in the chimney

A straight girl and her gay best friend gossip about stuff idk

Idk Shakespeare?

experimental couples therapy feat. the chimney mf from mary poppins

Area Couple Inadvertently Traps Santa-in-Training in Chimney as they Attempt Rooftop Flirting

Landlords laugh over student renter's misfortune

I never asked for this

Ay yo lil mama lemme whisper in your ear

voyeurist listens to sandy and Danny from grease

Psssst! Did you hear about Susan? You won’t believe it!

lady and the tramp meets beauty and the beast?

human trafficking

And for just $30 you too could have your own tiny brick cage!

Psst I’m wearing assless chaps under this dress

A couple tortures a man in a box.

It's all fun and games being stuck in a chimney until your greasy uncle steals your crush from right above you-- okay ngl this could actually be a great Don Pasquale concept

Taking eavesdropping to the next level

Will you two stop being lovey dovey and let me out? SUMMER LOVIN, HAPPENED SO FAST—

overhearing how people talk about you when they think they're alone puts you in the shithouse

Does he know we can see him?

dear god, i am so fucking hungry, yall please just do whatever heterosexuals do so i can go eat a popsicle

the human version of the trash man from sesame street is realizing that those two are going to fuck on his trash can

Tmw you capture an angry short dude and start trashtalking him where he can hear

Omg what if we kissed but we actually kissed the lil goblin man under us

"Remember, don't feed him after midnight"

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Leonardo Estevez (right, on fake horse) as Le Comte d’Oberthal

Responses:

“When I said we needed to drain the swamp I didn’t think there were people actually living there”

horse? what horse? no sir i dont know what horse youre referring to.

definitely don't have a napoleon complex going on

King stole La Scala‘s Lohengrin set

king breaks all his horses, has to use statue dragged by servants as transportation because he’s too kingly too walk

Emperor Söder and his subjects on a carnival procession

man on horse makes a big deal out of being on a horse

That’s not Zeffirelli because the horse is not alive

Who the fuck put a horse on the stage

isn't this that picture of napoleon on the horse

Area Count Thinks Citizens will be Intimidated by his Extremely Fake-looking Horse Statue-- closest

Everyone wants their turn on the giant plaster horse. Police are there to make sure everyone waits their turn.

Night out with the lads

Local royalty horrified at the state of his own damn kingdom

gay army fights different gay aesthetics-- hi author how does it feel to be the funniest fucking person on this quiz

Well at least I LOOK badass

ceasar if he hadn't gotten stabbed (colourised)

some soldiers jumped out of my kindergarten fairytale collection book to burn the don carlos flemish deputies at the stake

It’s just a model

Is that how you feel pulling up in your Honda Civic, Madge?

Someone rides a horse statue in public.

Just a normal party with the bros.

what is this, some kind of crossover episode?

Terribly sorry for all the fuss, it’s just, that is, my horse is afraid of neck ruffles. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he’s—whoaaa there—he said he was a french courtier in a past life and he’s allergic to English fashion

Horse seller, listen to me! I am riding into battle. I need your strongest horse. - We have horses at home. - The horses at home:

All hail Incitatus the king

we are not ripping off shakespeare’s henry viii. what the fuck. this is about lenny xi you uncultured swine, go drown in a pit of your own farts

oh god is that hamilton

Guy Removed From Art Museum For Sitting On Statue, more at eleven

Gay <3

Officer: This horse... is a virgin! Crowd: *cheers*

originally taken from: the Parma Verdi Festival’s 2017 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Stiffelio, featuring Maria Katzarava (left) as Lina and Luciano Ganci (right) as Stiffelio

Responses:

That One kid in class

its a mEntAL BreAkDowN *final countdown but kazoo*

*record scratch* yeah, that's me. you're probably wondering how I got here-- closest

Dad keeps monologuing, teenager is done

left: all of my concerned friends, right: my emo ass having a very public mental breakdown

the demons in the corner of my room when im just trying to sleep

lady gets mansplained to (do i need to say more, we've all been there)

It’s probably an area baritone telling off an area soprano-- sorry; it’s a tenor. soprano is right though.

That was a fake horse in the last photo right?

child comes out as gay to father at a particularly bad time

dissociation solves everything

I can't believe it's not butter

Honey we talked about this

My sleep paralysis demon is Crowley from supernatural

child has nightmare of boring job

When you start dating a singer but he won’t stop practicing at night

just an average day in a hetero marriage

what do i do my wife's having period cramps again

Stop having an existential crisis. It’s time to sing!

“No son of mine will kin Gomez Addams under MY roof”

Crowley stares into space while a teen has post nut clarity.

When he wont stop reciting jordan peterson monologues!!

Do you realize how effed you are?

Ugh, not this lecture again! Dad’s Practicing For His Experimental Indie Band Again

asking your parents for help with your own personal situation and them just ranting off about what they went through instead of helping in any way

Will he shut up already!

no one tell him he’s yelling in the wrong direction, no one tell him plnsbdjddhdj

this kid is tired of his dad listening to rush limbaugh (a man who claimed to be pro life but died anyway)

Me internally vs externally

Daddy issues

originally taken from: the Grand Théâtre de Genève’s 2020 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots, featuring several chorus members

Responses:

It’s the deadly eye Of Poogley-pie. Look away, look away, As you walk by, ‘Cause whoever looks right at it Surely will die. It’s a good thing you didn’t … You did? … Good-bye. - shel Silverstein

why the fuckith? my good sir, i beg of you to put your pants back on

I hate this itchy hat

Titanic Extras hear that they have to do extra hours

people waiting to board the titanic watch someone fall off the plank

pov: you’re a time traveler

guy in the flatcap is embarrassed by patriotism and pathos

No idea. For some reason Le Marseillaise comes to mind

Is this from Harry Potter?

disneyland main street usa workers on strike

local tries to hide behind Newsies cap to avoid unpleasant but inevitable conversations. meanwhile, some very fashionable ladies look on.

"Thank fuck, 2020 was just a dream after all"

“We gather here today because this bitch got exactly what she deserved” “heaven!” “Stfu Stephanie she’s going to hell and we all know it”-- not quite but this basically happens later on in the opera (and act) so yeah (except the person in question very much Did Not Deserve It)

dc movie filter on bridgerton

america?

looks like my history teacher paused the prohibition documentary again

Who still wears page boy hats bro?

Coming out to a room of people who Already Knew That

Bitches are relieved at some party.

Several drunk people exiting getting off the subway attempting to seem sober and rational but realizing they have somehow lost all of their possessions

How tf do I act natural in this situation-- closest

“do you think any of them noticed that I don’t know the pledge of allegiance”

It's too fucking hot outside for this outfit

when hyyh yoonkook ending just hits different

pedestrians watch in horror as the triangle shirtwaist factory burns and the workers throw themselves out of the windows from a dozen stories up

Starting the pledge of allegiance be like

He's having a heart attack oh no oh god oh fuck

originally taken from: if I remember correctly, the Semperoper Dresden’s 2018 semi-staging of Johann Strauss II’s Die Fledermaus, with Jonas Kaufmann as Gabriel von Eisenstein

Responses:

“William Shakespeare wrote: "To thine own self be true And it must follow, as the night the day Thou canst not then be false to any man" I believe this wise statement best applies to a woman A blonde woman Over the past three years she taught me And showed us all That being true to yourself never goes out of style Ladies and gentlemen Our valedictorian: Elle Woods!” - legally blonde the musical

eat ass, suck a dick, and sell drugs

woooooorrrrd

Finally Jonas has graduated! It’s about time, considering he’s an international star.

what my professors think they look like

Prof. Dr. Dr. When someone tells him there are more than two genders

'and since you've now graduated high school, you'll be entering college etc. blablabla' .........meanwhile, there's a whole row of graduates daring each other to chug the cheap vodka one of them has brought in gallons (yes that happened at my graduation, lol)

Jonas darling baby <3-- can’t argue with that

I just realized I have no idea what the actual fuck happens in an opera

ok this one is just what jonas kaufmann always wears you can't fool me.

"as valedictorian i will share with you the importance of loving the floor"

"Yes, mother, my art degree will make me money!"

Graduation speakers are out, singers are in

Senior year takes a new meaninbg

mansplainer professor explains the concept of feminism to women

Your Prof when you finally turn in that missing assignment be like

younger boris johnson (derogatory)

jonas kaufmann retires from opera and takes up motivational speaking

What a fine graduation evening we’re having today

-70 points for slytherin you all have no swag

A man with a college hat sings.

An obviously greying actor trying to play a university student in a low-budget porn parody

How it feels to graduate high school after being held back for years

East High is a place where teachers encouraged us to break the status quo and define ourselves as we choose. Where a jock can cook up a mean crème brûlée, and a brainiac can break it down on the dance floor-

I may not have been "cool" in high school, but in ten years you will all be working for me!

I finally got my GED!

that one guy in ur intro to cultural anthropology class who mansplains to the professor somehow fucking graduated

he;s just graduating and taking his speech too serously idk

Graduation speeches with that one dude who got held back 3 times

Smrt

originally taken from: the Metropolitan Opera’s 2011 staging of Gioachino Rossini’s Le Comte Ory with Joyce DiDonato (left) as Isolier, Diana Damrau (center) as Countess Adèle, and Juan Diego Florez (right) as Le Comte Ory (disguised as a hermit)

Responses:

There is something very [disturbing grunts] About polyamorous couples - polyamorous, Chris Fleming

jinkies

femme fatale (including to herself)

I’ll have a threesome soon !

Hot guy walks by, everyone swoons.

thirdwheeling friend does not realize the other two are having sex

When your girlfriend had „just two beers“ again

jesus is exasperated about having to drag the two ladies towards doing what he needs them to do instead of purple dramatically declaring suicidal intent over the smallest trivial matters and red being equally dramatic about declaring that it's not the way! stay alive! i love you!!

The throuple is thriving

Get off the milf

orgy

my last three braincells because im a horny slut

countess receives too much love and is confused on how to react

Rasputin's lesser known romp with a much older czarina of russia

Woman's soul leaves body

Jesus and co. are worried after another woman gets pregnant without having sex

bisexual looks at photos of celebrity couples

When you go to the party to socialize with new people but your weirdo friend group starts getting clingy

Jesus cumming

one of those weird church christmas pageants but everybody's drunk

What have I done

Hozier??????????

Jesus assfucks some purple lady being hugged.

This time, the chick IS the magnet

An affair/threesome gone awry (2019 colorized)

What do you mean they canceled GLOW?

“I TOLD you it was cashmere!”

Are you wearing the - - The Gucci dress? Yes I am.

It's not what it looks like!

jesus is fucking that one cheerleader who grew up to be a suburban mom with one (1) super cool dress she stole from her kid who is desperately hugging her middle begging for it back because the spring fling is coming up and jason might actually make eye contact with her for more than three seconds.

jesus and mary magdaline and some other bitch

I’m at a bar and these drunk girls are flirting with me, do I lOOK GAY?!

Shrek 5, jesus's return

c. 2025 First attempt of an Officer and his Wife with a Handmaiden (colourized)

just about all of these are close lol

originally taken from: the Bolshoi Theater’s 1993 staging of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s The Maid of Orléans, featuring Nina Rautio (left) as Joan of Arc and Vyacheslav Pochapsky (right) as Thibaut d’Arc

Responses:

Don’t look, I’m still pooping

yall, the audacity of this man. he fuckin talked to me

*i can't even tell you how wrong you are* *it would be insulting to ME*-- closest

Cospeto!

„No I’m not talking to you, you keep cracking bad jokes!“ - „But I got another!“

when you’re mad at him but he says he’ll buy you food if you cheer up

When I’m wallowing in self-pity but my friends won’t comfort me

right: wanna fuck ;) left: yeah, fuck OFF lmao

Her face is screaming “don’t tell me what to do”

Yeah I got nothing

gay man tries to hit on a lesbian bc he thinks she's a twink. she's not amused but she's watching this happen anyway

me tired of MET's bullshit and them organising a Netrebko, known blackface apologist, a recital during Black History Month. (sorry im still fucking salty lol)

"stop smiling at me like that I'm trying to pout over here"

"I got fleas, you got fleas... wanna fuck?"

I have the best idea!

Haha nooooo don’t hit me with that bat you’re so sexxyy

lesbian is bothered by dilf

Me trying to flirt

if call me by your name was hetero and set in america

how many more dad jokes can i take before i explode

So. You’ve gotten yourself in a little pickle again.

What if we fought in the Russian revolution together ✨???????... unless??

Two people flirt in a poor place of town/

"If you ask me what I've got under this dirty, shapeless tunic one more time I swear to god I will kick your rotting teeth in"

You look like ur gonna kill me but ok

Really? You again?

Okay, I’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes, do you think it’s safe to—oh god, he’s still there.

Have you seen Godot?

she is tired of everyone’s shit. she has done so many derivatives it physically pains her to see a variable. dont test her. ur icarus rn.

idk pick better pictures-- I HAVE DIED THE SHEER AUDACITY AND HUBRIS I LOVE THIS

200% done with your crap

Homeless man has fucking legs of steel n is gonna show off his Russian dance moves

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2019 staging of Paul Dukas’ Ariane et Barbe-bleue, featuring Sophie Koch (right) as Ariane and I don’t remember who the person on the left is rip me

Responses:

The knight who wore this into battle sure was swaggy

dear god its hiddeous

Capitalism

Knight in shining armour gone even more wrong.

ghost contemplates the safety of spiky motorcycle helmet

„Stop! He feels bullied!“

'this is my newest take for jesus's crucifixion crown ...... what do you mean they already put him up'

That’s probably a really expensive magic helmet idk. IDK-- closest

Omg I love the adventure zone!

minesweeper (windows xp)

"Okay whatever you do don't touch the shiny spiky ball" "It's so shiny I wanna touch it"

Taking down the trash way too late

IT'S NOT A PHASE MOM

Darth Vader got stuck in the freezer.... again. Leia isn’t happy

Star Wars 2030

“And here is the very latest in motorcycle helmet trends” “Look, I only came to the mall for a pair of socks “

futuristic kkk

long-suffering jewelry store attendant really wants to retire

Put it down put it down put it down

“Hmm no you should see a doctor about that”

A weird ass crown is presented

The creation of sars-cov-2: an experimental Eurotrance nightclub art piece gone horribly wrong

How it feels to want something that u cant have

AND WE WILL CALL IT—SPIKE MAN actually do you think that’s too obvious?? Because of the—yeah, because of the spikes?? See, that’s what I’m worried about. I want it to be SCARY

I know it's risky but... lube me up

use the force luke.

that is a weird fleshlight

When you get an ugly gift and need to find a way to get rid of it, so your family member/friend offers to smash it

Touch the orb

originally taken from: the Opera Vlaanderen’s 2019 staging of Fromental Halévy’s La Juive, with Nicole Chevalier (left, with bottle) as Princess Eudoxie, Enea Scala (center, under table) as Prince Léopold, and Roy Cornelius Smith (right) as Éléazar

Responses:

When no one comes to your birthday party :(

fantastic, day 487 of mischief and they have yet to find my masterful hiding spot

i really wonder who he thinks he's playing footsie with

Marriage crisis. Reason sits under the table-- closest but not in the way you think (after all, the man under the table IS a tenor).

the last supper afterparty after jesus left

When you order the last supper on wish

espionage at the Politischer Rosenmontag

Probably the wrong opera but is that Leporello under the table

Now THIS is a Good Friday night

this was every birthday party i went to between the ages of 5 and 11

that awkward moment when you drop your fork under the table but when you re-emerge everyone else has left except one drunk lady and the guy trying to deal with her

After the last supper

Tfw you arrive to the dinner party too early and have to hide until a more fashionable hour

When the cishets aren’t home

waiter hides from customers

Nobody: My dog every time I’m eating:

what's left of the homies Jesus had dinner with

university chem lab experiment gone terribly wrong

I’ve been under the table FOR 30 MINUTES

Set your friends up by tossing them off under the table, they’ll think it’s each other n fall in luv

Someone hids under a table

"You're about to see an surreptitious-under-the-table-dick-sucking master at work"

5 yr old me trying to eat the desert under the table without my parents finding out be like:

They never invite me to their parties!

Just another girl’s night in

Oops! Didn’t notice you the table.

dionysus - bts (2019, colorized)

just a normal episode of eric andre (eric is the one under the table)

Just a normal day with the boys

Thievery

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Kate Aldrich (left, surrounded by women in white) as Fidès and John Osborn (center, looking like a Jesus doppelganger) as Jean de Leyde

Responses:

Hold up, is that Eggman above Jesus?

holy disco

Looks like Tannhäuser. Our lord and saviour Richard Wagner. Now I need to be saved from that.

catholicism

me defending pineapple on pizza (THANK YOU)

jesus but hes about to be abducted by the alien ufo above him

Emmmmmmm Heaven? Idk

Lord of the rings?

ewww christianity gross

"behold, I am Important"

"Seriously?? It's not ACTUALLY pyjama day? Fuck you guys!"

Jesus at the Disco

Jesus Finds The Molerat People Who Live Under Bethlehem

disco is heaven

Want to join my new religion?

the kkk

church christmas pageant where everyone's sober but it's based on the director's fever dream

Am I the only one who sees the giant demon? Just me? Okay...

“Oh god I think I’m starting my period”

A party is held with a priest in the middle

"Let's get this secret Vatican sex party rolling!"

The new avengers endgame set is looking great!!

You know, guys, I try not to be a bother but...I can’t help but feel like I missed a dress code memo for this wedding??? It’s cocktail, right??”

Jesus visits Hogwarts

I must really stink if no one will even come close to me

the extra ass funeral i DESERVE

star wars life day

A cult at it’s best-- closest

Shrek 5, Jesus is still there I guess

originally taken from: the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden’s 2013 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Les vêpres siciliennes, featuring Bryan Hymel (left, standing) as Henri, Lianna Haroutounian (center, kneeling in the black gown) as Duchess Hélène, and Erwin Schrott (kneeling to her right) as Jean Procida

Responses:

When the director’s like “great rehearsal guys, just a few notes before I let you go” but it’s already 9:13 and your mom’s waiting in the parking lot

loyalist of subjects

bow before your queen

They forgot to take down the stage boxes after the Vienna opera ball but the show must go on.

somebody forgot to book chairs for this funeral

Me sharing God’s (Hayley koyoko) word on the discord server

mass execution bc the oboe solo sucked ass-- closest

That’s too many black suits I can’t see shit

I can’t even tell what’s going on here

8th grade school assembly about how it's uncool to shit on the walls at school

let's all get fancy so we can go to the opera and sit on the stage (idk this one's hard lol)

"Yes i am a time traveller, now don't freak out"

Tfw you forget to pay your lighting bills

White guys make decisions that will benefit them and screw someone that’s not a white guy over-- OUCH but that is too real (although not really in context here)

dead man gives speech at his own funeral

brotus and the boys ??? last meeting before the stabbing

high society social function ends in mass murder-- right opera, wrong scene

Someone walks into the talent show stage with a dog

Black-dressed bitches worship a man.

Worst school assembly of all time

POV:You're the window in the classroom and someone said "its snowing"

When the conductor shows up fashionably late to the orchestra concert

That's what you get for choosing the cheapest ticket option, get back in the mud where you belong

theyre just trying to jump into a grave at a funeral leabe them alone this is normal

oh my god he really whipped his dick out in front of everyone, this is just like in 1776 guys, except some women are actually in the room this time,

A funeral, stop wearing so much black

I want to slap their bald heads like rice

originally taken from: the Teatro Real Madrid’s 2018 staging of Gaetano Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, featuring Roberto Tagliavini (right) as Raimondo

Responses:

Crowd “haha!! Looks like someone missed the all-black memo!! Now it’s laugh-in-your-face time! / Guy on the floor (whispering to guy against wall): go, save yourself! I’ll hold them off...”

if i leave now i wont be a witness and can tell the police i had no idea

it was the best of times, it was the worst of times

Guy in the back pretends to help but is to far away to even know what’s going on.

priest walks in on beginning of an orgy, contemplated joining but is too scared-

when someone brings up capitalism but you’re just trying to play minecraft

lol lets trample this guy while the judge isnt looking

Again. Too many black costumes

Loved this Dostoevsky novel

i would know if opera directors were more creative with clothing choices ngl

me on parties lol

"imma just sneak out of here while everyone else is distracted"

"Where did he get this flooring!? Amazing!"

Everyone act normal!

The tell tale heart but they got REALLY drunk

man tposes to ward off vampires after being caught undercover

boys ???? night

the priest really shouldn't have visited the insane asylum-- closest

He’s FINE everyone’s been hit by a car before

Something happens in a room.

Perks of being a wallflower

There's always that one person in the fight whos trying not to get involved when they really wanna

Oh good, they’re all posing for a Rembrandt painting, I can just sneeeeaaak out the back here...

The gamer livestreaming Resident Evil + everyone watching the stream ? waiting for him to open the door just knowing it will trigger a chase scene

Quick!

the guy t posing in the back is regretting his every decision.-- also accurate

the us senate jumps ted cruz, some other wack ass gop senator is trying to sneak away

...I spoke too soon, however this is a James Bond mission

Queers help fellow queer do math but it's a struggle

#opera #opera tag #results #screencaps #captions #caption #caption this #caption contest #this seems to have gone over well and I am Pleased

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mysteriousangstninja · 3 years

Text

For @cblgblog 's amazing More than one kind of soulmate verse , which they've let me play in idea and edit wise.

"Madame Maximoff's Myriad of Mysteries?"

"What do you think?"

"Someone really wanted to make it all M's."

Therese doesn't particularly want to go see some random Freakshow in some little abandoned farm outside the city, it seems like a terrible idea. But her lack of socialization with coworkers and other friends makes her seem antisocial, strange, and well, Carol socializes with Abby and others so why not?

Just one night out. Danny thinks it'll be great fun, even better than the Coney Island ones from what he's heard, real legitimate magic like nothing they've ever seen before, and she'll have so many opportunities for photos of new and strange things she'd never see otherwise.

And he's right, it's... it's like nothing she's ever been to.

There women stronger than Steve there lifting weights, contorting like real acrobats, using their strength to balance off of each other, a man with a bow who doesn't miss a single shot he takes, the fastest man alive who uses a globe of death on his own, and there's Madame Maximoff herself who... what did she do?

What did any of them do?

Therese knows what the acts were, she knows she saw them, she knows she was there, but the more she thinks about them, the less she can summon to her mind. There aren't any solid details, or descriptions, no faces, just a weird shimmering vagueness to it.

The woman - Maximoff? - descending like an angel, flying, floating from the skies, but that's not possible, there's no way she could have.

Therese leaves feeling more unsettled than she's ever felt, unable to really explain anything she's just seen, leaves wondering if maybe she's been drugged.

The photos she took look like something Rindy would have taken. They're all out of focus like she's trying to photograph something only inches away, instead of yards away. The subjects seem to exist in vague blurs, outlines, faces never looking quite in her direction, and a dark haze of something, someone, in midair.

But it has to have just been something strange, a fluke, too tired from work maybe and she dozed off. It has to be. Things like that don't happen to someone who doesn't work in New Jersey with Steve and Peggy.

She can't bring it up to Steve, he'd probably laugh at her and if he didn't it'd still just be a waste of whatever resources it is the place that doesn't exist that he definitely doesn't work for has.

Instead she asks Carol to go back with her, inviting Abby and her girlfriend Rose on a double date.

If she doesn't explain to Abby and Rose, then they won't be on the lookout for anything bizarre beyond a normal freak show. They wont' be biased, and working with the news, Therese has to avoid biased reporting. Carol tells them it "Creeped Therese out" and Abby agrees just for the amusement value there.

Inside she clutches her camera, clutches Carol's hand, and takes a deep breath as the lights go out.

And then they're outside again, stood in the cool night air, and her camera has no film left, no more room for photos.

She knows then it wasn't normal, it wasn't right.

It couldn't have been human.

It's not drugs, Rose says almost listing to herself with a fairly pale face, it's not drugs because she's been given many, many drugs in training and to become immune to them or learn to spot them and this wasn't a drug, and this wasn't a gas. This isn't midnight oil, this isn't human in origin it can't be.

If it is... God help them.

"We have to get to Carters. We-- oh god, we have unknown enhanced in New York."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't-- It's an unknown unknown. I need to get to work. Get home, shower, drink --- drink a lot of water okay? On the off chance I'm wrong... Abby, go with them, do not leave them. Therese- don't let that camera out of your sight."

They spend the night restless, not sleeping, Therese fussing over her photos desperate to find any of them that show anything at all.

By time morning comes, and Steve comes round to gather them up, she has exactly one photo that developed into anything at all.

One photo of a fairly young face, with glowing eyes, staring directly into the lens.

Not human, not normal.

Definitely not like Steve.

"Unknown enhanced."

Maybe staying anti-social would have been the better plan.

#Stegginelli #Belvaird #More than one kind of soulmate #Carol #Captain America #Agent Carter #CBLGblog

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anthropwashere · 4 years

Text

deadfic: Get Out, Get Gone

Yet more deadfic for @goodintentionswipfest! And also another giftfic I never finished, because that’s just who I am as a person! \o/

@ghostfiish did this truly excellent art of Danny’s transformation rings as a galaxy way back when that I promptly lost my whole entire shit over, and also took it as an opportunity to get some kind of manic with the writing style. That, combined with my sort-of accidental, sort-of intentional smashing yet more rad headcanons into it until the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. Still, I remain very fond of this one and what I was trying to do back in 2014, so here we are. 8.7k’s nothing to sneeze at, at least.

Oh, and! While we're at it, have an old Danny playlist I never got around to sharing that fits the mood this fic is going for. Title comes from To Kill a King's "Bloody Shirt (Bastille Remix)," which is unfortunately not included on the Spotify playlist.

There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. You’d think with your powers—

(and doesn’t it feel strange to call them that, when you shake and shiver at the sight of your bones under your meat, when you walk down the stairs and your feet don’t touch anything at all)

—you’d weigh less, be less. A thing of smoke, and ectoplasm, and all that awful electricity arcing through your nerves. But that's not what happened.

You remember that day with a surreal nightmare quality, memories fuzzing and skittering like white noise in your skull. Pain and green light and being so, so certain that had been it. Zap! That’s all she wrote. But it wasn't, and here you are, hovering three inches off the grass and praying no one will see, that no one will know.

You aren’t less for all that’s changed, for all that’s changed in you. Tucker and Sam haven’t said anything about it, and it’s clear they don’t have a clue. Your first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight against the Lunch Lady knocked you right out. They had to carry you all the way home from school after you failed to stop her. It’s a wonder nobody stopped them, dragging your sorry carcass across town. If either of them had noticed, if either of them could have noticed, they would have told you. Or worse, they wouldn’t have managed to get you home at all.

You noticed it when you changed. Not the first time, in the shadowed, silver throat of the Portal—

(electricity cooking you from the inside out, the Portal writhing, burning, tearing itself into existence, a physical hole ripped so cleanly between realities even your parents don’t understand it and they built the damn framework, boiling ectoplasm splashing on you, over you, inside you, changing you forever)

—but after. Changing back and forth without any control, cringing behind dumpsters and hedges, tossing desperate prayers skyward that nobody had seen the light, that nobody had seen you change from kid to freak. So much of you changes when this strange, alien light stretches across you, not just your clothes and eyes and hair, no, you’re different now down to your cells, down to the very structure of your DNA. You know, you’ve checked. So much of you is different, it’s a wonder you didn’t figure it out sooner.

When you change, you’re heavier. Heavier. Not like ten pounds or something any normal kid might stress over. You become the kind of heavy that leaves brushstroke smears in asphalt, reduces sturdy brick walls to dusty rubble, punches craters through solid ground. It hurts when you fall, god does it hurt. But your bones never shatter. Your guts never liquefy. Your brain never dribbles out your ears. How? How can you possibly survive the beatings every new ghost is so eager to give you?

Ah, but there's never any time to think about it though, not really. No time for anything but a raw, thready panic and clumsily scrawled homework copied five minutes before the bell. Your chance to tell your parents came and went, and now there’s always another ghost attacking the city.

Mom and Dad are so happy now. You’ve never seen them happier than this, with the stuff of your grade school nightmares on the rampage. It’s proof they aren’t crazy, proof they haven’t wasted their whole lives on a pipe dream, proof that everybody who ever called them quacks were wrong. Good for them, you guess. Meanwhile you’re picking yourself out of the wreckage of another storefront, glass needled all down your spine, and you can’t help but marvel at the damage your body has done. Can do. Will do.

Because you’re stronger, you’re getting stronger every day. The weight in you that your Sam and Tucker don’t—

(can’t)

—notice grows more noticeable, and after a few fights you're quicker, too. And perhaps you're changing still, perhaps the accident isn't done with you yet, because one day there’s sickly green light at your fingertips, and in no time at all you can manipulate the energy buzzing inside you—

(the electricity and hot ectoplasm from the accident screaming through you, out from your palms and striking down the things that used to scare you as a little kid, back when door knobs and faucets were out of reach of your tiny fingers and there was so much dark in your big big house, and now your hands trail light like after images from staring at the sun too long, now you can patch your hurts up by the light of your own blood, now you're learning that you don’t need to be afraid of what hides in the dark anymore)

—in ways you never thought possible. Sure, lots of what you do is learned the hard way, mid-battle against sizzling green things with teeth like hunting knives, running on instinct and adrenaline and terror all tangled up in your throat. Lots more is later, when it’s quiet and safe again, practicing things you’ve seen other ghosts do again and again and again until you can mimic it, improve it, make it yours.

But no ghost you fight has the same heaviness as you do. No improbable weight that defies the logical mass of their ectoplasm. If it’s big, it’s heavy. If it’s small, it’s light. Unexpected logic from creatures that defy logic in every other way.

There’s a lesson you learn the hard way, testing the strength of these invaders against your bruised and splitting knuckles. You learn caution. You learn restraint. If you punch them hard enough, some ghosts, the little formless ones your parents have captured once or twice now, burst like water balloons—a hard pop of searing green, an overwhelming smell-taste of citrus and hot pennies. Too much of your supernatural strength pressed into the soft hide of a monster and the end result is a glowing puddle where someone used to be.

You learn this lesson quickly. You learn that even when you’re fighting for your life, you’ve got to hold back. You defend, you protect. Death scares you too much to risk killing—

(is it killing when it’s already dead, where does a ghost go when it dies, is there something more to the Ghost Zone than what you’ve glimpsed with your own eyes or is that it, is that all, have you erased someone from reality forever, these are the questions that make your stomach hurt, that make it hard to breathe, that make it hard to fake a smile when Jazz asks if something’s wrong)

—something so much like yourself. Even if it’s got teeth like hunting knives.

You think you’re an anomaly, a freak, the only one stupid enough to walk into a Ghost Portal and zap yourself full of juice that by rights should have killed you—

(and a little part of you wonders if that isn’t just what happened, if you’re just a dead thing walking around in your body, wearing it like a meatsuit and waiting for the rot to show, but it’s been a month, it’s been months, and you eat more and you sleep less, not because you don’t need it but because there’s never any time, and you’ve grown another inch and there’s new definition to your muscles, and that all must mean you’ll be okay, that you are okay, it has to)

—until Wisconsin. Until Vlad.

He’s in the same boat as you, plus twenty years of experience and enough self-made loneliness to turn him bitter and crazy and dangerous. He wants Dad dead and Mom his, like she’s some kind of carnival prize he can win if he throws his weight around enough. Swing the mallet, hit the bell, and congratulations! The woman you haven't spoken to in twenty years who has made her own life without you is now yours to take home! Ugh.

But god, he can hit hard. Lightning, real lightning, nothing like the weak little zaps of electricity inside you, rattles at his fingertips like a living thing, furious burning strikes of pain, and he knocks you aside like he’s bored. You have a thousand questions, but he won't give you a single answer unless you concede defeat or whatever he wants, so it looks like you’ll just have to beat the answers out of him instead. Who cares if he’s got twenty years on you? He’s not out most nights pummeling wayward ghosts back into the Ghost Zone. He’s not out most days saving people from ghosts with bloodthirsty, power-hungry vendettas. What you lack for in time and experience you make up in rooftop fistfights and stolen first-aid kits.

Sure you managed to outwit him—

(barely, hardly at all, he just wanted to save face in front of Mom, if he hadn’t cared about that, if he’d just tried overshadowing Mom instead it all could have turned out so differently, and doesn’t that thought make it hard to sleep the first few nights back home)

—but you can’t stop thinking of what it had been like to fight him, of what it was like to see another person do all that you can and so much more. You remember every second of each fight, like it’s been burned across your eyelids. You replay it all every time you blink for days, for weeks. It’s easy as thought to recall the light arcing around his waist as he’d transformed. Just like yours, and yet nothing like yours. The color, sure, that had been the obvious difference. When you change it’s a white light, sharp and searing enough to leave stars in your eyes if you look at it. His transformation—

(black like cave darkness, black like a power outage, black like the vastness between stars, sucking in light like a hungry thing, like it’d swallow you whole if it had had the chance)

—had been like a punch to the gut even before he’d buried his fist in your gut. You’d known without words, known in some primitive bit of brain that still looked up at the night sky and thought magic before science, you had known. You and Vlad were made out of the same mess, but maybe, just maybe, those twenty years were stacked against him.

Trouble is, the transformation is so quick you can’t make much out but the light/non-light of yours and his, and luckily—

(unluckily?)

—he’s all the way in Wisconsin so you don’t have many opportunities for a closer look at his. You ask Sam and Tucker to take pictures and videos, change back and forth so often you almost forget which side of you is which, but the quality is never good enough to see what you know is there—

(but can’t explain, not with words, even though you try for the benefit of your friends because they’re the ones there for you when everything else has gone topsy-turvy, but you’re just a kid who leaks green when dead people hit you too hard, just a kid with bad grades and a lot of questions to evade, and what you’re trying to pinpoint frame by frame is something so beyond your vocabulary you can only shrug, can only say you want to know more about your powers and hope this is one of those white lies nobody catches you in the act of)

—so you stop.

Do you give up? No, but there are more important things to focus on. It isn’t shelving your questions so much as putting them on the backburner. There are ghosts to deal with. Ghosts that want to hurt you, ghosts that want to hurt humans, more and more ghosts with strange and terrifying abilities pouring out from the Portal all the time. Closing the Portal doesn’t slow them any, which doesn’t make any sense to you. Then again, Dad was up to his elbows in most of the Portal’s guts and wiring, so applying logic to any inch of it is pretty pointless. You’ve learned not to ask too many questions about anything with a Fenton sticker slapped on it.

You’re busy now, busy all the time, bruised and burned and even stitched up all the time. Super strength is only so good when you’re fighting things with teeth like hunting knives. But it’s whatever, it’s no big deal, really. Because you’re keeping people safe. You’re learning more about the Ghost Zone and the things that inhabit it. You’re learning more about yourself; your powers, your weaknesses, how quick you can be with a snarky quip. Yeah, your parents are aiming guns and questions at you. Yeah, teachers with red pens and detention slips are hounding after you. And yeah, you’re fourteen years old bare-knuckle fighting monsters and no one ever says thanks because they think you’re just like every other ghost out there or maybe that you’re some human-loving freak—

(and when you think of your life like this, in lists of who wants answers and who wants to see you bleed, it sounds so bad, it sounds like you should be one inch away from a complete breakdown, but is it weird to say you’re happy, is it weird to say you couldn’t imagine your life any other way)

—yet you grin through a mouthful of red-and-green and keep going. Elated? Maybe, sometimes. Scared? Absolutely, sometimes. You’re just a kid with eyes that flare like headlights when somebody’s pissed you off.

It’s only right to be scared, sometimes.

Still, it’s the weight of you that keeps you grounded, keeps you human when you need to be. Sit in a chair, walk across a bridge, it all makes the same creak under you as it would for Sam and Tucker. But take one of Skulker’s shoulder rockets to the face, you leave a crater in Central Park so big they decide to just turn it into another duck pond. A permanent new addition to the park, and all your face gets is a nasty bruise Dash takes the credit for. You let him, because Lancer overhears. Dash is the one getting detention for once, and there’s a nasty satisfaction to be found there.

You and Jazz share a bathroom, and she’s got a scale she keeps in the towel cupboard. Curious, you take it out one day after school and try to weigh yourself. Last time you checked, you were somewhere near 120, puberty stretching you faster than your appetite can keep up. This time, the numbers whirl past 280 pounds before the scale makes a metallic groan and crumples like tissue paper under your sneakers. Sheer reflex launches you into the air, and you bounce off the ceiling with your knees hugged so tight to your chest you can hear tendons creak, your heart a thundering jackhammer in your chest. Thank god you’re home alone, because you hover there for who-knows how long, too scared the floor will crack under your illogical, impossible weight, too scared you’ll plummet straight down to the hard steel of the lab if you try to stand, too scared you might plummet even further.

When you finally do scrounge up the courage to touch down, an air bubble in the old linoleum crackles under your heel and you damn near jump out of your skin. After that, all you can do is laugh and laugh until your sides hurt. You throw Jazz’s scale out in a dumpster a block away and never tell her what happened to it.

What does this mean? Is the weight of you optional? If you think about it too hard, does it become real? What about when you’re fighting, causing all that property damage the city hates you for? You’re not thinking of the strangeness of your mass during a brawl, you’re thinking in terms of survivability. Punch this hard to win, get punched this hard to lose. What about when you’re thinking about it at school? Why don’t you break your desk, or the floor, or the stairs?

You don’t know. Your parents might be able to figure it out if you told them, but you don’t. Knowing about you, about what you really are—

(a freak, a monster, an accident, an anomaly bleeding out energy with every burst of green light you bury into the spiny hides of other monsters, who knows how long until your white rings burn black, if one day you’ll look in the mirror and be no different than Vlad, not because you didn’t try your hardest but because there was never any biological choice, what kind of choice can a species of two even make)

—would just scare them. It’s easier, keeping them in the dark, even if it means they’re trying to hunt you down and take you apart molecule by molecule any time you’ve got white hair.

But it’s not just flying and invisibility and energy you can summon with a thought—

(ray or bolt or fire, you don’t know what to call your power, you never really did pay attention when your parents got going even before you had to worry about all their blinking tech going nuts around you, but sometimes your green light is cool and wispy and other times it's hot and sizzling, sometimes you know which one will bloom between your fingers and sometimes it’s a surprise, sometimes it’s almost like your body knows what to do in a fight better than you, sometimes it’s easier to stop thinking and just let it happen, to just be the freak that you are, to burn white-hot and damn the consequences)

—you have to worry about. You’re stronger every day, stranger everyday too. You feel a little bit more at ease as a ghost as time goes on. It stops being a strain and starts being an ease, even a comfort, and some days you dread the thought of going to school because a ghost might not attack and you’ll be stuck as a human all day.

That kind of thinking should worry you, probably.

But so what? You could sneak into your parents’ lab in the middle of the night and try more tests, more experiments, but really, what would that do? You’re a freak, plain and simple. You and Vlad poked your noses in places you shouldn’t have and paid the price, and that’s that.

Eventually you get sick of worrying and just let it be. You’re a freak who can walk through walls, disappear, and fly. You’re the freak protecting a town full of people who pretty much hate you. Really, what can you do? The same old same old, that’s what. Try and get a little more sleep outside the classroom, maybe. As for the townsfolk? Well, you can’t always avoid the property damages, but you can at least save a few lives along the way.

People even start to say thank you, even if it’s from a distance, even if they think you're some crazed vigilante ghost, and doesn’t that make this whole superhero thing worth it?

But then of course something has to come along and ruin even that much, ruin this budding chance at gratitude, at finally feeling like a real life superhero. And it isn’t a ghost this time. It’s a human. You hadn't ever considered humans to be dangerous the way a ghost can be.

Freakshow happens, and all that hard work is undone in just a few short days. Days you can’t remember with any clarity, just blurs of color and noise, your hands full of stolen money and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t let go, you couldn’t stop. Attacking the cops when they pursued, terrorizing any humans that got too close, puppeted by that grinning, painted maniac who treated you and the other ghosts like animals, like slaves—

(minions, he’d called you all, and he didn’t even bother to learn your name before he sunk his fingers into your brain, and you never did find out who any of those other ghosts were, what their names were or who they had been before that crystal ball had pulled them under, and they were gone before there was a chance to even ask)

—and tanked Invis-o-Bill’s reputation to a whole new low. Trashing nearly every car the Amity Park Police Department has and robbing the city blind at the behest of a psychotic ringmaster would have done that even if you’d been considered the hero you try so hard to be. Oh well. At least nobody was hurt in all that, unless you bothered counting Mr. Lancer getting left in the custodial closet for a weekend. You mostly don’t feel guilty about that. Mostly.

Sam says you ought to count yourself too, but you try not to think about any of what happened—

(all that time spent exhausted and hungry, he never let you rest, not once, because ghosts don’t need sleep, ghosts don’t get tired, ghosts don’t need friends, but it’s over, it’s all over now, you don’t have to hear yourself laugh as the little humans scream below, you’ll never have to watch Sam fall and wonder if your body will listen to you in time, you’re yourself again, you’re in control again, everything’s alright, you’re alright, you’re safe, you’re home, you’re yourself again)

—and try to pass yourself off as fine afterwards instead, just confused, just tired, just sorry for everything that’s happened.

For weeks after the police shoved Freakshow into the back of a car, your dreams are red. Not with blood, thank god for that. No, it’s like a filter. A stain. Strawberry candy red, saturated fire engine red, the color Sam said your eyes were when you were under his control. It doesn’t matter if you’re having nightmares—

(more common than you’d like, but you’ve never been one to shout after a bad dream and you don’t intend to start now)

—or regular old brain dump dreams. It doesn’t matter if you’re dreaming of broken bones and monsters or forgetting to study for a test; it’s all filtered through that darkroom shade of red.

What does it mean? You don’t know. You don’t bring it up to Sam or Tucker. They’d just worry, and they worry about you enough as it is. Besides, you’re fine. The Circus Gothica billboard is up for two weeks after Freakshow’s arrest, and it doesn’t do anything to you, not like before. You don’t lose time, you don’t say anything creepy. Your eyes stay blue or green, depending on whether or not there’s a ghost in need of wrangling nearby.

It’s just a weird, harmless after effect, that’s your best conclusion. Then you do your best to stop thinking about it. Who you were under Freakshow’s control wasn’t you. It wasn’t. You tell yourself that until you almost believe it. Eventually, you dreams return to their factory settings. Huzzah.

Meanwhile everywhere you go, people badmouth Invis-o-Bill like they’re getting paid to do it. They call him—

(you)

—thief and monster and dangerous, they call him—

(you)

—a menace and a bad influence on the children. A liar. Traitor. Conspiring with other ghosts to earn the trust of humans to terrorize Amity Park all the better. Kids at school spread awful stories about Invis-o-Bill, say he—

(you)

—was probably the ghost of a troubled teen who got in too deep with bad people and paid the price, and now he—

(you)

—spends his afterlife seeking revenge on humans and ghosts alike. They say a lot of bad things about you, for a while. You try not to pay much attention. You’re getting pretty good at that.

After Freakshow, there’s a lull. That doesn’t mean ghosts don’t stop attacking or causing havoc, it just means that, for a handful of weeks, it’s just the little ones. Hungry animals and disoriented blobs and the Box Ghost. Easy stuff. You actually have time to unwind, time to let the tension bleed from your bones, time to catch up on all your late homework and even squeak your grades up to passable. It’s nice. You’d almost call it relaxing.

Of course, the lulls never last. You know this, you’ve learned this, they made you understand this from your very first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight with the Lunch Lady. You have one fight with Sam the wrong ghost overhears, and everything that’s happened is wished away. You are wished away. For a couple of days, you never walked into your parents’ ghost portal. You were never torn apart and melted back together by heat and light and pain. You were never Phantom at all. Worse still, you have no memory of your erased past, not so much as the slightest disquiet to niggle in the back of your brain when Sam walks up to your locker and starts going on about imaginary monsters like they're real.

Sam Manson—

(a stranger, a total stranger, just a bottle-black pretty girl you stare at because you’re fourteen and desperate for a connection you’ve never had and don’t understand, she’s nobody else, she’s nothing else to you but a chance at your first kiss and later you will hate yourself for thinking of her like that, not as a girl because of course she is that, but as a prize you might earn, and who cared if she was crazy because she just might have kissed you for some unfathomable reason, and Sam is so much more than the sum of her body, Sam is worth so much more than that, Sam is worth so much)

—is the vehement Goth girl who's in half your classes and is [unfinished]

In those stumbling, halting days of dismissal followed by doubt followed by a desperate curiosity to believe that there might be more to life than growing up and settling for less, that movies haven’t lied and there really is something beyond the disappointment growing up has been for you so far. Sam’s purple mouth is a thin, grim line of—

(worry, guilt, fear, shame, envy, panic, uncertainty)

—complicated emotions you can’t parse as you zip up the jumpsuit your parents got you for your birthday. You’ve never worn it before, the fabric stiff and reluctant to bend at your joints. You don’t know how they’re comfortable wearing theirs all the time [unfinished]

Sometimes after a fight wears you out, leaves you bruised and smeared with shining green, you don’t fight the transformation. Not because you can’t, but because it feels good to have that fake pulse vanish, to hear real blood pounding in your ears. The weight of you shifts too, and even though you’re so much weaker when you’re human, it’s easier to sink your fingers into the dirt, to haul your meat out of the mess your ghost left behind, easier to duck out of sight before the news vans and curious bystanders get too close. Nobody ever sees you. Nobody ever puts your bruises and Band-Aids and the trashed Dunkin’ Donuts together. It helps that nobody’s ever heard of a half-ghost, that Vlad was cunning enough to hide his powers. Everybody’s heard of the Wisconsin Ghost, but Wisconsin is a big damn state and unlike you, Vlad and Plasmius hardly look like the same man.

Everybody at school just thinks you’re the football team’s personal punching bag, which is definitely true. Thing is, after spending a couple months fighting ghosts, a gut-punch from a junior is kind of a joke. You’re getting ganged up by a bunch of guys in letter jackets behind the auto shop and you have to mime pain to get them to leave you alone.

Is this real life? Yup, and it’s hilarious.

Time passes, as it does. You get stronger, faster, heavier. You hone your powers. You stop losing control, mostly. New ghosts terrorize the streets. Old ghosts do too, they’re just smarter about it. They all know who you are by now. Hell, a whole other plane of reality knows your name by this point, knows who Danny Fenton really is. Funny though, none of them ever spill the beans to any humans. What better way to take down the one person standing in their way of world domination or an army of hypnotized teens or whatever they’re trying to score than to oust his secret identity?

You don’t ask. Maybe they haven’t caught on that humans have no idea you’re trying to keep a secret. Maybe there’s some kind of code among ghosts; don’t spill a guy’s weakness, even if you hate his ectoplasm. Maybe especially if you hate his ectoplasm?

You’ve had a couple more run-ins with Vlad too. Each time he changes, transforms, you breath hitches, because you can almost see it. Whatever makes up the both of you, piecing the mystery together through the differences—

(light and dark and it’s cliché as anything, it’s so transparently Star Wars, but maybe there’s something to clichés, because you might be the one wearing mostly black but he’s the one with a sucking core, a void, something more horrific for its absence, like he used to be full of stark white light too but it’s all been burned up and whatever’s left is just playing through the motions, pretending at being something else, who knows what it means but you know that it scares the hell out of you)

—between you and him. He goes on and on about how you’re more like him every day, but he’s wrong. He’s so wrong. You’ll never be like him, and it isn’t just a matter of morals.

What you are, down to the complex disaster of your DNA, is different than what makes up Vlad, and you don’t need to slide a piece of him under a microscope to see that. You thought differently once, but now you know better. A glance is all you need. What you are and what he is, has become—

(powerful yes, but ugly and hating and cruel, the rings that flash at his waist are just shadows reflecting light, trying to hide a black mouth brimming with hungry teeth)

—well, you might as well be different species.

Vlad’s crazy and Vlad’s a jerk, but he is right about one thing. There’s so much about the Ghost Zone you don’t understand, and it’s this ignorance that just might get you—

(or somebody else, and isn’t that an old favorite in the nightmares)

—killed. You don’t know if it was fate or a simple coincidence that your parents were working on the Ecto-Skeleton when Pariah Dark woke up. You’re fourteen years old and you can shoot lasers out of your fingers; you don’t have the wherewithal for philosophical theology. You’re just glad they got it functioning in time to stop the King of All Ghosts from overrunning the city, even if the stupid thing nearly kills you.

You don’t fret much about the Ecto-Skeleton vanishing after you pass out. You do, however, remember Pariah’s nasty grin—

(having that much power, it’s a burden, isn’t it child)

—when you stumbled under the strain. You don’t know if he meant what the suit enabled you to do or if he meant the power in your own two hands. Either way, you remember those words, like they’re branded onto your brain, and you don’t have a choice but to hear it over and over every time you try to sleep. They rang in your head like bells in the days after you’d pushed him back into that sarcophagus, stuck in bed aching and weaker than you’ve ever felt in your life.

Because it is a burden. Everybody hates and fears you, but at the same time they happily expect you to protect them from hordes of skeletal ghosts. Sometimes you panic, so aware of how young you are, of how little comic books and video games have prepared you for a life like this, hiding bruises and spinning bold-face lies to everybody from your parents to the U.S. government. Teenagers are supposed to rebel, sure, but if you ever come clean you’d be thrown in a cell and they’d never, ever let you go. Not just because you’re a criminal—

(and you are, thanks to Freakshow and thanks to dozens of ghosts, and you’ve left an imprint of your tiny, impossibly heavy body all over the city, and you’ve done your best to protect everybody but you leave rubble and shrapnel wherever you go, ambulance sirens wail through the streets every day, and everybody’s just as scared as you are, just as fascinated as you are, and yet so many students and teachers have left Casper High, so many faces you used to see everyday in the hallways have vanished, so many business and restaurants and homes sit empty, gathering dust and graffiti, and it’s your fault, if you hadn’t walked into the Ghost Portal none of this would be happening, none of this would ever have happened at all, and you’re too much of a coward to show your face, to tell anyone but your best friends what kind of a monster you really are)

—but because you can phase through solid objects, you’re considered a monster with less rights than a dog.

Sometimes you wish Sam wasn’t a budding ghost-rights activist. You’d probably have an easier time studying if she didn’t rattle off all these statistics and news articles, stories of government agents in white suits quarantining whole city blocks to purge the ghosts inhabiting them, of ghost attacks stopping all at once in little towns after strange men with guns and knives and felonies like grave robbing and murder slunk through in the night. Ghosts are dangerous, there’s no questioning that. But so are bears. So are people. Just because something is dangerous doesn’t mean it should be destroyed.

Maybe that’s why the ghosts have never spilled your secret. You’ve never tried to kill them. You just want them to leave Amity Park alone. Who knows for sure though? You don’t have the guts to risk asking any of them.

Still, this whole mess is worth it. It is. You can fly, for god’s sake. If you’re careful you could juggle minivans, mimic all your favorite action movies and outdo even the craziest Hollywood stunts. What kid hasn’t dreamed of doing any of that? But you’re not being selfish. You’re not. It’s like Dad says; you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Progress is a disaster when you’re living it, when it isn’t past tense, when it isn’t all tidied up in a few short paragraphs in a high school history book. What’s happening now is worth it, for the future.

If you ever do tell Mom and Dad—

(you’re not afraid of what they’ll think, you’ve never worried about that, not really, they’re your parents before they’re scientists, and any experiment or test would be to ensure your safety and your health, because that’s what parents do, that’s what good people do, and they’re the best people you’ve ever known)

—you know they’d be able to break down your powers into reams of clinical data in no time. They’d figure out how you survived the accident, how your abilities generate and develop in power, maybe even pinpoint the how of your strange, mutable weight. They’d tell you what that light is, when you change, that light that reminds you so strongly of the stars. After all, just because they’re too oblivious to realize their son is the infamous Ghost Kid doesn’t mean they don’t know what they’re doing. They aren’t known as the leading scientists, engineers and weapon smiths in the paranatural fields for nothing. Mom’s practically got more letters after her name than there are in the alphabet, and while Dad may only have a fraction of that he thinks like nobody else out there. Most Fenton tech are his designs, wild and absurd and covered with stickers of his beaming face, and Mom’s the one who works out the bugs with fond exasperation.

Still, they have to get their knowledge from somewhere, and you’ve seen what they do down in the lab to the formless, red-eyed ghosts, the ones too weak to do much more than snarl wetly. Sometimes they snare something bigger and stronger, something fond of curling prickly tendrils around the nearest human and squeezing. More often than not it’s Dad that’s the unlucky one, always so eager to parse the secrets hidden in each fanged little beastie they’ve fished out of the Ghost Zone. He’s got nearly as many as bruises as you do, some weeks, but he’s never happier than when he’s holding a bag of frozen peas to his head.

After a good wrestle with something that wailed and whistled like a boiling kettle, Dad’ll limp up to the kitchen and settle heavily into a chair, grinning and running his mouth nonstop, talking about how much progress they’ve made today—

(wait ‘til the boys over at the GIW hear about that one, he’ll say with a bray of laughter, makes the piddly little Class Threes look darn near cuddly, didn’t it Mads, why Danny you should’ve seen the fangs on this fella, nearly bit through the exam table in one bite, y’oughta come down to the lab more often, Danny, seeing these spooks up close and personal’d be a great way to help you get over that silly fear of ‘em, and there you are, smiling meekly and holding up your hands and making up any excuse you can think of off the top of your head to keep you out of the lab when your parents have all their equipment up and humming, just in case, aw Dad I dunno, I’ve got this essay due, not today Dad I’ve got like six pages of algebra I haven’t even started yet, sorry Dad I’m sleeping over at Tucker’s tonight and his mom insisted I come early for dinner)

—and every time, Mom will smile indulgently, like she’s falling in love with Dad all over again. She’ll push him back into the seat and tell him to quit fidgeting so she can clean up the nasty cut behind his ear, and every time you smile behind your hand and think, how could Vlad ever hope to break your parents up? They only thing they might love more than each other would be you and Jazz and ghosts, and you’re all so much of their lives they can’t help but love you all completely. How they love each other and their kids and the ghosts they’ve studied all their lives, well, that’s like saying they love breathing. They love each other because without each other, they wouldn’t be themselves. It’s sappy as hell and like any kid you hate seeing your parents get all lovey-dovey, but you can’t help that secret smile as you walk out of the kitchen to give them a little privacy.

Seeing Mom and Dad so hard at work, so happy at work, is why you don’t tell them. They think you’re slacking off, they think you’re getting bullied, and they’re worried about you sure, but better they think their son’s lazy than a freak. If they knew what you did, what you could do, if they knew you were the one facing up against ghosts that made the ones they picked apart in their lab look like kittens, if they knew you’d heard all the awful things they want to do to Phantom once they finally nab him—

(you know they wouldn’t say it if they knew you and him were one and the same, you know you know you know, but sometimes you can’t help but be hurt anyway, to see all that fierce dedication focused on seeing whether or not Danny Phantom has bones, and if he does, how much pressure could they withstand before breaking)

—they wouldn’t know what to do or say or think. They’d be so eaten up with guilt, why hadn’t they known, why hadn’t they realized, what if they’d finally gotten a lucky shot in, what if one of all those cruel ghosts had gotten a luck shot in, what if what if what if—

(and you’ve pictured it a hundred times, it’s so easy to imagine the looks on their faces, the horror the shame the fear, and you know they’d love you all the same, you know this like you know the distance between the Sun and every planet, even little Pluto they just declared wasn’t a planet at all, but you’re young and selfish and definitely some kind of stupid because sometimes you can’t help but feel they’d shun you for the freak you are, turn you over to the GIW because they couldn’t bear to look on the thing their son’s become, and you know that couldn’t ever ever ever happen but still, it’s so easy to imagine)

—and you couldn’t do that to them. You won’t do that to them, no matter how many times Sam or Tucker try to convince you otherwise. How it is now, secrets and lies and detention slips and broken curfews, can’t last forever. You know that. But until then, it’ll have to do, and you’ll have to parse all your growing weirdness without all of Mom and Dad’s knowledge or experience, fingers crossed that their ticking and glowing machines won’t reveal your secret before you’re ready to do it yourself.

But you’re turning out stranger in ways you can’t even recognize, and for all that Sam and Tucker are by your side to help you as you change and burn brighter and hotter and faster and heavier, they don’t see it either. Jazz is the one who points it out, one day not long after the Spectra… thing, all out of the blue. She’s been noticing lots of things lately, and acting so strange, like she might have pieced it together. But she can’t have, of course not, you’re so careful, you are always so careful. Jazz is just clever, Jazz got all the brains and you got the leftovers. Everybody knows that. Even you know that.

She comes into the kitchen one morning with a curious little spin to her step, craning her head around and around like she’s running late for school and can’t find her keys, but it’s a Saturday. You’re there by the fridge, cobbling together something that might resemble an edible breakfast, moving slow because you’ve got a bruise all down your right side that makes it hurt to do more than breathe shallowly or raise your arm more than a couple inches. You sniff the milk and instantly regret this decision, and while you’re pouring the lumpy mess down the sink Jazz asks if the kitchen’s always been on the second floor.

You stare at her, too tired and baffled to give her the proper what the hell a question like that deserves, but she drags you over to the kitchen door and pushes it open, and since when has there been a door to the kitchen and oh my god the kitchen is on the second floor.

She gapes at you and you gape right back, and the rest of that morning is spent going over every inch of the house and seeing what else has changed compared to your shared memories.

Everything has, in some way or another. Doorknobs have shifted, cupboards have lowered, doors moved from one part of a room to another. Even chairs have changed their heights. There’s a whole new door neither of you can remember ever existing before connecting the upstairs bathroom directly to your room. Thinking back—

(staggering through your open window, mouth thick with the hot penny burn of ectoplasm and blood, your right hand pressed against the throb all down your side, and aren’t you grateful for your weight, your sturdiness, because before you finally peeled the faceguard off of Skulker’s exoskeleton and sucked that little jerk into a Thermos he got a good shot in with a rocket that hit you hard right in the ribs, and if you’d been normal there would have just been a dark wet hole where your torso used to be but lucky you, you’re every inch the creepy little freak Spectra called you, so you get to limp home and clean up as best you can on your own since it’s four in the morning and no way are you gonna wake Sam or Tucker up again, and you have to be quiet, you have to be so quiet, biting down pain, you can’t make a sound or Jazz might hear, grabbing the first-aid kid from your underwear drawer and slipping into the bathroom, and for once the hinges didn’t squeak, thank god, you think, thank god)

—you hadn’t even noticed last night or even this morning that a door had sprung up where there’d just been NASA and Nat Geo posters before. And your windows have moved, and your bed has moved, and you and Jazz just stare and stare. Why had neither of you noticed any of this until now? Why haven’t your parents? How long has this been going on?

What could cause something like this?

It takes half an hour to convince your mom that something’s off about the house, and even longer to get your dad to grasp what you both are trying to say. Their eyes just keep glazing over the differences, even something as huge as the kitchen being on the wrong floor. Once they finally do see though, it’s a whole other story. After the initial shock, they drop all their experiments and spend the next week measuring and scanning every inch of the house.

Their conclusion, a week and some change later? The Ghost Portal leaks.

Even with the huge steel door locked up tight, it seems there’s enough residual energy slipping through to warp, literally warp, the house. Somehow. The way your mom’s lips thin as she says all this means she’s not satisfied with this conclusion, but she puts on a wide smile when Jazz asks if you’re all in any danger. A smart question, one you think you might’ve asked yourself. Y’know, if you still needed to worry about something like exposure. Your dad just laughs big and loud and says not to worry about it, says if there were going to be any creepy side effects they would have manifested by now. Everything’s fine, they assure you both, but you look at the crease between your mom’s eyebrows and you wonder.

Later, when they’re out taking readings from the ectoplasm-damp wreck you and the Lunch Lady made of a McDonald’s and Jazz is studying at the library, you creep down to the lab and pull up all their documentation of the house. Most of it is dry as dirt; neatly typed spreadsheets and tidy, color-coded graphs (clearly your mom’s handiwork), but there’s also nearly a gigabyte’s worth of photos. Clicking through them, you can see Dad’s sloppy angles and the occasional square pinkie slipping into the frame. Most of the first hundred photos have been untouched, but the two hundreds have been filtered all to hell, like Mom and Dad went through the house a second time, trying to find something the human eye can’t see. Just shy of 300, the photos turn a dusty black and white, splattered in places with an all-too-familiar starkly glowing green.

No. Not splattered. A few spins of the scroll wheel zooms in on a crooked picture of the kitchen. There’s green all over everything; the fridge, the microwave, the drawers and cupboards, cluttered thickly at the kitchen table. These aren’t splatters. They’re handprints, slapped in layers and layers over themselves, like somebody dipped their hands in neon paint and went to town.

Every photo taken in that black and white filter shows the same thing. Handprints on doorknobs and railings, footprints on tile and carpet, green smeared and stamped everywhere, tracking the movements of something—

(somebody)

—for what must be as long as the Portal’s been active.

Why didn’t Mom and Dad say anything about this? Why haven’t you sensed it? There’s a ghost, an entity, some thing lurking around your house like it has every right to be there! Green gathered on the couch, on every table and sink, even the upstairs shower and your room and—

(the pictures of jazz’s room are nearly clean, the pictures of Mom and Dad’s room are spotless, but your room is practically bathed in green from floor to ceiling, your bed and desk nearly washed out by a poisonous haze, and no wonder Mom had looked so worried and no wonder Dad had laughed so loud, they know something’s wrong with you, they’ve always known you were messed up thanks to the accident but now here’s irrefutable proof, how can you lie your way out of photographic evidence, how can they look at you and not see you for the freak you are)

—oh.

You close the files, power down the computer, and walk quietly out of the lab. That’s… that’s all you can really do. Sooner or later your parents will knock gently on your door and ask you to come downstairs. Just a few tests, they’ll say. It’s for your own good, they’ll say. We’re worried about you, they’ll say.

But they’ll find out. They’ll find out what you are, and it’ll go one of two ways. They’ll either accept you as the freak you are, or hate you for the freak you are. Either way, there will be no more hiding. It’s… it’s almost a relief, to know the other shoe is finally going to drop.

Except it never does.

You wait, quietly, patiently, expectantly. They don’t treat you any different. They never say a word. When they call you down to the lab, it’s just to show off the latest in Fenton ghost hunting technology. Why? Why don’t they ask? Why don’t they administer tests, if not on you than on the house and the Portal? Why does nothing change?

They’re wrong on nearly every count, sure, but you’ve got hurts aplenty to hide. Sam and Tucker have seen the lightning splashed across your skin dozens of times by now, and when they hear the A-listers spreading this bad joke of a ghost story and see you laugh, they laugh too. There wasn’t much chance of hiding it for long from them, after all, when it’s so much easier to patch up the nastier cuts when you’re bleeding sluggish ectoplasm instead of blood pumped by a heart full of adrenaline.

The first time Sam had insisted on unzipping your suit to get a good look at the slash on one shoulder, Tucker cracking a half-hearted attempt at a dirty joke with hands shaking so bad the first aid kit rattled like a live thing, they’d both stopped cold. For ten long seconds, they just stared, pinning you down with matching expressions of horror. It was the longest ten seconds of your life. You’d been scared before, of being found out for the freak you are, of being overwhelmed by powerful ghosts, but this, you’re pretty sure, was the first time you were ever terrified.

But then Sam hugged you, and Tucker had smiled and squeezed your good shoulder, and that had been enough. There wasn’t anything to worry about after all.

They understand now why you gasp when your ghost sense goes off—

(shock like plunging feet first into a frozen lake, shock like drowning with a chest full of dead air, shock like electricity buzzing hot and cold and terrible through your nerves, leaving you breathless and tingling, your fists clenched so tight your knuckles burn white, teeth clenched and grinding as you dart for the nearest lonely corner to gather up your heaviness and summon the starlight in your heart)

—and they know why it took you so long to realize you don’t have a heartbeat when you’re a ghost. The first few times you changed, you’d felt it, felt it like a rush of blood flow to a sleeping limb, but it took weeks to put it together. To realize the stinging, cool pulse radiating from your hand to your chest wasn’t your heart but something else altogether. All that star-bright scar tissue pulses. Involuntary, but without any reaction to how much energy you exert. A constant, steady [unfinished]

Breathing is optional too, when you’re a ghost. You’d found that one out the hard way, choking on mud in that stupid duck pond and tangled in one of Skulker’s nets.

#danny phantom #my writing #deadfic #past me did present me dirty with all these FUCKING italics #you can take my 'danny's got serious anxiety' headcanon from my cold dead hands

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 3 years

Text

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 4

Thomas X Reader

2306

Summary: Flashbacks and First days.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

[ Nine months before Somme]

“Why are all of the songs you sing happy?” he asked, mouth half full of slimy porridge.

Y/N glanced up from her rations, “What do you mean?”

Thomas shrugged, “You always sing about fighting or beating the odds no matter how bad it seems. Or about how angry everyone is about the war. Why don’t you ever sing anything that’s sad?”

She put her spork down, “You want me to sing a sad song during war?”

He didn’t answer right away, only shoveled a couple more mouthfuls down his gullet. After a swig of stale water he continued.

“I dunno. I feel like we should be allowed to be sad sometimes. Singing all these happy songs feels like we’re pretending that all the bullshit we see everyday isn’t real. Like we didn’t just watch several men lose their legs or that artillery didn’t just rip a man in half.”

Y/N let out a long sigh, “Thomas, I love you, but dear God man I’m eating.”

His heart skipped a beat. This was something he wished more than anything was real. That went beyond the comradery of soldiers. Yet, he schooled his features into something more neutral. Despite the fact that he craved to hear the words again but it was their spontaneity that was precious to him.

Thomas was barely able to scramble together a reply, “I just want to feel again.” He blinked, not exactly sure where the admission had come from. Though he couldn’t take it back now.

Over the next few days he’d catch her humming a melody he didn’t recognize. Some parts she would work over again and again. Others would be there and gone, carried away on the breeze. When she sang it to them for the first time it was after a rough day.

They had lost a handful of people to a tunnel collapse in the northeastern sector and all the hard work they’d done over the past six months was completely scrapped. One of the members of that team had been the youngest in their company. He had a fiance with a baby on the way even if he couldn’t yet grow a full beard.

She’d been perched on a piece of rubble that had fallen from a church. Her voice was clear and perfect as crystal. The song was about a soldier going home to find his wife bleeding on the floor. She’d ended her life to be with him after receiving a call that incorrectly informed her that his company had been massacred.

The men of the 174th wept that night the hardest they had since the war began. All the pent up rage and fear leaking out onto their pillows in the dead of night. For those who couldn’t be silent, they wept with their heads held between their hands in an attempt to muffle the noise. It was the army though and no one ever questioned crying men.

Thomas hadn’t cried. He was more angry about the deaths and couldn’t quite settle down enough to listen to the words. It wasn’t until she’d sung it a second time it had unraveled him. She’d changed the ending. The first time the wife wasn’t saved and the soldier had to move on without her. This time, they lived into their greying years with the knowledge that life was unbearable without the other.

“Why is it the ‘happy’ ending?” she asked him once.

Thomas shrugged, his eyes still swollen. It was one of the few times they were alone and she’d sung it for him. He didn’t mind being the only audience but it had made the unexpected turn in lyrics all the more powerful for him.

Thomas’ voice cracked as he spoke, “Don’t ever sing that in front of Hopper.” He elaborated when she raised her eyebrow, “If you sing a single note of that in front of him he’ll figure out you’re a woman.”

Y/N froze, “How did you know?”

He smirked, “You never bathe with the other men. Your uniform is always too big. You’re almost a head shorter, to the point I’m surprised no one has said anything. And your face does the thing”

“What thing?”

“That soft thing that everyone thinks is cute.”

He swore he imagined it but her cheeks turned a light pink, “Did you just call me cute Shelby?”

He shrugged, “Just keep the singing away from Hopper.”

〜

[Present Day]

Y/N awoke the next morning to the raucous laughter of dozens of men floating up the stairs. With a bewildered groan she checked the small window to her room to find that it was at least past noon at this point. On Saturday.

She cursed to herself as she quickly dressed in trousers. Her leg almost didn’t lift high enough to get inside without pain shooting up her back. With an audible growl she shoved her limp foot through the hole and grabbed her violin case. A passing glance in the mirror told her that her hair was wildly out of control, but if the singing had already started it was too late to fix it now.

Y/N practically hopped down the stairs on one leg. Twinges still assaulted her with every step, but it was better than just hobbling around on a bum leg. Which she’d have to do anyway on level ground.

Upon descending into the bar, she was confronted not by the milling groups she’d seen at lunch time the previous day but a completely packed room. Fully grown men were pressed shoulder to shoulder all staring up towards the front of the bar. A woman’s voice lulled over some lyrics Y/N recognized as a folk song that had become popular again after the war. Nostalgia always popped up in weird places.

With some luck, and her short stature, Y/N squeezed her way close enough to the bar that she had enough elbow room to play. Standing in front of the bar was the woman she’d seen at the opera...and the restaurant. Once she was done with her current song she waved to grab her attention.

Grace’s eyes practically bulged out of her head when she noticed Y/N, “Uh..Y...Yes? Can I help you?”

“Oh, this is weird,” she mumbled to herself. Speaking louder to be heard over the crowd, she lifted her violin case, “Thomas told me I was supposed to help you out on Saturdays. What would you like me to do?”

Grace’s eye’s cast about wildly. “Did he hire you?”

“In a way. Did you need help or…?”

“Yes. Yes. Set up over at that end of the bar. Do you know Black Velvet Band?”

Y/N nodded as she moved. “I know most of the popular songs. But if I don’t know something I can usually figure it out after the first verse as long as it’s nothing weird.”

For the next several hours, they entertained the patrons of the Garrison Pub. Grace could usually sing several songs in a row, but eventually she needed a break and that’s when Y/N would go from a supporting role to the main role. After Grace had rested and filled orders, she would once again relinquish center stage.

The patrons were eating it up, and at one point Y/N had caught sight of Jerimiah. She waved in a small pause in the music and damn near killed the man. He had turned ashen when he’d registered who she was and had begun to sway only to be caught by Danny, who’d stopped by after an errand.

He’d quickly left, returning a couple hours later with almost the half the platoon they’d served with. The bar, already almost at max capacity, was now so overflowing with people that the party had begun to spill onto the streets. Someone had gone home and grabbed a portable skillet and had offered to cook anything people brought him. Soon the smell of grilled meats wafted through the slums of Birmingham. And the Garrison Pub was serving every single one of those thirsty people.

At some point a couple of men had constructed a makeshift stage for the women to perform on and had urged them outside. Now the dancing had started as women came to find their husbands up to their ears in drink and food. Children ran amok, mimicking some of the dances with others finding whatever they could to play with as music brought this part of the city to life.

It wasn’t until the sun had begun to set that someone caught sight of Thomas Shelby and his family approaching the Pub. Word spread quickly, and most continued their revelry even if it was subdued. Finally, Thomas made it to the foot of the stage. Everyone waited with baited breath to hear what the gang leader had to say.

“So, allow you two to play music for one day, and it becomes a feast?”

Y/N finally put down her violin after hours of playing. Her back practically screamed at her to sit down, but this was the first time she’d played to a crowd like this in years. She’d missed it.

So she did what she always did. “That’s what you get for sticking us both up here. Hell, between the two of us I’m pretty sure we could play so well the pearly gates themselves would open for us.”

“After all the shit you’ve pulled?” He raised his eyebrow skeptically. A soft murmur went through the crowd as people shared confused glances. She knew Thomas.

Y/N couldn’t help but grin, “Oh, they couldn’t bear not to have us play for the angels themselves. But here we are instead playing for these hard working men and women, and I think we’ve done a good job filling their hearts with hope again.”

He chuckled, “Fine. Just make sure the Garrison stays busy.”

“As you wish.” Y/N shrugged, her arms complaining as she lifted her violin once again.

Grace stared at her new companion with unveiled wonder, “He lets you talk to him like that?”

Y/N flashed Grace with one of her signature wicked smiles, “We were army buddies.”

“But they don’t allow women to fight.”

“Eh, who says they had to know?”

Grace’s mouth fell open as Y/N started up another song, one that Grace didn’t recognize. But the entirety of the 174th sent up cheers, their glasses raised.

It was a fast paced one that made it hard to sit still. Y/N braced herself before she began to dance on the small stage, tapping her feet in time with the beat as the 174th began to sing. Their voices rose over the general din. There wasn’t much melody in it, but those men sang from somewhere buried deep inside. It was as if the hope that had carried them through the worst days of hell sprang to life to answer the call of music.

At the edge of the crowd in the shroud of darkness, the barest outline of Thomas Shelby could be seen. Even if he didn’t scream the lyrics along with his brothers in arms, he still sang. It was then that Grace understood why Thomas had been so adamant about there being no music in his pub.

If Grace wanted to truly understand Thomas Shelby she’d have to learn about him not as the gang leader, but as the man who survived the worst part of human history. Who was he before and what had happened with this woman that had changed his life forever? It was a way out, another option that didn’t rely on giving herself to the enemy. Holding onto that hope, Grace closed her eyes and tried to decipher the jumbled lyrics.

〜

Finally the Garrison Pub closed. Grace sat slumped against a table as Harry mopped the floor. Y/N curled up on one of the few benches in the corner. After everything was well and tidied up, Grace got up to leave.

“You coming?” she asked.

Y/N shook her head, “Actually I’m staying upstairs.”

Grace’s brow furrowed, “But...why? I mean your dress was lovely, and you were playing in one of the most expensive places in town. Can’t you afford a better place?”

“This suits me just fine. Besides, you of all people should know that a pretty dress is just a costume; at the end of the day it doesn’t mean nothing.”

Grace froze, “What do you mean?”

Y/N fixed Grace with a tired gaze, “It’s just how it’s always been. You may love rolling around in the dirt, but a bath and pretty dress later no one would ever know.”

She let out a deep sigh of relief but just as she was about to leave Y/N stopped her once more, “Hey, since you’ve been in town longer do you know any good music halls? Operas? Theatres? I’m looking for work that isn’t just on Saturdays”

“Oh, I can’t stand Opera so I wouldn’t know about that. But I think there’s a new place opening up on the other side of the river.” Grace waved dismissively then shut and locked the door behind her.

Y/N slowly stood and finally let herself limp over to the bar and poured herself a drink. She mulled over the possibilities of why the hell Grace was at the opera if she hated it and wasn’t dragged there by family. So far none of the possibilities looked good and it was getting to the point she’d have to tell somebody.

The wad of money Thomas had shoved at her still burned a hole in her pocket; she hadn’t gotten a chance to return it today. A goal for tomorrow then.

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy #peaky blinders imagine #shelbys at somme #adventuresintooblivion

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suttttton · 3 years

Text

The Sum of Which (Will Never Make a Whole)

Plot twist: I actually wrote two timsasha angst fics for @bookish-bi-christian for the TMA Valentine’s Day exchange. Happy Valentine’s Day, part 2!

(AO3 link in the source!)

~*~*~*~*~

The wallpaper on Tim’s phone is still a picture of Sasha, from a trip to the beach they took together one weekend. In the photo, Sasha is on Tim’s back, her arms tightly crossed around his shoulders. She’s wearing a big sunhat and grinning.

Except it isn’t her in the photo, is it? It’s the thing that killed her.

Tim opens his phone’s camera roll. It’s full of pictures of her, of her and Tim. They were always together, up until the worm attack. Best friends. Love interests.

He scrolls through, anger and grief running through him in equal measure. Sasha had loved trivia nights, had loved half-planned adventures to new places, had loved binge watching murder mystery movies when she was sick. Tim has so many photos of her, and—she isn’t in any of them. Not anymore.

He finds a photo of himself, asleep in what he recognizes as Sasha’s bedroom. Sasha had clearly taken it, and Tim is struck by the softness of the moment, the quiet vulnerability of falling asleep in someone else’s presence.

The next photo had clearly once been a selfie. Tim is still asleep in the background, but in the corner of the shot is Sasha’s grinning face, very close to the camera. A photo that Sasha would take for the sole purpose of sending to Tim to tease him.

But it isn’t Sasha in the photo now.

Tim feels suddenly furious. All these memories he’d shared with Sasha, soft and vulnerable moments together, and every single one is now populated with the face of the thing that killed her.

Tim deletes the photo. Then he deletes all the others, too, every photo that Sasha has been erased from.

When it’s done, he doesn’t feel any better.

***

Jon was always bad at hiding his emotions, and that doesn’t change when things start to go to hell. If anything, he gets worse at it, dragging himself around the office like an injured puppy.

From the moment he steps out of his office, Jon is already telegraphing his nervousness so clearly it could probably be seen from space. He’s got something clutched in his hands, and Tim wonders for a moment where he’s headed, before Jon starts clearly making his way towards Tim’s desk, looking at the floor the whole way.

It annoys Tim, more than anything else. What right does he have, acting like he expects Tim to hurt him? He’s the one who trapped them all down here. He’s the one that got Sasha—

“What?” he snaps, when Jon reaches his desk and stops, still looking more at the floor than at Tim.

“I—here,” Jon says, and now Tim can see that what he’s got in his hands is a photograph. A polaroid. He hands it to Tim, and Tim stares at it for a long moment. It’s a photo of Jon, younger and unscarred. He’s scowling, and standing next to him is a woman Tim doesn’t recognize. She’s taller than Jon by a good few inches, and her arm is around his shoulders. She’s black, her hair falling around her shoulders in long braids. She’s grinning from behind orange glasses that take up practically half her face.

The photo is labeled, Sasha and Jon, 2012.

Tim wills himself to recognize her, to see anything familiar in her face. But there’s nothing. When he thinks of Sasha, the only image that comes to mind is of that—thing.

Tim’s eyes are burning, and he blinks heavily. He looks up, wanting to ask—But Jon is already halfway back across the room, fleeing back to his office.

“Jon!” Tim says, and Jon turns, still nervous, his shoulders hunched.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find it sooner,” Jon starts before Tim can say anything else. “I-I’ve been looking everywhere, but I thought it might have gotten lost when we moved down here, and I didn’t—I didn’t want to get your hopes up, in—in case I couldn’t find it.” He swallows. “That’s her, though.” Jon’s voice is thick, and Tim realizes that this is also Jon’s first time seeing the picture, his first time seeing what Sasha actually looked like.

Jon had also been Sasha’s friend.

“Do you have any other photos?” Tim asks, suddenly desperate, his voice rising with hope.

“I—No, I’m sorry,” Jon says, and the hope sinks until he continues, “That’s the only polaroid I have. It—Everything else just has the, the Not-Them, so—”

“But you do have pictures, right?” Tim says. “You didn’t—delete them?”

Jon stares at Tim for a long moment, blinking. “I—No, I didn’t. I made a locked folder for them, so I wouldn’t—But I couldn’t bring myself to—”

“Show me?” Tim asks, and his voice sounds too much, too desperate.

But Jon just nods, slowly approaching. Tim makes room, and Jon pulls up a chair beside him and opens his phone to the right folder.

Jon starts scrolling through the pictures quickly, and looking over his shoulder, Tim can see that Sasha isn’t in any of them. For a moment, he’s confused. Didn’t Jon say this folder was specifically for photos of Sasha?

Then Jon says, “Sorry, I—I don’t take a lot of pictures. Sasha liked to send me—most of these she took, so she isn’t in a lot of them.”

“Can I?” he asks, his voice shaky. He reaches for Jon’s phone, and Jon lets him take it. He goes back to the beginning, imagining the woman in the polaroid grinning behind the camera.

The first few pictures are of Jon, much younger-looking, back in research. He has an identical expression in all of them, scowling at the camera. But he’s wearing different clothes in each one, and Tim can’t help but smile, thinking of Sasha harassing Jon, day after day.

There’s a pair of photos that were clearly taken in quick succession. In the first one, Jon is looking at the camera with his usual scowl. In the second, he’s turned back to his work, but he’s got his middle finger raised.

It’s captioned, “does your grandmother know you use that kind of language???” and Tim lets out a surprised laugh before moving on.

There are a few more photos of Jon in research, and then one of Jon and Sasha in a dark bar. Sasha’s head is on Jon’s shoulder, and he’s smiling although he looks a little on-edge. Tim looks at the polaroid, imagines that woman in the picture instead.

He keeps scrolling, until he gets to a photo of himself, standing near the door to the research department, talking to someone just outside. It’s slightly blurry, like it was taken in a hurry, and it’s captioned, “new guy is cute!!!”

Tim laughs at that, raising an eyebrow at Jon.

“I told her to stop texting me during work hours,” Jon says, his cheeks slightly dark.

Tim’s not planning to push it any further, until he swipes to the next picture, which was clearly taken from Jon’s desk. It shows Tim and Sasha talking, Tim now seated at the empty desk beside her, just starting to get settled in. It’s captioned, “Who did you pay off to get him to sit next to you?”

Tim looks at Jon, who is now blushing furiously and steadfastly avoiding eye contact. “Was this before or after you told her to stop texting you?” he asked, his voice teasing.

Jon stumbles a bit, and it’s—nice. Warm. This kind of teasing used to happen so easily between them, and now—Well.

Tim looks back at the photo, trying to picture it. Sitting at his desk in research with the woman in the polaroid. With Sasha. For a moment, it seems to stir some memory in his mind, but it isn’t strong. He probably just imagined it. Wishful thinking.

The next picture is of him, his first day on the job. He’s smiling, and it doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s something. He remembers this.

Everything still hurt from losing Danny, and he was dead-set on finding his answers in the Magnus Institute’s collection. And then he’d met Sasha, and she was friendly and radiant and, for the first time in months, he’d felt something other than sadness and numb anger. He looks down at the polaroid again, imagines seeing that smile for the first time.

She’d smiled like that when she’d taken the picture, saying, “It’s your first day, we have to remember it fondly forever!”

And it had seemed unfair, to get her hopes up that he was a decent person to be around. He wasn’t, not anymore. So he’d said, “I’m not really here to make friends.” And god, that sounded awful, didn’t it? He wanted to discourage her from pursuing friendship with him, not make her hate him.

But she hadn’t even blinked. “Oh good,” she said. “Because, I swear, the people who work here are the most annoying people I’ve ever met in my life. They are only tolerable as sources of gossip, and if I knew you were trying to make friends with any of them, I’d have to never speak to you again.”

And Tim couldn’t help it; he’d laughed at that. It was mean, but she’d delivered it in such an earnest way, and then she’d winked, and… he’d fallen a little bit in love.

He keeps scrolling. There are lots of photos of Tim. Photos of Tim and Jon, with teasing captions from Sasha that make Tim laugh for their wit. And photos of Tim and Sasha, with captions from Jon that make Tim laugh just for the way that the Jon sitting beside him is so clearly embarrassed.

And there are photos of the three of them together, at work, getting lunch. There’s one of the three of them at some dark bar, Sasha’s arms around both of their shoulders.

And then there’s a photo of Tim, asleep on the break room couch, his head thrown back, mouth hanging open in the most unattractive way possible. It’s captioned, “he looks so peaceful”.

And it isn’t like the photo from Sasha’s bed. It’s more casual, more teasing. But it draws up those same emotions, those same memories. Vulnerable moments now populated with the face of a stranger.

Sasha is gone. The woman who liked to take embarrassing pictures, who held the camera and smiled while Tim snored away beside her, is gone. She only exists anymore in one single polaroid, taken before Tim even knew her.

His eyes start to blur with wetness, and he sets Jon’s phone down, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. His breathing’s gone all sniffly, and he can feel Jon’s awkward shifting beside him.

“… Tim?” Jon says, after a moment. “Are you alright?” As if the answer to that question isn’t fucking obvious. There’s a moment of silence, and then Tim lets out a shuddering breath as Jon’s thin arms wrap around him.

Tim wants to shake it off, to yell at him. They aren’t friends anymore, and that’s Jon’s fault, not his. But… They had been friends. When Sasha was alive, they were friends, and he misses Jon. And he misses Sasha.

So, just for now, he leans into Jon, and cries.

#tma valentine's exchange 2021 #tma #tma fic #timsasha #stranger danger #tim stoker #jarchivist sims #i finished writing this and was like #huh this sure is sad #my fic

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Green Eggs and Ham: Here (Patreon Review for Emma Ficci)

Hello all you happy people! And I have my first fully paid for comission and patreon review all in one! Yes my good friend Emma became a patreon and you can too, go to patreon.com/popculturebuffet. Even one buck a month helps and 5 a month nets you a review of whatever of your choice a month. An episode of any tv show I have acess to. It feels good to have more than one person paying my salary, though I sitll want to thank Kev, my other patreon for helping with that.

So with that all in order, let’s talk about this thoroughly weird, thoroughly wonderful show from a couple years back. Green Eggs and Ham is modern adaptation of a Dr. Seuss book..... and I bet those of you who haven’t heard of this series before or it’s reputation just had your bowls clinch a bit. Yeah while I haven’t seen illumination’s takes on the maestro of children’s books, I haven’t heard the best things and the trailers and odd and counter productive marketing tie ins for the Lorax have made me want to stay 30 feet away from it at all times. Seriously you get certified Legend Danny DeVito.. and you waste him on “Dat’s a woman” a joke that I don’t have time to unpack all the ways it sucks. My point is Seuss really hasn’t had the best time with adaptations latey. But leave it to Warner Animation and Netflix to pull out a great one. Yeah I wasn’t too excited about a tv adaptation of one book at first due to all this and even a celebrity cast wasn’t a good sign. They roped Danny DeVito into the Lorax. So even with a whopper cast containing Michael Douglas, Diane Keaton, my boy Adam Divine, Ilana Glazer, Kegan Michael Key, Jeffery Wright, Eddie Izard and JIllian Bell.. I wasn’t convinced. But word of mouth was really good, and the animation looked downright gorgeous, perfectly mimicking suess’ work and feeling like an unabashed love letter.

So I did what I tend to do.. and sat on it for several years because I simply forgot to watch it till my friend comissioned it and here we are. And off the bat.. the reputation.. is not remotely overblown. This is easily the best Dr. Seuss adaptation i’ve seen in some time taking the best of his ideas and whimsy, with what little behind the scenes stuff I could get saying they specifically took art design from his art of book, with a modern and intresting story behind it and an all star cast that this time around are used well instead of just being there for Name Recogntion. Not only that but it takes inspriation form, of all things, Planes Trains and Automobiles, but does so well so far, getting the oddcouple dynamic down perfectly.

So join me under the cut as I cut this bit of green eggs and ham into bite sized pieces for you all and go into why it’s so delecitable.

This episode’s mostly broken up into bits to introduce all the main players, so as I tend to do when there’s multiple plots, I will be covering each one at a time.

Guy and Sam: The Failed Inventor and the Animal Thief

So our story begins with.. a ninja breaking into a zoo to steal the rare Chikaraffe.

Neither was the narrator, played by Key.. and the narrator naturally for a work like this delightfully interacts with things and is one of the best parts of the whole episode. But this already shows how well the series updates things. There’s one or two things like Ninja Sam or a family making ducklips during a photo, there’s even a fairly obvious trump stand in we’ll get to.. but none of it’s SO overdone it takes you out of things or dates the projects. The tech is kept to about the 70′s or 80′s with cameras still used instead of camera phones, crt tv’s, and what have you, and most inventions seens are susian. It feels wholly in line with his books while still nudging it into our current decade here and there. In other words.. how you SHOULD do it: add in a few things here or there but no overt pop culture refrences and at most a take that at something Seuss would gladly take aim at.

So we meet our other hero the next day, Guy-Am-I. Guy is the show’s version of the nameless harassment victim from the books, with a bit of a darker fur and hat, likely to help better distingish him from sam as well as sell him being older than his co-star. It’s a good change, and helps sell Guy as what he is.. a grumpy middle aged man who keeps failling in life as demonstrated by his way to the inventions: he falls in a puddle, signs no on a pettition because he’s in a hurry, reminds me of man in a hurry from hatchefield but I couldn’t find a good image of him saying that in time and takes a picture of the family “Say runing my life” “ruining your life!”. We later see after some of the following scenes Sam do the same.. but he hops over the puddle then dives ino for fun, signs an entire page of the pettition, and takes tons of pictures. It’s a nice establishing scene for both.

Guy is presenting his invention for Snerzco, your standard megacorp given a delightful Seuss twist with LITERAL pencil pushers and beancounters, to present his invention, with other inventors presenting, witht he hopes of presenting to Snerzz himself, having such delightfully bonkers and seussian inventions as a reverse umbrella (it rains on you) and an automatic fingercrosser. It’s touches like this that really tell me the series really loves Dr. Seuss.

Sadly things don’t go well for guy as he’s hoping his invention dosen’t explode, his invention being a backpack made of hands to help people fly. Most people are imprestted apart from Michelle a bean counter who.. randomly snarks she wouldn’t let her daughter fly on it.

Yeah it’s not a great introduction for one of your major characters to have her randomly mock something that hadn’t exploded yet, and to for no reason bring up what a paranoid and unfun parent she is. We’ll get to her more in a bit. But yes it does explode and Guy’s dreams are ruined.

And this whole picture.. shows who guy is. He’s someone whose kept trying agian, and again and again only for it not to work, and to get laughed at by the public and spat on by god themslef. It’s easy to see WHY he’s such a bitter curmudgeon: life hates him, so why shouldn’t he hate it back. That’s a self defeating prophecy of course but this is episode one and tha’ts probably the point of the series: to explore this. That being said I could see this coming from a mile away and felt it to be the most unupsired bit of the episode.

Guy enters a diner to get some Oatmush “The Sadmans Special” after the bus leaves before he can get to it because again, God hates him personally. No the sadman’s special is a famous bowl from KFC. I should know as a professional sadman. Regardless Guy is miserable.. and in enters sam, whose fascenated their “Breifcase Buddies” because thier briefcases match.. and unlike the above I like how they call attention to them being identical. We know wha’ts going to happen there but the lampshading helps it go down easier and makes us wonder if they will swap. Sam is a regular, being friends with Donna the waitress and ordering his usual green eggs and ham.

So we get the expected bit: Sam asks Guy to try them, he says no, but the show makes a good choice. Instead of just.. stalking guy for the next 11 episodes to get him to try it.. he simply asks if he’s actually tried it, Guy says no and makes a great poop joke, and Sam leaves it. He apparently asks once an episode, but it’s made more into a character thing; Guy refuses because he hates to try new things outside of his inventing and that’s hit a wall. It’s also a nice suprise that Devine and Douglas just play perfectly off one another. The two are from vastly diffrent generations and backgrounds acting wise, but they just work perfectly together and it’s what makes their interactions work.

Sam does leave it and the other inventors having ALL got the golden ticket, arrive and Sam treats them.. only to notice Guy’s paper and the fact guy failed, and asks donna politely to get guy his mush as he ordered first. It’s good setup for Sam. We saw him be nice and free and what not, but we also see that while he can be insietive (He asked guy what broken dream he had earlier in the scene) he does geniunely care and it isn’t just surface level. He loves people and helping them and getting to know them.

Of course while Guy is greatful, showing that beneath his own exterior he’s not a bad guy just one made miserable by life, he’s not going to be best friends or anything.. that’s a lot to ask they just met and takes his case after gulping down his oatmush.

That night Sam prepares to leave, having given Donna his adress.. multiple times. in the hopes someone comes over and hangs out. Can relate even if i’d never go that far. He does however reveal himself as the ninja and prepare to take the chikaraffe with him for whatever reason.

Guy goes to his hotel room to sulk, not helped by the other inventors partying outside, and full of misery and self loathing throws his suitcase in the fire.. until it makes a noise. He quickly pulls it out to find the Chickaraffe. Will he surivive? I mean probably. We have 12 episodes left. And a full second season. God this is going to take a few years.. regardless, let’s move onto the subplots.

MIchellee and E.B.

We meet Michelle’s daughter EB who just wants to live but her mom dosen’t let her have toys or shenaniagnas.. and comes off untetionally as really abusive. She’s SUPPOSED to be overprotective, but saying “I detect a hint of whimsy.. i’ll allow it” really just paints you as an overcontrolling psycho. Their headed on a trip and while EB wants to catch the chickaraffe for herself dosen’t have the time and her mom gives her a magnetic friendship bracelet.. that shackes her to her. Just... yeah Michelle has made me hate her in one episode and she’s played by Diane Keaton. How do you do that? Hopefully she’ll get better but hearing about these two characters was part of the reason I procastinated so long. The other is my brain being kind of a forgetful swamp.

Snerz: We meet Snerz himself who has someone bringing him the chickaraffe. Snerz is a cold, mean man with trump hair.. that in this case is a literal being he’s forcing to be his hair, has everything gold plated and keeps animals in a wall forcing them to stand on the other side and put their heads through like he mounted them because he’s a sociopath. And this is the refrence I meant. Snerz has many comparisons to trump, the hair, the gold platings, but it dosen’t really date the thing as Trump has been around since long before this and will sadly probably be around till his inetivitible jail sentence. But it’s not so overt or over the top that it takes you out of it it works. Okay one more.

BAD GUYS:

Two mysterious agents, one old and one on her first mission, go to the zoo and interogate the guy running it holding him over a slapping turtle exhbit. Their after the chickaraffe and depart.. with the yougner agent accidently dropping him. Whoops. At least he gets to get hit into space by a turtle. Some of us never will “Sigh”

Final Thoughts:

This was an excellent first episode. It fleshes out the characters well, sets up the story without feeling too slow, and the show strkes the right ballance of being it’s own thing while still feeling Seuss. It’s a wubusoully wonderful good time and I recommend checking it out. I look forward to the rest of the series over the next year.

Next on this blog: Sleepover time as Shadow into Light, my Lena Saberwing retrospective resumes.

#green eggs and ham #sam-i-am #guy-am-i #michelle #e.b.#snertz #dr seuss #netflix

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

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Written In The Stars CXXVIII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: From chapter 25 to 36 I just love everything -Danny

Words: 5,260

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Payphone’ -by Maroon 5

Chapter Twenty-Six: Delusions of Power.

Mel spent the next days in constant anxiety.

She even stopped her mischief out of fear of how the interview could backfire, it was keeping her awake at night.

At the end of a particularly rough quidditch practice Ron, Ginny and her were walking back to the castle in a very grim mood, but they still were curious about what exactly had Mel added to Harry's story.

"Well, you know," Their friend replied as she undid her braid. "Talked about Barty Jr. and how his father brought him from Azkaban — and that he fired Winky, which was a complete lack of respect for the honourable work of House-elves (Hermione was very pleased with that part), I talked about the corruption in the Ministry, that Fudge made it very clear that the main reason why he didn't want to act was because of the money he was getting from pureblood families involved... I reckon I'll never get a job in the Ministry after this."

"I hope this works out," Ginny said. "Maybe the Order we'll get more help once people read the article, your version makes much more sense than whatever Fudge wants to sell to the public."

They walked into the Great Hall leaving mud stains on their path, Hermione and Harry were having dinner already, and they seemed to be arguing.

"Is that what she was doing?" Harry was asking. "Well, wouldn't it have been easier if she'd just asked me whether I liked her better than you?"

"Girls don't often ask questions like that," Hermione responded.

"Well, they should! Then I could've just told her I fancy her, and she wouldn't have had to get herself all worked up again about Cedric dying!"

"You're still talking about that?" Mel frowned. "Listen, I agree with you about Cho exaggerating a bit, but to be fair you're slow at picking up hints."

"You're one to talk," Harry retorted.

"I'm not saying what she did was sensible," said Hermione, throwing a nervous glance at them and interrupting before things got awkward. "I'm just trying to make you see how she was feeling at the time."

"You should write a book," Ron said, "translating mad things girls do so boys can understand them."

"Yeah!" said Harry.

"Girls are humans just like you," Mel scowled. "There are no 'rules' — Just try to get to know the girl for a change instead of just looking for a quick snog."

Harry looked back at the Ravenclaw table wistfully, Cho was leaving it with her friend Marietta, and she didn't glance his way before walking out.

"So, how was Quidditch practice?" He sighed, turning his attention back to his friends.

"It was a nightmare," said Ron.

"Oh come on," Hermione tried, "I'm sure it wasn't that —"

"Yes, it was," Ginny pouted. "It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it."

Mel let out a long sigh and pushed her hair out of the way, it was starting to get a bit impossible to handle at this point and it was always messy, she really needed to get rid of half of it.

"Can't say I'm doing marvellous work as a beater if I'm honest. I'm not as strong as Angelina would like..."

By the time Mel was going to play her first game ever the atmosphere was extremely dense. Her Hufflepuff friends wished her luck in a way that let her know they already felt like the winners. She couldn't blame them, Ron was looking greener and greener with every step he took towards the dressing room.

Mel was about to enter when Fred caught up and kissed her. She couldn't even react properly.

"For good luck!" He smirked. "Isn't that the tradition?"

Mel was flustered, she ushered him away and stood there in shock, hearing as he laughed about her reaction with George. Someone cleared his throat behind her, it was Harry.

"When did you get here?" She asked in dread.

"Just a moment," Harry said, a faint blush on his cheeks. "But I saw you were... er... having a moment. I figured it was better if I just waited until Fred was gone."

"Okay," Mel said clumsily, pushing her hair back.

"I wanted to wish you good luck," He said. "It's your first game... when it was my game you were there so... it's my turn, isn't it?"

"You don't have to," Mel said, panicking about Harry kissing her cheek after such a long time without physical contact. She no longer knew what boundaries existed between them.

"It's the least I can do," Harry hesitated before awkwardly stepping forward, holding out his hand so she could shake it.

Mel grabbed it and shook it firmly.

"Good luck."

"Thanks," She smiled.

Once inside and dressed in the uniform, Mel stared at her reflection in awe.

"I'm wearing a Quidditch uniform," She told Ginny. "And I look so good..."

"Yeah, yeah, you're pretty," Ginny rolled her eyes grinning. "Let's go, before your big-head stops you from looking away..."

The good part? Ginny caught the snitch.

They still lost.

She'd threw a bludger directly to a chaser and caused him to drop the quaffle, but Slope was dreadful, he kept missing every time. Ron was beyond miserable when the game was over, now not only the Slytherins were singing, but also the Hufflepuffs.

Back in the common room, once she had taken a bath, she walked in and listened to Harry and Ginny's conversation as she sat down tiredly next to them, hanging her legs over the armrest and leaning on Ginny's shoulder.

"I was lucky," The girl was saying. "It wasn't a very fast snitch and Summerby's got a cold, he sneezed and closed his eyes at exactly the wrong moment. Anyway, once you're back on the team —"

"Ginny, I've got a lifelong ban."

"You're banned as long as Umbridge is in the school. There's a difference. Anyway, once you're back, I think I'll try out for Chaser. Angelina and Alicia are both leaving next year and I prefer goal-scoring to seeking anyway."

Mel sighed, rubbing her temples.

"You were right about how cathartic it is to be a Beater, but I think I'm not good enough for the position. Maybe chaser— or even seeker, if Harry insists on staying on the bench —"

"It's not like I want to stay there, you know?"

"If you say so," The girl yawned.

"Angelina still won't let him resign," Ginny added, making a vague head movement towards her brother. "She says she knows he's got it in him."

"Because he does," Mel rolled her eyes. "That idiot... if I could take away his insecurities by knocking his lights out with a bludger, I'd do it."

The next morning during breakfast was the moment when the bomb dropped. Two editions of the Quibbler arrived –one for Mel and one for Harry– inside they had their interviews. Not only that, but at least ten owls landed around the table, all with letters directed to them.

"It's good, isn't it?" Luna sat down between Fred and Ron. "It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these are letters from readers."

"That's what I thought," said Hermione. "Guys, d'you mind if we — ?"

"Help yourself," said Harry.

"I'm too scared to touch any of those," Mel said hesitantly. "Don't want anything on my face..."

"This one's from a bloke who thinks you're off your rocker, Harry," said Ron. "Says Mel is probably hormonal — gross lad, honestly. Ah well..."

"This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's," said Hermione.

"This one looks okay, though," said Harry, he was reading through the mail now as well. "Hey, she says she believes us!"

"This one's in two minds," said Fred who had taken the liberty to open the one's directed at Mel. "Says you don't come across as mad people, but he really doesn't want to believe You-Know-Who's back so he doesn't know what to think now... Blimey, what a waste of parchment. I would believe you in a second, Lady."

"Thank you Fred, but I'm afraid you're biased," Mel grinned, deciding to start opening letters too.

"Here's another one you've convinced!" said Hermione happily. "'Having read your side of the story I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you very unfairly... Little though I want to think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth... and Miss Dumbledore's claims seemed to be legitimate, I had a friend who got in trouble with the Ministry and they forgave him in no time after he let go of a few galleons...' Oh, this is wonderful!"

"Another one who thinks you're barking," said Ron, throwing the letter without paying attention, "but this one says you've got her converted, and she now thinks you're a real hero — she's put in a photograph too — wow —"

"At this rate, you won't have to worry about any future dates with Cho," Mel teased.

"What is going on here?" Umbridge asked over their heads. "Why have you got all these letters, Mr Potter, Miss Dumbledore?"

"Is that a crime now? Getting mail?" Fred frowned.

"Be careful, Mr Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention. Well, Mr Potter?"

Harry pondered his options quietly but shared one resolute look with Mel and knew there was no point. She would find out eventually.

"People have written to us because we gave an interview," said Harry. "About what happened to me last June."

"And about how much of a fraud Fudge is," Mel concluded.

"An interview? What do you mean?" Umbridge asked.

"I mean a reporter asked us questions and we answered them," said Harry. "Here —"

He threw his copy at Umbridge and Mel got a pleasant tug at the base of her stomach at the sight. It quickly faded as she watched the woman read carefully all they'd said.

"When did you do this?" She breathed.

"Last Hogsmeade weekend," said Harry.

"There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you two."

"How would've guessed?" Mel replied carelessly.

"How you dare... how you could... I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Miss Dumbledore, hadn't I told you to learn where your place is? You have no right to speak like that about your Minister!"

Mel thought that if she was already in trouble, she was going to earn it fully.

"I thought you'd understand, isn't blood status your biggest priority? That's why you're giving Hagrid such a hard time, right? I'm just following your lead," She glanced at the teachers' table, where Dumbledore was talking to Flitwick without paying attention to them, although she had the feeling he was just pretending. "I'll always be loyal to my people."

"Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions!" Umbridge spat, barely able to control her anger.

"It'll be my pleasure!" Mel shouted, watching the woman stomp away from the Great Hall.

Hermione and Mel smiled at each other at the sight of the decree.

— by order of —

The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts

Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.

Signed:

High inquisitor.

"What exactly are you so happy about?" Harry asked them.

"Oh Harry, don't you remember what Mel said? If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read your interview, it was banning it!"

If Mel was popular before, now she was almost idolized. The only student at school that had stood up against Umbridge apart from Harry. Of course, there were people like Malfoy, and kids that were related to the death eaters that were definitely not happy about it, but little did they know that Daphne and Erick had her back. Not only that, but several Slytherins were starting to realize some things, as Mel would find out in her next D.A. meeting.

The students weren't the only ones making quiet declarations, Professor Sprout rewarded Harry with twenty points when he'd done nothing but to pass her an empty watering can. Flitwick discretely gave them two boxes of squeaking sugar mice during his class and ran away almost as fast as he'd approached.

Trelawney openly wept and claimed that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but he and Mel would live to a ripe old age, become Minister of Magic and have twelve children. Since she didn't specify which part was for each, Mel blushed deeply at the mention of babies.

Even Cho forgave Harry for his silly mistake on Valentine's day, and she was telling to anyone who was interested that they had shared a lovely date the day he'd done the interview, and that she was very proud of him.

Fred was another person who was taking great pleasure in strutting around the castle with Mel by his side. Students would look at him with sneers and faces of contempt, and although Mel didn't appreciate being treated like a prize, she was definitely enjoying the way Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott would glare at her from across the hall without being able to touch her.

Seamus approached her and Harry before their Transfiguration class.

"I just wanted to say," He said, avoiding their eyes, "I believe you. And I've sent a copy of that magazine to me mam."

Mel was so pleased that she hugged him, Seamus didn't know how to respond. That night a party took place in the common room, she hadn't seen her friends this happy for a very long time, and she was proud to be part of it.

"What you did was foolish and impulsive”

"I'm aware."

"I thought we'd agreed on keeping a low profile this year," Dumbledore stared down at her over his glasses.

"We agreed on keeping my lessons a secret. There's nothing in that interview about my lessons with you, Professor. However, we never said I couldn't talk about Fudge."

They were outside the main entrance of the castle, Dumbledore had asked her for a private word as she walked past the entrance after finishing diner. Neither Harry nor Umbridge were near, which could be part of the reason why Dumbledore had asked her now. She didn't know what he'd been doing outside at this hour, but she was more worried about the lecture she was about to get.

"This is not the time to take things lightly," Dumbledore said gravely. "You know you're one of Voldemort's targets, he wants to use you to his advantage and now you've turned into a person of interest for the Ministry as well."

"I already was," Mel replied. "I merely talked about Fudge, I kept you out of the conversation! They might accuse me of slander, but then again they're probably too afraid of you to try it."

"And you're planning to live under my shadow?" Dumbledore asked.

Mel's annoyance increased.

"Of course not! I've improved lots this year, I daresay I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself —"

"You have to grow up first before making such decisions," Dumbledore replied in a hard tone that took her off guard. "That kind of behaviour is what kept Aberforth from turning into his best self. You mustn't follow his lead. Matthew would've wanted you to be better."

"Give me a break, won't you? I'm fifteen — I want to have fun, I hate that I have to act like an adult when all my friends are allowed to fool around and —"

"You've been given enough freedom," The man replied. "Haven't I turned a blind eye to your acts of so-called justice? It wasn't wise of me, but I allowed it. Why?"

"Because you hate Umbridge as much as everyone else?"

"Because you wish to be something else than just a Lastname. What you haven't realized is that you already are Mel, but what you're representing right now is no better than what you used to be. You're repeating history and that won't help you."

Mel was about to reply when a woman's scream reached them. They both turned to the oak doors, hearing attentively. Two trunks came down flying and landed roughly at the foot of the marble staircase, Umbridge walked down in tiny cheerful steps, Trelawney stumbled down holding a bottle of sherry. She was looking around frantically.

"NO!" She yelled, and the students inside the Great Hall walked out to see the scene. "NO! NO! This cannot be happening... It cannot... I refuse to accept it!"

"You didn't realize this was coming? Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?" Umbridge asked cruelly.

"You c-can't! You c-can't sack me! I've b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!"

"It was your home, until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us."

Surprisingly, McGonagall stepped forward and hugged the woman protectively.

"There, there, Sibyll... Calm down... Blow your nose on this... It's not as bad as you think, now... You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts..."

"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" Umbridge sneered. "And your authority for that statement is..?"

Dumbledore opened the door completely, his figure stepping into the scene.

"That would be mine," He said.

Mel followed him, but she stayed behind as he reached the place where Trelawney was.

"Yours, Professor Dumbledore? I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."

"You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers," He smiled the same way she would do whenever she could get away with something. Her father's smile. "You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continues to live at Hogwarts."

"No — no, I'll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere —"

"No. It is my wish that you remain, Sibyll," He turned to McGonagall. "Might I ask you to escort Sibyll back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"

"Of course. Up you get, Sibyll..."

Professor Sprout hurried to help Trelawney by holding her other arm and Professor Flitwick held out his wand and exclaimed "Locomotor trunks!" the objects floated in the air and followed the group of teachers.

"And what," Umbridge continued, so angry she could barely speak, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," said Dumbledore. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"You've found — ? You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twenty-two —"

"— the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if — and only if — the headmaster is unable to find one. And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?"

On queue, there was a sound like hooves behind her and she turned at the same time that the rest. The sight almost made her doubt her sanity, but it wasn't an illusion. There, standing in the entrance was a centaur.

"This is Firenze— I think you'll find him suitable." Dumbledore beamed.

When the crowd erupted into loud exclamations of shock, the old man spoke in a lower voice.

"It's not about breaking the rules for the sake of provoking," He told her. "Is memorizing your way around them, so you can use them in your favour."

The sentence 'I must not tell lies' was throbbing on the back of her hand. Hermione was already waiting for her with a jar of murtlap which she and Harry took turns to use. She knew Harry had felt the first day of her detention because he quickly approached to examine her injuries, although she rejected his help.

"Now you know how it feels," She said calmly. "Now you understand why I couldn't just ignore you, right?"

Harry looked uncomfortable, yet he had no choice but to admit she was right.

Daphne Greengrass was one of the first students to arrive on the day of the D.A. meeting, but she wasn't alone. A total of eight Slytherins had accompanied her and though they looked tense, they wanted to know what Umbridge was hiding, they wanted to learn. Once again, the group welcomed them with open arms.

"You know," Ron told her while he took a break from being Hermione's partner. "I reckon you may be right, maybe not all Slytherins are evil."

"Took you long enough," Mel patted his back lovingly. "Now be a good boy and practice with one of them."

"What?!"

"Are you afraid of snakes, Ronnie?" She raised a brow.

"Of course not!" He said, his ears gaining a reddish colour. "Hey — Hey, you! What's your name?"

He walked up to a fourth-year Slytherin so they could practice together, Mel's chest swelled with pride. It was Harry's turn to walk up to her.

"Okay, you win," He sighed, looking rather impressed. "We haven't got any fights — I guess we can all be friends."

"Can you write that down and sign it?" Mel smirked.

"Nah," He walked away with a smile.

Their first divination class with Firenze proved to be highly interesting. When Mel walked in she felt slightly disoriented, like she had walked out of the castle without really wanting to.

The classroom floor had become springily mossy and trees were growing out of it; their leafy branches fanned across the ceiling and windows, so that the room was full of slanting shafts of soft, dappled, green light.

The students who had already arrived were sitting on the earthy floor with their backs resting against tree trunks or boulders, arms wrapped around their knees or folded tightly across their chests, looking rather nervous. In the middle of the room, where there were no trees, stood Firenze.

"Harry Potter," Firenze walked up to them and shook hands with Harry.

"Er — hi– Er — good to see you..." The boy replied awkwardly.

"And you," said the centaur, inclining his white-blond head. "It was foretold that we would meet again. Miss Dumbledore, you continue to grow into your power, I see."

"Er..." Mel accepted Firenze's hand and shook it, trying not to stare at the bruise on the centaur's chest. "I... I suppose?"

She remembered the night Firenze had saved them from Quirrel, he'd said something about her 'vibrating', she knew enough about herself now to guess he meant her magical skills were quite good.

"Professor Dumbledore has kindly arranged this classroom for us," Firenze said once the students had taken a place on the ground, "in imitation of my natural habitat. I would have preferred to teach you in the Forbidden Forest, which was — until Monday — my home... but this is not possible."

"Please — er — sir —" Parvati had raised her hand, "why not? We've been in there with Hagrid, we're not frightened!"

"It is not a question of your bravery but of my position. I can no longer return to the forest. My herd has banished me."

"Herd?" asked Lavender. "What — oh! There are more of you?"

"Did Hagrid breed you, like the thestrals?" asked Dean.

Mel cringed at the question, Dean immediately realized his mistake, but it was too late.

"I didn't — I meant — sorry..."

"Centaurs are not the servants or playthings of humans," said Firenze calmly.

"Please, sir... why have the other centaurs banished you?" Parvati insisted.

"Because I have agreed to work for Professor Dumbledore. They see this as a betrayal of our kind."

Harry and Mel shifted awkwardly in their places, they could still remember the way the other centaurs had treated Firenze after helping Harry and her to leave the forest.

"Let us begin..."

[Firenze] swished his long palomino tail, raised his hand toward the leafy canopy overhead then lowered it slowly, and as he did so, the light in the room dimmed, so that they now seemed to be sitting in a forest clearing by twilight, and stars emerged upon the ceiling. There were oohs and gasps, and Ron said audibly, "Blimey!"

"Lie back upon the floor," said Firenze in his calm voice, "and observe the heavens. Here is written, for those who can see, the fortune of our races."

Mel laid down between Ron and Harry, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. The centaur's words resonated on her mind. 'Here is written, for those who can see...'

Erick's words also came to her mind.

'Knowing what's written in the stars won't help you.'

Maybe it would have. Maybe she could've skipped her whole thing with Harry and she'd be dating someone else for real, happy to have everything she wanted in life, including her best friend.

A thought crept inside her. If she would've known everything, more importantly, if she knew what's waiting for her in the future, if she still had a chance with Harry... No, she needed to get rid of those thoughts as soon as possible, they weren't even that close. Worse yet, he was dating Cho!

All those novels she'd read for years had messed up her mind, she needed to get a grip on reality. They were over for good, she was sure someone out there was her second chance, and she just had to look around.

"I know that you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy," Firenze's voice brought her back abruptly, "and that you have mapped the stars' progress through the heavens. Centaurs have unravelled the mysteries of these movements over centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us..."

"Professor Trelawney did Astrology with us!" said Parvati excitedly. "Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that, and when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now, that means that people need to be extra careful when handling hot things —"

"That is human nonsense."

Ron snorted beside her, Mel had to kick his foot to shut him up.

"Trivial hurts, tiny human accidents... These are of no more significance than the scurryings of ants to the wide universe, and are unaffected by planetary movements."

"Professor Trelawney —"

"— is a human," Firenze replied without getting upset. "And is therefore blinkered and fettered by the limitations of your kind."

If Mel was honest, knowing there were things that humans simply couldn't comprehend was comforting. She could be smart, but at the end of the day, she was still human and had her limits. After a whole year of feeling out of control, the idea was a glorious revelation.

"Sibyll Trelawney may have Seen, I do not know... but she wastes her time, in the main, on the self-flattering nonsense humans call fortune-telling. I, however, am here to explain the wisdom of centaurs, which is impersonal and impartial. We watch the skies for the great tides of evil or change that are sometimes marked there. It may take ten years to be sure of what we are seeing."

Their Professor pointed to a little red dot that was right above them.

"In the past decade, the indications have been that Wizard-kind is living through nothing more than a brief calm between two wars. Mars, bringer of battle, shines brightly above us, suggesting that the fight must break out again soon. How soon, centaurs may attempt to divine by the burning of certain herbs and leaves, by the observation of fume and flame..."

If that was really true –and she figured centaurs could be trusted to an extent– then she would live long enough to see the next war. Her hands closed in tight fists, trying to control the way they were starting to fidget.

Firenze asked them to look for shapes in the smoke of a fire, but it didn't feel like he was actually expecting them to see things. On the contrary, it was more like he was just babysitting a bunch of children he didn't find particularly clever.

Either way, he also mentioned how this technique was sometimes useless for centaurs since they could interpret the signals wrong, so in conclusion, no one should ever fully trust their own minds. Mel got the feeling that he wasn't trying to teach divination, more like rational and individual thinking. Which, in Mel's opinion, was more valuable than any kind of fortune-telling.

"He's not very definite on anything, is he? I mean, I could do with a few more details about this war we're about to have, couldn't you?" Ron whispered.

Mel didn't want to know more. Actually, she'd been comfortable in her ignorance, and she was happy being the popular, nice girl from school. Still, she knew she had responsibilities to attend. Responsibilities that she would have to pay attention to eventually, even if she didn't feel like it. A war she had to fight.

It wasn't just her and her mother now, it was the baby, Sirius and her uncle Lupin. It was the Weasleys, the Dumbledores, the Longbottoms, Hermione, Erick, Daphne, their classmates, and of course, Harry.

The bell rang and Mel gave a start. Her breathing was erratic, her hands were sweating. She got up hastily and picked up her things in a hurry, but before she could leave, Firenze called her and Harry to stay for a second longer. Ron stood there, unsure of whether he should leave. Firenze noticed this and allowed him to stay, only asking him to close the door.

"You are friends of Hagrid's, are you not?" Their Professor asked them.

"Yes," said Harry.

"Then give him a warning from me. His attempt is not working. He would do better to abandon it."

"His attempt is not working?" Harry frowned.

"And he would do better to abandon it," Firenze nodded. "I would warn Hagrid myself, but I am banished — it would be unwise for me to go too near the forest now — Hagrid has troubles enough, without a centaurs' battle."

"But — what's Hagrid attempting to do?"

"Hagrid has recently rendered me a great service," said Firenze after a moment of contemplative silence. "And he has long since earned my respect for the care he shows all living creatures. I shall not betray his secret. But he must be brought to his senses. The attempt is not working. Tell him. Good day to you."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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hphmmatthewluther · 3 years

Text

Matthew Luther and the Riddle of Easter

7th April, 1985:

It was a Sunday, and everyone at Hogwarts was either busy enjoying themselves or furiously studying for their exams. Well, almost everyone. For in the West wing of the Castle, up in Ravenclaw Tower, there was one person still in their bed. He wasn’t asleep, but he didn’t exactly want to get out of bed. Matthew Luther didn’t really feel like there was much of a point. If he did, he would either get dozens of looks for being Jacob Luther’s brother, or be pestered by the Slytherins again. As far as he was concerned, it was best to avoid all of that. For the past three years, it appeared that God had been playing an awfully long-winded joke on him. So there he laid, trying not to think about anything, forcing himself to go back to sleep.

Suddenly, there was a noise. A loud, piercing screech. It sounded like a cat of some kind. It was probably Mrs Norris, Matthew thought, covering his ears with the pillow. If he hadn’t, he would have heard several tiny footsteps moving towards the dormitory door, followed by a click. He finally noticed when the door swung open, filling the room with light.

“Gah!” Matthew exclaimed, squinting to see that the only thing in the doorway was a cat. It wasn’t Mrs Norris, that was for sure. This one had large, green eyes and ginger hair, and it didn’t hiss at a moments’ notice. It walked up to the bed, and started to mew at the first-year.

“...Oh, what? What is it?” Matthew asked, pushing himself over to see the cat. It looked at him, right at him, before glancing up at his desk. On it was Matthew’s wand, books, and his silver bracelet. In a flash, the ginger cat jumped up and swiped it, scampering out of the room with the bracelet in its mouth.

“H-Hey!” yelled Matthew, quickly forcing the duvet off of him, grabbing his wand and heading off after the cat. He followed it down the stairs and into the Ravenclaw Common Room, and into the many bookshelves that made up Ravenclaw Tower. The cat headed deep into the tower, until it came to a stop several minutes later near an alcove with several blue lanterns and cushions. It sat down on one of these cushions, keeping the bracelet under its claws. Slowly, Matthew approached the animal, now exhausted thanks to having chased it down here.

“There’s got to be a better way to do this...” he said to himself, moving closer. And then it hit him. He was going about this all wrong. I always am, he thought, stopping in his tracks. Cautiously, he moved his hand forward, not towards the bracelet, but to the cat’s head. It hesitated for a moment, sniffing the hand, before allowing Matthew to stroke its head, moving its claws away from the silver. He didn’t grab it instantly, and instead sat down on one of the cushions, continually stroking the cat. Eventually, it moved onto his lap, and Matthew finally grabbed his bracelet and put it on. He gave a sigh of relief as he felt the cold metal touch his skin.

“Ah, you’re not so bad.” he admitted, as he started to give the cat chinny rubs. It purred loudly in his lap. “I wonder who you belong to.”

“He belongs to nobody.” came a woman’s voice. Matthew snapped his head up, and the cat remained still in its lap. In front of them was a silvery figure in a resplendent dress, with long brown hair going past the shoulders. She had the tiniest of smiles on her face. Matthew gasped.

“It’s you...” he began, “The Ghost of Ravenclaw Tower...Helena Ravenclaw.” he said, remembering Chester informing him that she didn’t like the name “The Grey Lady”. And honestly, who would?

“I am glad that you solved my riddle. It’s a favourite of those eager to find a suitor who has both intelligence and kindness, and faith in their soul.” Helena explained, “Take good care of it.”

Matthew’s eyes widened. “You- You’re giving me a cat? W-What? W-Why?” he stammered, looking down at the cat’s green eyes.

“I felt that you require a companion that is immune to human inventions such as rumour, or scandal.” Helena said, gliding closer to the window. “Things that you know too well.”

Matthew nodded. “You can say that again.” The cat got off of his lap and pounced up to the windowsill. The Ravenclaw got up and moved towards it too, to see whatever it was that had caught their attention. From here, they could see a great deal of Hogwarts, including the Clocktower Courtyard. There, he could make out a large crowd of people surrounding two people. One of them was a nervous-looking Gryffindor, and the other was a wild-haired Slytherin.

“Ben and Merula!” Matthew exclaimed, “Oh no...”

“Ah, yes. I believe the Snyde girl has been one of the most eager to find the Cursed Vaults.” Helena observed. “Besides you, of course. I must ask, is this why you have shut yourself here?”

Matthew’s expression soured even more so. The cat nuzzled his shoulder. “That’s..that’s not it. It’s just...well, it’s Easter.”

“Indeed it is.” confirmed Helena, looking down at the boy.

“Well, it’s just...we don’t have an owl, so my Dad can’t send me anything, so that sucks...” Matthew explained, “But more than that...it’ll be the first time I’ve missed it. Every year, we’d go to church and they’d give us all a little chocolate egg, and we got to do colouring activities while the main service happened. I know I’m twelve now, but...it was nice seeing everyone there, you know? I just...that was how it happened every year. I miss that.”

Helena nodded. “You miss your old life. Now I must ask you something that may cause you offence.” she announced. “How does staying up here solve any of that?”

Matthew stared, open-mouthed. “Wh- well, I...I...you stay up here all the time, don’t you?!” he reminded her, suddenly very annoyed. He knew that staying up here wasn’t helping, but hearing it from somebody else was just...well, it felt awful. It then occurred to him what he had just said. “I...I’m sorry, I should go, I-”

“No. I understand.” Helena reassured him.

“I...” Matthew began, “It’s no excuse, but...I just...I know it's wrong. But I can’t bring myself to change anything. When I was younger I’d always had Jacob to help me with that...we’d always get the same Easter chocolate, too. He’d tell me when to stop so I could space it out over the holidays, you know, to make it last. He was brilliant. I guess if I had the chocolate now, I’d eat it all in one go and feel awful about it later...I...I guess I just miss him. He was brilliant, and...I can’t stand his name being tarnished.” As he let everything out, he found himself stroking the cat again. It turned onto its back and let Matthew rub its belly. Helena watched for a moment, before sighing.

“Matthew Luther, in case you had not noticed, I am dead. But more than that, I am a ghost. I refused to let go of this world, as I did not have the faith to move on. Thus, I am trapped here, unable to truly feel the pull of the world around me...unable to enact change. You are not dead. You are alive. You can enact change.”

Matthew digested this, taking a long sigh. “You’re right. Of course you are. It’s just...so damn hard sometimes.”

“As all things worth doing are.” Helena said, “Now, best hurry. It looks like Mr Copper has been struck by the Jelly-Legs Jinx.”

“Right!” said Matthew, picking up his wand again and heading towards the door of Ravenclaw Tower, the cat following behind. “Honestly, I think I lost God’s lottery, and then there’s Ben-”

“Matthew!” cried Helena, gliding forward.

“Um...yes?” he asked. The ghost pointed at him.

“You are still wearing your pyjamas.”

Matthew blushed. “Right, sorry, gah!” he exclaimed, heading up to the boy’s dormitory. A few minutes later he emerged, now with proper clothes on. He looked down at the cat by his feet.

“I guess you need a name.” he realised. “How about...Danny?”

Danny mewed quietly, scratching his head against Matthew’s leg.

“Great.” He said, before turning to the Grey Lady. “I...thank you. You know, I think you’re slightly wrong. You said you couldn’t change things, and now here I am, off to duel half of Slytherin.”

Helena’s smile grew ever-so-slightly. “Well...take care of that cat. It’s been in my care for a few years now, it deserves someone like you.”

“I will. I promise.” he said. Before he left, however, he turned back. “Um, Helena?”

“Yes, Matthew?”

“Do wizards...do they believe in God?”

Helena paused, then nodded. “Some do. They believe that he gave us our magic for a purpose, and...that we are destined to act as Guardian Angels for the masses.”

Matthew nodded in return. “Yeah, cool, um...see you around, Helena! Thank you for the cat! Oh, and Happy Easter!” he yelled, before dashing out of Ravenclaw Tower.

When Matthew got to the courtyard, the crowd had almost doubled. Rowan was standing nearby.

“Where were you? The Slytherins have been, well they’ve been-”

“I know.” Matthew said, scowling. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd. The group of Slytherins were hurling insult after insult at Ben, who had next-to-no chance of defending himself. Matthew sighed, and pointed his wand at Ben’s wiggling legs.

“Unjellify!” he yelled, causing them to straighten out. Ben immediately backed away, Rowan moving forward to check if he was okay. “Wait, the counter-curse is just ‘Unjellify’? That’s it?!” Merula asked, her eyebrow raised.

“Trust me, I was surprised too.” Matthew said, chuckling. “Alright then, guys, you’ve had your fun, so-”

“Oh shut up, halfbreed.” sneered Preston Crawford, another Slytherin who Matthew found to be worse than Merula. “You’ve made an enemy today, you know that?”

“Mm, and I haven’t even had breakfast yet.” Matthew said, looking up at the clock tower. “Hm. Half eleven. Guess I’ll have to settle for brunch.”

“You’re going nowhere, Luther.” Merula declared, stepping forward. “I doubt you could ever best me.”

“Is that so?” Matthew asked. “How about this, then: If I win, you can’t lay a finger on Ben Copper ever again.”

Merula snorted. “And if I win, you will never search for the Cursed Vaults ever again.”

“Fine by me.” Matthew said, genuinely smiling. “By all means, you first.”

“Flipendo!” she screamed. Matthew took it head-on. He heard a gasp from the crowd as he skidded to a halt. Matthew looked down to see Danny by his feet. Ben was nearby.

“Matthew...you really don’t have to do this...really, I..” he stammered, but Matthew just smiled, and gestured to his cat.

“Take care of my cat while I do this, will you? Thanks a bunch. Expelliarmus!” he yelled, knocking Merula’s wand right out of her hand.

“Ooh...you little...” she muttered, scowling at the cheering crowd. “You can’t do this! You can’t stop me from showing that mudblood who’s boss! I’m the Most Powerful Witch at Hogwarts, and-”

“Umm...Merula...” Matthew began, pointing behind her.

“No, I’m not done! How’d you master that spell already?! It’s not fair! Nobody can be better than me! I can do what I want, when I want! I run this school, I-”

“Merula...” Matthew tried again.

“For Merlin’s sake, what?!”

“Ahem.” said Professor Snape. Merula looked behind her and gulped. Preston and his cronies quickly scattered.

“P-Professor Snape!” she said, quickly.

“I suspect this is your fault, Luther. Are you aware of Hogwarts policy on unauthorised duelling?”

Matthew felt his stomach curl up, and it wasn’t because he’d missed breakfast.

“Sir,” piped up Rowan, “Merula hit him first, he-”

“Enough, Khanna. Is this true, Miss Snyde?” Snape asked. Merula looked as though she was going to deny it, but Danny had walked over and started moving in and out of her legs. She looked down at the cat, then up at Snape, and nodded.

“Very well. You will report to me in the West Towers to discuss this transgression.” He declared, both him and Flitwick departing. A silence hung in the air.

“Blimey, I am starving.” said Matthew, clutching his stomach. “I wonder if they do cat food...Not for me of course,” he added, looking at Merula’s bewildered expression.

“Luther...I’m getting to the Vaults first. And you won’t stop me.”

“I look forward to trying.” he said, before heading into the castle with Rowan, moving towards the Great Hall.

“See? Told you she wasn’t that bad.” he was saying as they came to Ravenclaw table.

“Matthew, she tried to jinx you.” Rowan reminded him. “I mean, I certainly didn’t expect her to tell the truth, but do you really think she’ll keep her promise to stop bullying Ben?”

“I suppose we’ll find out.”

Suddenly, there was a loud hooting as several owls flew into the Hall. One of them flew low down and dropped a large box in front of Matthew. Attached to it was a note.

Hey Matt,

Happy Easter. I don’t know if they celebrate it over there, but I convinced your mother to let me send these to you with her owl.

Keep it up,

Love, Dad.

Matthew smiled and opened the box. It was filled with several large chocolate eggs, and a singular smaller one, too.

“Wh-what is all this?” Merula asked, having just appeared in the Great Hall.

“I think...” said Matthew, “It’s God’s way of saying, ‘Sorry, mate.’ Why, do you want some?”

Merula scowled, then walked over to the Slytherin table. Matthew just grinned.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm fanfiction #hphm mc #rowan khanna #merula snyde

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mischiefandspirits · 4 years

Text

The Third Path

Some new ghost hunters have come to town, but are they really ghost hunters, or something else?

When a human dies, there are three paths the freed soul can take. Most are sent straight to the After. However, some stay behind.

“Excuse me, dear girl, but may I have a moment of your time!”

Valerie frowned at the shout and turned her board around to see a Latina woman staring at her with a curious smile. She had knee-length black hair that, alongside her long white dress, swirled around her from her spot on the edge of a skyscraper’s roof.

The ghost hunter immediately dove down towards the woman, holding up her hands. “Woah, hey now. There’s no need for that. Come down from there and we can talk about this.”

The woman frowned, then smiled again as she climbed down and stepped back until there were a good five feet between her and the edge. “Apologies, I did not mean to frighten you. I simply wished to gain your attention. I did not anticipate you taking my position in such a way.”

“Right,” Valerie said slowly dropping down to the roof and banishing her board. “How can I help you?”

The woman hummed, staring at where her board had been before looking up at her.

A shiver went up Valerie’s spine at the neon blue color of the woman’s eyes, but it was washed away a second later by a wave of contentment that filled her.

“My name is Adelaida. I and my people have come to this town to assist with the demonic presence that plagues you.”

Valerie’s eyes widened. “Demonic? You mean the ghosts?”

“Yes, that is the term you use for them, isn’t it?”

“You’re ghost hunters?” she asked cautiously. More ghost hunters wasn’t exactly a bad thing, but only if they were actually helpful. Most of the ghost hunters Valerie has met were absolutely useless while the G.I.W. did more damage than the ghosts. The Fenton’s at least knew what they were doing, even if they tended to be a little trigger happy and often late to the party.

“In a sense. We hoped to gain information on the demons -- or ghosts -- that most commonly plague you. We have already sought out the matriarch and patriarch of the Fenton family as our research painted them as your town’s best hunters and they spoke well of you. As such, we wished to see if you would have any information that might assist us.”

Valerie straightened up with Pride. It was nice that some people appreciated her efforts. She’d never really spoken to the Fentons in her hunting persona -- too worried they’d recognize her -- and everyone else either opposed her because of her fights with Phantom or was Masters, and Masters was one wrong move away from a face full of ecto-ray.

“They did not inform us that you use demonic relics to fight with, however.”

She flinched. She wasn’t exactly happy to be using ghost-made weapons, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Her suit was far and away the best of the best and let her keep up with ghosts in ways no other human could. “Well, fight fire with fire and all that.”

“I suppose.”

She frowned at the disgust in Adelaida’s voice. “It’s not that different from the ecto-weapons the Fentons have created.”

“No, but those are distasteful as well.”

“Well, what do you use?” If Adelaida was another one of those people who thought you could fight ghosts with sage and horseshoes, Valerie was taking off without another word. Where did people even get ideas like that?

“My people have access to an energy that is the polar opposite of the energy used by demons, the matter to their antimatter so to speak. It can be quite painful to ghosts and does not burden us with using such horrific devices.”

Valerie felt her annoyance with the woman’s haughtiness growing, but shoved it down in curiosity at the idea of some sort of anti-ectoplasm. “Really? How did you get your hands on something like that? Did your people develop it?”

“In a way. But that is not why I’m here. Tell me, what do you know of the demons that plague this town?”

She shrugged. “Too much to tell. There’s a ghost for every day of the year and they all show up at random. The short of it though is one ghost. Well, two, but Box Ghost is more a nuisance than a threat.”

Adelaida nodded. “The Fenton’s mentioned the box obsessed demon. I suppose the other you referenced is the one who refers to itself as Danny Phantom.”

“Yeah, him.” Valerie scowled. She still wasn’t sure how to feel about the ghost-boy. Every time she considered going back to hunting him, all she could think about was him pleading for her to let him save Dani and him holding out his hands after so she could capture him once more. She thought about the times they’d worked together and how he’d only ever betrayed her by telling her father her secret to keep her from what she knew was a suicide mission.

The woman must have misread her scowl as she said, “Yes, I understand your frustration. The Fenton’s told us much about the hero act the demon uses to gain favor in the town and we agree that its tie to this plane is likely its need for attention. Given its age, it was likely either an unwanted or neglected child or one who hoarded such attention in life, such as a prince or celebrity. It has clearly come to find that displays of kindness are its best bet to gain this attention and should the attention ever wane, it will undoubtedly return to its early acts of vandalism and violence to satisfy its obsession once more.”

Even though she nodded along, Valerie couldn’t help but disagree as she’d done before when she’d heard such things from the Fenton’s. Phantom didn’t like attention, he had run away from his phans and hidden from news copters enough for that to be obvious. Sure, he was a showboat, but he never stuck around after a fight. If Phantom had an obsession -- which Valerie didn’t buy -- it was probably fighting. Or maybe just Amity Park in general. He’d certainly claimed it as his territory, judging by the fact that a few of the ghosts that could be found skulking about often complained about how “Phantom said we could stay!” and would go cry to him if she tried to capture them.

“Is there anything else you could tell us?”

Valerie considered saying something about Masters, but she was hesitant to reveal the human-ghost hybrid. If someone discovered him, how long until they discovered Dani? She wouldn’t be the reason the girl was in danger again. “Careful with Phantom. He’s a lot more powerful than most of the ghosts we see around here and he’s got allies.”

“Allies?”

“Most don’t know it, but Phantom lets some ghosts stick around. He’ll protect them if we come after them, so I wouldn’t put it past them to return the favor if he needed it.”

“Vassals then,” Adelaida hummed. “That could be promising. The Fenton’s did not mention that. Thank you for your assistance. I will inform my people.” She gave a curtsey and turned to leave.

“Would you like some help?”

The woman looked back at her with a smile as she opened to the door to the rooftop entrance. “We have this under control, young one.”

With that, she was gone.

Valerie frowned as she took back to the air. She briefly wondered if she should reach out to Phantom about this before shoving the thought aside. Even if she wasn’t sure about hunting the ghost-boy, she wasn’t going to help him either. And the woman didn’t give her the same creeps as the G.I.W., so it was probably fine. In fact, the woman had felt warm and comforting.

Although it was admittedly kind of weird that she’d called Valerie young when Adelaida looked like she was maybe in her early twenties at best and the suit made people think Valerie was older than her actual sixteen years. Also, there’d been something off with her eyes. Valerie couldn’t place it, but they’d just felt… uncanny.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“It’s not funny,” Danny muttered, rubbing at his back and scowling at his laughing friend.

“How long until the paint wears off?” Sam chuckled.

“I don’t even know! Young-butt wouldn’t say.”

“What’s going on?” Tucker said, glancing between them as he joined them for their walk home.

“Apparently, Danny forgot to mention that he got ambushed on his way home from his weekend in Olympus,” Sam said, laughter still tinting her voice.

At Tucker’s worried look, Danny elaborated. “Youngblood decided we were going to have a water balloon fight.”

“But instead of water, he filled them with ectoplasmic paint. And now his ghost half is covered in the stuff, even if he transforms.”

“Only my face and hair. Thankfully I was wearing that ceremonial outfit Pandora gave me. I hope she doesn’t want it back before I can figure out how to get the stains out.”

“Ghost OxiClean,” Sam suggested over Tucker’s laughter.

“What color… are… you now?” Tucker asked between chortles.

“A dark purple,” Danny sighed.

Sam pat his head. “Could be worse. You could be red. We’d be forced to make Christmas jokes and then we’d be back to square one with you, Mr. Grinch.”

Danny rolled his eyes and knocked their shoulder together, only to hiss at the pain that shot up his back.

“You okay, dude?” Tucker asked, wiping away tears.

“Yeah, my back just started hurting last night. I thought I’d just pulled something in the fight, but it was even worse this morning. I took some of the pain meds Frostbite gave me, but they wore off.”

“Does your ghost form even have muscles to pull?” Tucker wondered.

“We can head to your house first so we can pick up your pills,” Sam suggested. “It really must be hurting if you actually took them instead of deciding to wait it out.”

It was. It felt like growing pains crossed with the ghost gauntlets, but worse. A throbbing ache that took his breath away with random spikes.

“Thanks.”

They were halfway to his house when Danny’s ghost sense went off and a grey-green arm shot out of an alleyway to drag him in. He braced for a fight, but relaxed slightly when he saw it was Kitty.

She looked rumpled, her hair messed up and her jacket singed with burns littering her skin.

“What’s wrong? Valerie again?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know who attacked us. I couldn’t see them, but I think they were after you. When they captured Johnny and Shadow in a net, I heard one of them say they’d gotten one of Phantom’s vassals, whatever that means.”

“A vassal is someone who is granted land by nobility in return for loyalty, respect, and wartime support,” Sam explained. “It kind of describes the deal you and the others have with Danny, in an archaic way.”

“If you ignore the fact Danny’s not nobility and substitute the loyalty stuff for you guys just not attacking people,” Tucker added.

Kitty’s nose scrunched up at the information, but otherwise ignored it. “Please, you have to help them! We weren’t even doing anything this time!”

Danny gave her an unimpressed look.

“Okay, maybe Johnny destroyed some guy’s car because he was checking me out, but can you blame him.”

“Yes,” Danny said, then sighed. “Fine, but you need to head back to the Ghost Zone as soon as I get your boyfriend out. Try to warn anyone you can on your way. Might be best for everyone to get clear until I figure out what these guys want.”

She agreed immediately and he turned to his friends.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Sam said and Tucker nodded.

“Alright, I’m going ghost!”

Kitty and Danny shot into the air, Danny holding onto Kitty since he was faster while she led him to where she’d last seen Johnny.

They found him on a side street, pinned beneath a net that glowed silver. It certainly didn’t look like anything he was used to. His parents’ tech was all green since it used pure ectoplasm straight from the ghost zone. Valerie’s was a reddish-pink thanks to Technus keeping her aesthetic the same as Vlad’s tech, which was powered by his own energy. The G.I.W.’s was blue due to the purification they did on all the ectoplasm they got their hands on.

Danny looked around as they got closer to the street, but didn’t see anyone. Knowing it was a trap, but with no other choice, they turned invisible and dropped down next to the net.

“Johnny,” Kitty whispered, kneeling next to him.

“Hey Kitten,” he groaned. He looked up at Danny and smirked. “What happened to your face?”

“Shut up.” Seeing the way the net was hurting Johnny, Danny reached out with his energy to pull it off him that way.

The net went flying. Thank you, Pandora! Telekinesis was the best!

“Thanks, kid,” Johnny huffed.

“You know, I’m the same age as you guys now,” Danny said as Kitty helped him stand and Shadow peeled off the ground, looking worse for wear.

“Sure, give or take a few decades,” Johnny snorted.

“Just get out of here befo-” Danny was cut off by a blast to the side that sent him flying. He shrieked as his back hit the asphalt.

“Kid!”

“Go!” he ordered, fighting through the pain to sit up.

Johnny looked conflicted for a moment, then summoned his bike.

As the two rode off, Danny turned to face the direction the blast had come from.

“So you are the one called Danny Phantom?” a man said as he walked out of the shadows.

Danny’s first impression was that the man didn’t look like a hunter. He was taller and thinner than Danny and probably in his late twenties. He wore a tank top and athletic shorts, but no shoes. His dark brown skin was offset by pale gold hair and silver eyes.

Glowing silver eyes.

“You’re a ghost,” Danny groaned. Great, just what he needed: Infighting.

The ghost laughed. “You date yourself, demon. If you can’t recognize me, you must be less than two hundred years.”

“Pretty sure the suit says the same thing, but go off I guess,” Danny snorted as he stood. “Wait, did you just call me a demon?”

The man raised his hand and Danny took to the air to dodge a blast of silver energy.

“What? Not even going to start in on your evil plan. What kind of villain doesn’t monologue?”

“The only evil villain here is you,” the ghost hissed as he shot blast after blast at the flying halfa. “We are here to cleanse this town of you and your demonic vassals.”

“First of all, they're not my vassals, I just don’t bother kicking them back to the Ghost Zone as long as they don’t cause trouble,” Danny said, creating a shield to absorb the blasts. “And second, what’s with all the dem-Wait, we?”

A blast hit him in the back and ANCIENTS! OW! THAT HURT! THAT VERY MUCH HURT!

He barely caught himself before he hit the ground and quickly summoned another shield, this time creating a sphere to wrap around him. He glanced back to take in his new opponent.

For half a second, he thought it was Dani. Then he realized the short, white-haired woman actually looked like she was in her mid-forties, had vivid yellow eyes, and was Asian.

He blamed the pain. The excruciating pain.

“Oh goody, two for one special, must be my lu-”

Something slammed into his shield from above just as the two’s blasts hit it and it shattered.

His back hit the pavement and he must have blacked out because the next thing he knows he’s being held aloft by an angel.

“Maybe next time you fall from heaven, get better aim,” he whimpered.

The black-haired, blue-eyed, winged ghost gave him an unimpressed look and opened her mouth, but was cut off by Goldilocks.

“Adelaida, humans.”

His captor glanced to the side and her raven-like wings turned invisible.

Danny turned to look as well and saw Sam and Tucker running up, looking nervous.

“Divya, take care of them.”

Oh hell no!

“Phantom!” Valerie snarled, flying in to hover over his friends.

Good, she’d protect them.

“Have you really moved on to attacking unarmed civilians?”

Or not.

“Unar-They’re ghosts!”

Valerie looked at her wrist. “My tracker says otherwise.”

“Your tracker doesn’t pick me up half the time!”

“You think they’re overshadowed?” Sam asked.

“They’re glowing!” Danny huffed, gesturing towards Adelaida.

“I don’t see it,” Tucker said.

“It’s alright,” the Asian woman — Divya supposedly — said, walking towards his friends.

To his surprise, all three humans started to relax.

“No.” The halfa scowled. “No. No, we are not having another mayor incident.” He raised his hand and fired.

Adelaida shrieked as he hit her wing and they flickered into visibility.

He kicked her away then fired at Goldilocks and Divya, revealing their pale gold and white wings respectively. “See, ghosts! Now get those two out of here.”

Valerie hesitated, then swooped down to grab Sam and Tucker.

“What? Hey!”

“Put me down!”

Danny turned to the ghosts to see them regrouping.

Adelaida looked furious as she stepped forward. “I am ending this.”

“Adelaida,” Goldilocks warned.

“The humans already know of us, Buhle. It is time to put the demon down.”

He nodded and stepped behind her, Divya following his lead.

Adelaida braced herself with her wings and feet and took a deep breath.

Danny only just had enough time to realize what was about to happen and throw up a shield before her ghostly wail hit. Hers looked much like his own, though neon blue instead of his own toxic green. It also didn’t seem as powerful as his considering he was still standing, even if cracks were quickly forming on his shield. He wasn’t sure if it was a power thing or just that she was holding back.

He hoped it was a power thing as he braced his feet. He let the shield fall just as his own wail rang out.

Green sonic waves clashed with blue, pressing back and forth against each other with the green slowly gaining ground. Then the blue faltered, a bit of shock lacing her voice, and the green waves steamrolled through.

Adelaida, Buhle, and Divya went flying and Danny cut off the wail. He fell to his hands and knees, using every bit of his willpower to hold onto his ghost form.

“Phantom!” Sam shouted.

“Well, that’s one way to remove ghost paint,” Tucker chuckled nervously.

Danny gave a panting laugh, spotting his once more white hair falling into his face.

He tried to look up at the ghosts, but he was exhausted and his back was hurting more than ever before as the adrenalin ran out. He was a sitting duck, just barely holding onto his ghost form.

Wonderful.

He felt something come near and Sam shouted, “Get away from him!”

A hand settled gently on his back and… Oh. Oh! Oh, that felt good. He looked up and was surprised to see Divya standing over him, her eyes glowing the same color as his own.

“So young,” she cooed.

“Impossible!” Adelaida gasped.

Danny turned to see Buhle supporting her, both staring at him with shock.

“None have been born in three hundred years,” the silver-eyed ghost said. “He does not even have his wings.”

“They’re growing in now,” Divya replied. “That is probably our fault. We invaded his territory.”

“He can not be,” Adelaida said, shaking her head. “He works with demons, allows them to harm humans.”

“I don’t let anyone hurt anyone,” Danny huffed. “The others are only allowed to stay if they behave themselves.”

“Demons are selfish creatures. They can not be trusted,” Divya said softly.

“Says you,” Danny huffed. “Johnny and Kitty are fine as long as they’re not fighting since only the tourists are stupid enough to flirt with one of them by this point. Ember likes playing open mic night, Youngblood just wants a playmate, the Casper High shades just like to get egg creams at the old-school diner, and Boxy is harmless usually. Seriously, you guys are ghosts, what’s with the delusional ghost hunter rhetoric?”

“Excuse me,” Valerie growled.

“It’s okay, I know you’ve got your reasons. I still love you,” he said cheekily, winking at her.

She and Sam pretended to gag.

“We are not demons.”

Danny turned to Buhle with a snort. “You glow and have wings.”

“Precisely,” he huffed, stretching out his wings.

“Humans don’t have wings.”

“We are not humans, but we are not demons.”

Divya rubbed the hand on his back up and down. “We are like you, hun.”

“I’m a ghost.” Half-ghost, but details.

Unless…

She shook her head. “Poor thing, so lost and confused.”

“Okay, time to go back to the fighting,” he groaned, but didn’t try to get up. Whatever she was doing to his back was worth the baby talk.

“We are not demons, ” Adelaida spat. “We are angels.”

Danny stared at her blankly. “And I’m an atheist.”

“We are the souls of those who have passed who remain tied to this world by selfless reasons,” Buhle said in a calm voice. “We are the equal and opposites of those who reside in the darker realm, who linger due to selfish desires. We work to protect life from such creatures and bring joy to the humans of this plane.”

“So… a good ghost.”

“There is no such thing as a good demon!” Adelaida snapped. “Are you always this frustrating?”

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely.”

“Constantly.”

“It’s a gift.”

She turned to Buhle. “He can not possibly be an angel.”

“I told you, I’m an atheist. Pretty sure Tu-my friend told me that’s a big no-no in heaven. Speaking of…” Danny turned to Sam. “S-Goth human, aren’t real angels supposed to be eldritch abominations? Six wings and seven heads or something? Constantly on fire? I swear someone once told me that.”

“That-that’s not entirely accurate,” Sam chuckled as Tucker laughed. “But you’ve got the right idea. They’re actually pretty terrifying. That’s why people tend to freak out when they see them in the stories. It’s awesome.”

“Cool.” He turned back to the two angel ghosts to see Adelaida pinching the bridge of her nose and Buhle looking very done. “So where’s the rest of your wings and heads.”

Divya laughed and patted his head. “You young ones are always so entertaining.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

This is based on an old story of mine. And by old, I mean really old. I don't think I was even on this site when I wrote it since I can’t find it on my blog. I started getting into some new Danny Phantom stuff and felt compelled to write something along the same lines. This is just a one-shot so I doubt I'll write more for this, but I've got a bunch of ideas for this world so I needed to get some of it out.

#danny phantom #valerie gray #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley

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tabloidtoc · 3 years

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National Examiner, April 12

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Mark Harmon quitting NCIS

Page 2: Stars Who Rock Around the Clock -- they believe in the healing power of crystals -- Naomi Campbell, Shirley MacLaine, Adele, Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, Uma Thurman

Page 3: Debra Messing, Goldie Hawn and Kate Hudson, Megan Fox, Katy Perry, Gisele Bundchen

Page 4: Eddie Murphy's roles and costumes

Page 6: George Clooney is turning 60 in May, and he says being an older dad to toddlers has its benefits -- his son isn't ever going to feel competitive with him and he'll be gumming his bread by the time he'd feel competitive with him, jokes the Oscar-winning actor, whose twins Ella and Alexander turn 4 in June -- George is well aware that growing up with two highly accomplished parents (his wife Amal Clooney is a successful human rights lawyer) can put a lot of pressure on a kid and that's why the couple is already guiding Ella and Alexander with strong values and kind hearts because George says it's their job to make sure that they care about people and that they challenge people in power and look out for people who don't have power and those are the things he was raised with -- the known prankster is also passing the practical joke tradition down to the next generation and he taught Alexander to take a piece of banana, chew it up and then spit it into a napkin, then stand next to him mom, pretend to blow his nose into it and look down until Mama looks at it, then eat it

Page 7: Partridge Family star Shirley Jones turned 87, and she's brimming over with gratitude for her wonderful life that's been chock-full of extraordinary experiences -- she says you have to have a good time and enjoy life to the fullest and before you know it you'll be 87 -- Shirley has three sons (her stepson David Cassidy died in 2017) and 13 grandchildren

Page 8: Take your etiquette test for tea with Queen Elizabeth

Page 9: Brain foods that may help prevent dementia

* Study says new drug slows Alzheimer's

Page 10: Jennifer Garner recently opened up about her real feelings on her body -- she's 48 and single and has three children with ex-husband Ben Affleck: daughters Violet and Seraphina and son Samuel -- in a recent interview, she admitted that her body has changed a lot since having three kids and she doesn't mind one little bit, even though she was hurt when a friend hinted she may be expecting again, saying there are some women whose bodies just, no matter how many babies they have, they bounce right back to that slim-hipped, no stomach and she has so many girlfriends who have that physique and she's so happy for them, but she's not one of them and she can work really hard and she can be really fit and she will still look like a woman who's had three babies and she always will

Page 11: 6 stomach symptoms you should never ignore -- catch problems before the become deadly

Page 12: After more than two decades, James Brolin says he's discovered the way to keep his marriage to Barbra Streisand going strong: negotiation -- it's taken two marriages and 22 years for him to figure it out and he and his wife have gotten so close being locked down together -- his mother was the sweetest person so he never really learned to negotiate with women but now he knows if you sit down and talk about a situation, you can work it out

Page 14: Dear Tony, America's Top Psychic Healer -- don't make snap judgments; you may lose the perfect mate -- Tony predicts a very hot summer coming and a lot more street crime

Page 15: Folks getting their COVID-19 vaccinations at the Berkshire Community College in Massachusetts got a shocking treat: a mini-concert from world-famous cellist Yo-Yo Ma -- while waiting out his 15-minute observation period, the musician sat down to play a socially distant symphony for his fellow inoculees

Page 16: Duchess Kate is never seen without a purse, but what exactly does she keep inside it? There's quite a history between royal women and their handbags: Princess Diana used her clutch bag to cover her cleavage from prying photographers, Queen Elizabeth moves her handbag from one arm to the other to signal to her staff when she's bored of chatting with someone, and Kate carries her bag in her left hand so she can keep her right hand free to greet and shake hands with guests and she holds her bag in front of her when shaking hands might be awkward -- according to royal protocol pre-pandemic, Kate must extend her hand first for another person to shake hands with her, so if she prefers to just smile instead of touching other folks, she uses her clutch to do that -- author Marcia Moody who wrote Kate: A Biography, says the duchess always carries four must-have items: in her small clutch, she carries a compact mirror, a handkerchief, blotting paper and lip balm and every now and then, if she's going to attend a tennis match, for example, Kate will carry a pair of sunglasses -- unlike Queen Elizabeth, whose purses come from a company called Launer, the duchess favors different brands, but mostly a company called Mulberry -- nowadays with three small children, the mom gravitates toward midsize bags with handles because she's got to take more items with her like a handy bunch of tissues, good for wiping little noses and faces, and also takes her camera along

Page 18: William Shatner confesses that when he starred in Star Trek during the mid-60s, he had no idea it would become a worldwide phenomenon still popular today -- Shatner, who turned 90 in March, says it's unimaginable and it's all beyond anybody's imagination or ability to repeat and the greatest thing about being the captain of the Enterprise for three years was his relationship with the cast and the roles were written so well

Page 19: Brandy is a one-in-a million cat because those are the odds she'd ever be found again after she went missing 15 years ago -- when Charles got the phone call from a California animal shelter that his missing pet has been found, he could scarcely believe his ears and the Los Angeles man was skeptical and thought it must be a mistake but he had made sure the two-month-old kitten had a microchip and sure enough, the malnourished stray they found was his Brandy -- Charles did break down and cry because he thought about all of the years he lost from her and when he picked her up, she started to purr and it was very emotional

Page 20: Mark Harmon finally lured wife Pam Dawber out of retirement to star alongside him on NCIS, but the pairing will be short-lived because he's leaving the show after 18 hit seasons -- the 69-year-old star is finally fed up with the backbreaking hours, endless rehearsals, and feuds with cast and crew, and plans to ride off into the sunset with Pam and retire to the couple's Montana Ranch -- Mark's contract is up after season 18, and he's agonized over whether to sign a new one and he's being offered the moon and the stars to come back for a few more seasons, but he says his heart just isn't in it and Mark has faced problems on the set over the past few years and he feels his age, he just doesn't need the aggravation anymore -- NCIS recently teased a possible departure of his character Leroy Gibbs when the special agent commander was suspended for assaulting and nearly killing a suspect but despite that, Harmon insists Gibbs not be killed off so he can leave the door open for a possible return

Page 22: Legendary actor Michael Caine just turned 88 and he's still going strong, starring in an upcoming comedy Best Sellers and says he knows he's old but he doesn't feel old, not in his head, where it matters

Page 24: They say money doesn't buy happiness, but what do people spend their money on that can buy happiness? You don't need millions of dollars to afford the things that happy people buy to stay that way and studies show that anything over $75,000 a year in income is gravy, which means yachts, jewels, second homes and art collections are not at all required -- the best thing to drop your cash on is experiences and doing is better than having and in other words, an object you own will never give you the consistent pleasure of an experience that creates good memories that live on forever -- also the best experiences are the ones that involve other people like having a picnic with family, going rafting with pals, or even just walking and talking with an exercise buddy

Page 25: Freshen Your Fridge -- make a clean start with this 5-step plan

Page 26: Tony's Mystic World -- may the force be with you -- the life force can be drained out of you by fear or worry

Page 28: Sensational Snaps From Around the World -- photo contest captures amazing sights

Page 31: When to trash it -- the useful lifespan of refrigerated food

Page 32: It's been 40 years since Marilu Henner starred on the hit sitcom Taxi, but the great memories and wonderful co-stars are always on her mind because she's still pals with them -- they always stayed in touch with each other and never lost touch and do a Taxi Zoom every two months and they're all very current with each other and they have a text chain as well and they're in contact every week -- Marilu is close with cast members Tony Danza, Judd Hirsch, Danny DeVito, Christopher Lloyd and Carol Kane

Page 33: Garth Brooks is overjoyed wife Trisha Yearwood has finally bounced back from her bout with COVID-19 -- she seems to be 100 percent, according to Garth, and at the end there during fatigue she got real impatient, really kind of mean and sassy and he thought well, she's back to herself -- after announcing in February that Trisha had the coronavirus and Garth said he had tested negative

Page 40: The grass is always greener when you use these simple gardening tips

* Avoid cat-astrophe -- the right way to add a stray

Page 42: 10 things you never knew about Glenn Close -- the wildly successful actress turned 74 in March

Page 44: Eyes on the Stars -- Sylvester Stallone and wife Jennifer Flavin leave a Florida hotel (picture), Jane Seymour is still looking on the bright side even as the world continues to weather the pandemic, one year after the death of Kenny Rogers his family thanked fans as they honored his life, Sharon Stone is dishing dirt about her Hollywood past in her recently released memoir like one moviemaker who told her to have sex with a male co-star to improve their on-screen chemistry, 28-year-old twins Lady Amelia and Lady Eliza Spencer who are the nieces of Princess Diana recently stepped out in South Africa as bridesmaids for fellow high society girl Leila Osato, director Christopher Columbus pooh-poohed internet rumors about the existence of an NC-17 cut of Mrs. Doubtfire but he did confirm there's an unreleased R-rated version

Page 45: Good Morning America co-host Cecilia Vega mugs it up for the camera on the morning show (picture), Gretta Monahan gets out of a car (picture), longtime GMA veteran Robin Roberts displays her ever-present sunny side on the set (picture), the Hollywood Hills home of Johnny Depp recently had some uninvited guests when a man was spotted loitering by the property's pool but ran off after being confronted by a neighbor and not much later Johnny's security team called police about another unwanted visitor who had taken a shower and helped himself to the actor's booze, Elsa Pataky has been married to Chris Hemsworth for 10 years and says patience and communication and understanding are what help their relationship be successful

Page 46: A Texas man has helped thousands of people by donating his blood platelets a staggering 962 times over the past 37 years

Page 47: Celebrity Weddings Gone Wrong -- Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively, Cameron Diaz and Benji Madden, Nicky Hilton and James Rothschild, Chrissy Teigen and John Legend, Jessica Simpson and Eric Johnson, Freddie Prinze Jr. and Sarah Michelle Gellar, Katherine Heigl and Josh Kelley

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savysavannah · 3 years

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Practice Challenge one: Part One

Beginnings:

“Fuck!” I yelled and slammed my hands against the steering wheel. This wasn’t the first time I’d had a total mental breakdown in the dim lighting of the courthouse parking lot, and it sure wasn’t gonna be the last. This case was rigged from the get-go, Mr. Dean esquire was always there against me, swaying the jury with his charismatic personality and his masculine gender. Not to mention it was a jury which he decided to leave fully as white men, his fellow groupies against my defendant, a woman of color who defended herself against her abuser who came at her with a gun.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Opening them I saw Dean sashaying to his car. I considered putting my own in reverse and waiting until he just walked by, then bye bye Dean. Deciding that it wouldn’t be worth the cost of defending myself I waited until after he’d passed to pull out and start to drive to Illean Private University. I was an attorney coach for a Mock Trial team and of course, had to encourage these kiddos that law was the best career and it would really be fulfilling to help people. Driving past the Greek life houses I couldn’t help but smile thinking of happier times. Chugging shitty beer, dressed like a total slut and not giving one single fuck.

After an hour or two of bullshitting some kids and reminding them to object when someone playing a witness says “well I heard the defendant say he was mad at the victim so he must have killed her.” I drove on my way home.

“Incoming call from Uncle Dipshit'' said my car, continuing the never ending day that is my life.

“What?”

“Hey little Savy-Hannah, I’m in a bit of a bind and need some help.”

“What was it? Cocaine? Meth? Or did you finally snap and get caught with heroin.”

“Come on, Savannah, why would you just assume that, can’t I call my one and only niece because I wanna talk to her?”

“At 11pm? Friday night? Bullshit.”

“.......fine Sav-”

“Fuck you, I’m not doing probono work for you anymore. Get your shit together or get the fuck out of our lives.”

Taking a turn away from my apartment I started to head for Lux, my old usual club. I hadn’t gone in awhile but right now I needed to get absolutely shitfaced. 8 shots and 2 waters later I was grinding up against some strangers to Kesha’s “Die Young”, a classic. Suddenly I heard an all too familiar voice, “Savannah!”

My brother. Specifically, my oldest brother, Dan. He danced his way over to me of course being in this scene and grabbed my wrist. “Wha-u wan dan?” I slurred and kept jumping to the song.

“I was worried about you, Ricky called and said you were acting weird.”

“Weird!" I laughed throwing my head back "Because I wouldn’t clean up his shit for once!” I screamed over the music before he pulled me out of the club by the wrist. As soon as the cool air hit my cheeks I leaned my head back and looked up at the sky.

“I wish I was a star." I mumbled seeing the shimmering lights above us before suddenly leaning forward and hurling all over the cement. Probably a usual occurrence for Lux but I still felt bad. Dan rolled down the windows of my car as he drove me home, I stuck my head out of it for the breeze to feel the air in my lungs.

“How’d you find me?” I mumbled, still not fully back to myself.

“We all have eachothers phone locations, remember? You insisted on it like a year ago after you interned on that kidnapping case.” He sighed as we drove up the familiar road home.

“You’re really a mess you know that?” He asked. It's not like he was much better….well, he was but it's not like I'm our brother Danny. At least I made something of myself. Didn't get handed my career and a wife on a silver platter. Or like Daniel who was still so far back into the closet that we really aren't sure if he'll ever come out, even though our family would be more than accepting of him.

I was tempted to defend myself but stopped, “I know, I just need a win."

The next morning Dan was sleeping on my couch and I was on the living room floor. “You couldn’t have carried me to bed?” I mumbled through a yawn.

“You’re the dumbass who got white girl wasted and said you were too tired to walk to your room.”

“What time is it?” I mumbled and went to find my phone despite the world swaying as I crawled to my purse.

He lifted his arm up to look at his watch, “Like 8:00am chill out.” He groaned.

“HOLY FUCK 8?” I flinched at the loudness of my own voice. I was normally up at six, two hours slept in, what’s today it’s a wednesday. ‘What was I supposed to do today? No clients in court today, so that’s good. Okay so I suppose I have to? Paperwork?’

I sighed, “You’re fucking lucky I didn’t have court today.” Stumbling up I ran to my room to change out of yesterday's clothes, splash some water on my face and get on the move.

"Lucky? I'm the one who got your ass home at all!" He yelled back from the living room as I slipped into a different skirt. Shirt could stay the same, just a plain white shell no one would notice. But skirt absolutely not. I grabbed a pair of earrings and a bag of makeup wipes and rushed past Dan.

"Fine sorry love ya. Family dinner on saturday right?" I hurried as I slung a purse over my shoulder.

"You got it." He replied.

"Uh, stay awhile have breakfast if you want. I've got bagels and eggs. Just lock up when you leave." I remembered finally to be polite as he stretched getting up from the sofa.

The office was busy and loud as usual. I tried to smile and act like I wasn't hungover as holy hell while I walked to my desk.

There was someone new taking a desk near me too. Lanky guy probably straight out of law school too. I sized him up for a moment before nearly catching his eye but going back to my work.

It wasn't till lunch that I had to actually deal with another human when I ran into Mr. Asshole-dean.

"Ms. Mars?" He said as he tapped my shoulder in line at the starbucks near the courthouse.

I turned but knew his voice right away, "Mr. Dean?" I replied wondering why he was bothering me. He seemed to catch my cold tone.

"What, rough night? Does suck the night you lose the case but don't worry. You'll get better at losing, can't win em all."

I would like to get an extra extra hot- you know what make it just a cup of fucking lava to poor on this jackass. I smiled, "Thanks! I'm sure it didn't take you long to get used to it." I gave a passive aggressive smile and looked down to my watch.

"Listen, Mars, I know we're opposing counsel but I don't mean any harm by it. I think we could be great friends if you'd give it a shot. I mean I'm sure we both hate our jo-"

"Hi I'd like a venti mocha!" I ordered cutting him off the scurried back to my car.

I had a few hours before I actually had a meeting. It was just to speak with a judge over a custody case between a homophobic mother and two "really good friends" one of who was the father of the child in question. There was a chance it could turn into a serious case, the mom was wealthy and if she got too displeased she could probably turn it into a civil suit on the grounds of the father being gay. But it wasn't likely she'd take the time. She was only really fighting for custody to use their kid as a weapon in the divorce.

I drove home with my coffee deciding I wanted to Pad Thai leftovers I had as comfort/hangover/please-god-dont-make-me-live-another-day food.

Daniel was sitting on my couch when I walked in. "Can you not just walk into my house? Dan may have forgotten to lock it but that's no reason for you to just waltz in here!" I yelled as I dropped my purse and walked up to him.

"Is that my mail?" I huffed and snatched my letters from him. It was just junk mail but he still had no right to be so intrusive.

He looked up at me with a slight glare, "I know what you did and I'm gonna get you back for it." And as quickly as he came he scurried out.

Ringing up Dan I tapped my foot on the ground, "You forgot to lock the door!" I yelled into the phone.

"Oh shit my bad. You okay?" He asked.

"Yes, but Daniel was just here. All pissed over something." I grumbled and walked to the fridge to get out my leftovers.

"Any idea of what?" He asked.

"No clue." I answered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No, don’t call anyone. Listen, they record everything but our conversations for confidentiality, if you call someone it’s possible that they might somehow be involved and we don’t want prosecution to get that- understand?” I hated explaining the basics to my clients, but those dumbassses would sign their own sentences if they didn’t know any better.

I walked up to the courthouse, in one hand I had my phone, the other a black coffee from the starbucks across the street, my work back slung over my shoulder and threatened to slide lower onto my arm. As I turned the corner I was suddenly burning with hot coffee against my chest and a stranger staring down at me as I had run right into him,

“FUCK!” I yelled as I stepped back. My heel slipped in a crack on the sidewalk, the top of it snapping it too causing me to fall back, my head hitting the hard concrete.

When I opened my eyes again he was standing over me. It was the new guy who sat across from me. "Don't worry I called an ambulance." He assured. I was going to sit up but as I pieced the situation together I realized I was no longer wearing a shirt. Instead I had his blazer placed over my top. I assume because of the burning coffee which would have been sitting on my torso had he not.

He rode in the ambulance to the hospital. We sat in awkward silence as I tried to figure out his angle. Was he afraid I'd sue. I was the one who bumped into him. Did he wanna ask me questions about our workplace. It'd been a month or so since he'd arrived though so that wouldn't make sense.

He sat next to me at the hospital and was still there when the doctor told me it was a light concussion and a small burn. He sighed, finally not seeming like a stiff board for a moment. Maybe he was scared I'd sue. I turned to him in the hospital bed when we had a moment alone.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

He blushed and looked down mumbling a bit as he said "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I wouldn't be able to work anyways till I knew." My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Why? I'm the one that bumped into you?" I asked.

He was about to respond when the brigade of brothers came in. He seemed startled at all the sudden male energy in the room. "Ah, these are my brothers Dan, Danny, and Daniel. Daniel is a family name." I added the common addition when introducing them to anyone.

He stood up and shook Dan's hand firmly "Nicholas Lamia." He said. I realized then that I also didn't know his name. Danny started to get suspicious as he looked at him with antagonizing eyes.

"How do you know our sister?" He asked. Nicholas flushed again and tried to find words for a moment.

"We work together. He's the one who called the ambulance." Daniel set a balloon down next to me that he'd gotten at the gift shop.

We hadn't really spoken since his home break in. I still don't know what that was about. But he's been suspicious since. Once they released me Nicholas went on his way and the Mars siblings stood on the sidewalk and considered where to go.

"Should we get sushi? It's been a moment since we hung out without mom and dad." Dan suggested leading the conversation.

"Hmm, works for me. Samantha's out of town for work." Danny chimed in.

I sighed thinking about all the work I still had to do. But it had been a minute since we hung out for fun, and cucumber rolls wouldn't be too bad right about now. "Sure I'm in." I replied.

"You?" Danny asked Daniel.

He mumbled for a moment with the same guilty look, "no, I don't th-"

Suddenly Danny got him in a headlock, "come on even Savy agreed and she'd rather eat shit than waste time." He joked. I rolled my eyes and we all piled into Dan's car.

The waitress led us up to a small booth towards the back. At first I was going to sit next to Daniel but the blaring TV would send me down a spiral. There was a government program on and as soon as that shit for an heir came on I'd be fuming about how we're leaving the lives of multiple disadvantaged people to a boy who did body shots off a Delta Nu on a thursday night. I wasn’t exactly sure if that story was true, but it wouldn’t surprise me based off of what I’d seen from more credible sources than Lucy in the room down that hall at the sorority house who was gushing about how she wished it could be her. Prince Eaton went to the University of Labrador with us and she was hopeful that he would do it but sadly, no.

Dan saw my eyes lingering on the TV and switched sides of the booth with me. We were just about finished and considering desert when I began to notice the glances and smirks. I wiped with a napkin thinking maybe I had some rice on my face, but they continued nonetheless. It wasn’t like creepy guys smirking either, it was everyone. The air felt different and Daniel looked like he was going to be sick. “What?” I asked as he opened his mouth.

It looked like he was about to say something but couldn’t find the words. Dan opened to speak too, “Savannah, we didn’t think you’d ge-”

“Oh my gosh congratulations on being selected! Would you like a desert? Everything is on the house of course!” The waitress smiled.

I looked up at her as if she were speaking German. “Congratulations on what?” I asked.

“On being selected! They were just announced, are you so excited? Could I also get a photo by any chance! The next queen of Illea could be sitting at my booth!” She cheered.

The world slowed as my mind raced selected? Like The selection selected? I didn’t apply? I didn’t want to apply? How did I even get entered? What did Daniel want to tell me? Did Daniel do this? Was this his revenge for what?

I snapped out of it as Dan called my name. “I’m sorry. I have to step out for a moment.” I said and grabbed my purse running out of the restaurant, feeling everyone watching me. I walked to the side of the building and pressed my back against the cold brick panting. I crumbled inwards as my brothers ran over to me. I took a deep breath in,

“I don’t”

another breath

“understand.”

Suddenly a man with a long lens camera appeared. How did that happen so fast? How did he know what she looked like? Stupid your Savannah Mars it’s not like you’re a nobody your grandpa runs the largest candy company in the world.

“Can you back off?” I heard Dan ask him.

He kept ignoring Dan entirely, that is till Dan pushed his camera out of focus. “What the fuck man? Chill.” The creep said and went to shove Dan. Level headed Dan of course responded by punching him in the face.

We all piled into his car and drove to my house. I sat in the car ride silent and waited for someone to speak. No one did but Daniel still looked like he was going to throw up. We all sat on the sofa in continued silence. Only Dan spoke to offer everyone water.

No one said yes to it but a cup appeared in front of each of us anyways, always the responsible older brother.

I inhaled then finally said, “I’m not mad. I just want to know why?” and looked at Daniel. It was clear by now that he was the culprit.

He sat there in silence, his lip whimpering like he wanted to cry. Like he wanted to cry? If anyone’s going to cry it should be me. Suddenly I lunged at him to get in a hit. Only Danny’s arm stopped mine from smashing into his face.

“Why?” I yelled.

“I thought you made a gay dating profile for me.” He whimpered.

“What?” I asked, even more confused than before.

Dan spoke up, “Danny made a gay dating profile for him to try and give him a little push. When he got mad he said it was you who did it.”

“I just saw the letter sitting there and it seemed like the perfect way to get back at you for meddling in my love life. I was just gonna taunt you with submitting it, then Dan told me it was Danny but he said you wouldn’t get in and you’d just never know.” Daniel explained.

“Well, statistically speaking you shouldn’t have.” He defended. My anger shifted to the brother holding me back. If Danny had teased Daniel about his sexuality none of this would have happened. But I couldn’t do anything with him still holding my wrist.

I stood from the sofa and the brothers stood as well. “I’m going to go get changed.” The second they relaxed I turned and charged at Danny. “You fucking bitch!” I yelled and started to pull at his hair. He didn’t fight back but Daniel panicked and Dan rushed over. I was yanked off of him before I could make any real damage but he did look hurt enough.

“How could you! Just minding your own fucking business could have avoided this whole thing! And Daniel!” I yelled and turned. “Don’t fucking get vengeance especially not without communicating!”

The phone started to ring. It was probably about the selection. I huffed over ready to say, “Hi, yes this is Savannah Mars. No, I would not like to participate, please pull someone else.” But as I picked up the phone I realized something. Daniel would have had to forge my signature. In order to apply for me he had to sign a contract. If I say I want out I would have to prove I didn’t agree to begin with. That would mean proving the false signature. Which is by the way, illegal.

I sighed, held the phone to my ear. “Yes this is she. I’m so excited to be selected and am more than happy to discuss a time for you to send your people over.”

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