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cynicalrainbows · 4 years

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The Next Best Thing Chapter 14

Cathy gets some over-the-phone grief counselling from her godmother.

The relief of hearing Catalina- very obviously alive and well and not at all dead- is so much that upon hearing it, she bursts into tears and can’t do anything more than sob into the phone.

She can hear Catalina saying ‘Hello? Hello?’ in a voice that is sounding more and more worried and it makes her feel guilty, but she’s also crying too hard to speak properly.

‘Hello? Cathy? Mija, is that you?’

‘Ye-es-’

Her voice comes out all wobbly.

‘What’s the matter, querida? Are you alright? Are you hurt?’ Catalina is sounding seriously panicked now but she can’t answer, not yet.

‘Are you on your own? Is there someone with you?’

She nods and then realises that of course Catalina can’t hear her.

‘Ye-es-’

‘Can you let me talk to them for a minute, mija? I’ll be very very quick, alright?’

She doesn’t really want to give Anna the phone at all- Catalina is her godmother, not Anna’s, and she doesn’t feel like sharing- but she isn’t sure what else to do so she pushes the receiver at Anna who looks a bit confused but takes it anyway.

‘Hello?’

There’s buzzing on the other end of the phone but she can’t hear anything.

‘I’m Anna. I’m Cathy’s friend. Are you Catalina?’

There’s a pause.

‘I think she’s ok.’

Anna turns to her. ‘You’re not sick or hurt, are you Cathy?’

She shakes her head. She really wants Anna to give her the phone back.

‘She isn’t. She said she wants to come home…….No, everyone else is asleep.’

There’s another pause. Anna says ‘yes’ a couple more times and ‘thank you’ and then ‘yes’ again.

Cathy’s still juddering with sobs and she’s shivering a bit in the drafty hall and she’s regretting letting Anna talk her into this because she isn’t feeling any better at all AND now she’s cold on top of everything...but then Anna passes the phone back to her and sits down cross legged on the carpet.

‘She asked if I would stay with you if I’m not too tired, or wake up Anne’s Mum if I am’ She says, to Cathy’s confused look, and then shrugs. ‘I’m not too tired so I’ll stay.’

Cathy is very, very glad Anna hasn’t opted to wake Anne’s Mum, but there isn’t time to say anything because Catalina’s voice is in her ear again and now she doesn’t sound worried or panicky at all.

‘Hello again mija.’

It’s the voice that wakes her from nightmares. The tight bands around her chest start to loosen the tiniest bit.

‘Hello-’

Her own voice is very small and teary.

‘What’s the matter, querida? Anna said you were feeling a little bit homesick?’

Homesick is a small, silly insubstantial word for the crushing despair that’s settled heavily upon her, and it doesn’t even touch the anguish of wondering whether or not Catalina is alright, nor the terrible guilt over her parents….but she half nods into the phone anyway.

‘I want to be at home. I want to be at home now.’

She sounds like a baby but she can’t help it. She doesn’t even really care that Anna is listening.

‘Oh querida’ Catalina’s voice is velvety soft and very, very gentle. ‘It’s hard being away from home sometimes, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it’s horrible.’ She’s quite relieved Catalina isn’t telling her not to be so silly or asking how she can be homesick when she hasn’t even been gone a full day yet. ‘Everything feels wrong.’

‘I know. It’s awful when it all hits at once.’

She sounds like she really does know, which is a bit of a surprise.

‘I used to get it very, very badly.’

‘When?’

‘I think the worst was when I first came to England.’ Cathy knows about that- about how Catalina came to England when she was very young to get married but how the man she was meant to marry died before it could happen. ‘But when I went to university- that was all a very hard time, at first.’

‘But that was when you were grown up.’

‘You can get homesick at any age, mija.’

She isn’t sure if she likes the idea that she might feel like this again- but she does like the way that Catalina sounds so matter of fact about everything, like she isn’t making a silly fuss over nothing.

‘Did you cry?’

‘Sometimes.’

She contemplates this unexpected revelation. ‘I want to come home,’ she says, and just saying it makes her throat all tight and her voice wobbly again because she does want to go home, she wants to be at home so very much-

Catalina sighs.

‘I can come and get you querida-’

‘Yes please-’

‘But that means I’ll have to hang up the phone to drive, so how about-’ There’s a rustling as if Catalina is moving around ‘How about we talk for a while, just until you’re a little bit calmer, alright mija? And then I’ll come?’

She opens her mouth to say no, that she needs Catalina to come now- but she also doesn't want to hang up the phone, and perhaps Catalina can read her mind.

‘I’d rather not hang up until I’m sure you’re alright mija, I would feel very uncomfortable about leaving you alone in such a state. Is that alright with you?’

She doesn't really want Catalina to go so she gulps out a yes.

‘Then that’s what we’ll do. Now…. What’s got you feeling homesick mija? Did something happen?’

‘Not really…’ She isn’t sure, so she settles for ‘Anne doesn’t shut her curtains.’

Catalian clicks her tongue. ‘Ah! Yes, I should have thought of that- I could have mentioned it to Anne’s Mum. Sorry mija.’

Cathy wonders what good that would have done, since Anne’s Mum didn’t even come into the room when she said goodnight, just pushed the door open a bit and called to them from the hall….but she doesn't say that.

‘Could you close them yourself perhaps, if Anne is already asleep? No one would mind.’

She fidgets a bit, she isn't sure she wants Anne to know about her window thing and Catalina must hear her hesitation so she adds ‘Or perhaps you could try and face away from the window? Maybe put Tarkar on your pillow so if you turn over, you’ll just be looking at him instead?’

She usually hates it when grownups talk about her toys as if they’re real- she knows they’re not and it makes her feel like she’s Kitty’s age- but she can’t even focus on that now, because it just reminds her that she doesn’t even have Tarkar with her and that makes her feel even worse.

‘Cathy? Mija?’

‘But he’s at home-’ she whimpers, and she’s a bit surprised Catalina has forgotten considering the long debate they had over it, Catalina saying it wouldn’t hurt to just put Tarkar in the very bottom of her rucksack in case she changed her mind about not needing him in the night, and Cathy arguing that she wasn’t a baby and that nobody ever takes otters to sleepovers anyway and that Catalina could watch the Lizzie Maquire sleepover episode for herself if she didn't believe her.

(Catalina had shuddered quite hard at the suggestion and said I’ll take your word for it mija quite firmly. Cathy isn't sure why.)

‘Didn’t you find him?’ Catalina sounds genuinely surprised. ‘I put him just at the bottom of your bag, under your towel.’

It’s a big surprise, although she had been wondering why Catalina had packed a towel for her considering she was only going for the night and had already had a shower that morning because she didn’t like the idea of using Anne’s big power shower with the hundred and one knobs and dials and buttons.

‘I’m sorry querida, I know how firm you were about not wanting to take him but I just couldn’t help myself. I hope you’re not too cross with me.’

It’s so odd to hear that because it’s normally the other way around, with Cathy hoping she isn’t the one in trouble- although she has to admit, Catalina hardly ever gets cross, even when she probably could.

‘No. I’m not too cross.’

‘Well, I’m glad. Do you know, when I went to university, when I was much much older than you-’ Catalina’s slips into her storytelling voice. ‘I was 18 and I spent so long packing and choosing what I would bring! Dios mio, I drove my poor mother quite demented- changing my mind and packing and repacking, tearing my room to pieces. I just wanted to seem grown up so very badly-’

It’s funny to hear Catalina talk about wanting to look grown up at university because surely by the time you’re at university, you already are a grown up, a proper one?

‘I decided only to take things that a grown up would take, so I chose all the longest books I had with the most impressive titles- some I’d never even opened….I decided to take only clothes that would be smart for lectures….or that I could wear for a night out. Nothing old! Nothing sloppy! My goodness, how I regretted it!’

‘What happened?’

Her voice is still a bit wavery but it’s a lot more like her normal voice than before and she finds that she is actually a bit interested to hear the story.

It’s so funny to think of Catalina being young and scared and making silly mistakes- because even she knows that it makes no sense to take books you don't actually like away with you and she’s not even eight yet, whereas Catalina was more than ten years older.

‘Oh querida, it was horrible! I caught a cold on my first night out with my new friends and I had such a terrible hangover-’

‘Whats a hangover?’

‘It means….well, sometimes when you’re young and having fun….that is, in moderation, sometimes things are ok but when you have too much…’ Catalina trails off then picks up the story again hurriedly. ‘Do you know what mija, I’ll explain to you tomorrow ok?’

Cathy wonders what could possibly be too complicated that Catalina can't just explain it now and makes a mental note to remember to ask about hangovers the next morning because surely Anne won’t know what they are either and maybe this is something that they should know, like multiplication and suffixes.

‘Anyway, I felt so ill and I had nothing I wanted to wear, nothing comfortable. And nothing interesting to read while I was stuck in bed either!’

Cathy gives a little gasp of sympathy. How horrible!

She almost wishes she could go back in time, to bring poor University Catalina the big warm snuggly cardigan that she likes to wear after work and on weekends and one of the glossy magazines she likes so much (and hides under the sofa cushions when people come to visit) so that she can be happy rather than sad and uncomfortable and hungover (whatever that means).

‘And worst of all mija, I’d left Benito behind-’

‘Who was Benito?’

‘Benito was my monkey- not a real one sadly. But I’d had him since I was younger than you and he’d been with me through everything and I was so sure that it wasn’t the sort of thing you’d take to University if you were a proper grown up….oh I very suddenly found I was not at all too old to miss him, no matter what I’d thought! Especially when everything was so new and stressful. So the very first reading week we had, I went home- I said it was just to see my old friends but really mija, I wouldn’t have cared if I hadn’t seen a single one of them as long as I got to bring my books and my comfortable clothes and Benito back with me.’

‘Do you still have him?’ She wonders if Benito might be interested in making friends with an otter.

Catalina sighs. ‘No. He got lost along the way and I’ve always been a little bit sad about it. I like to think he is making some other little girl in Spain very happy- or perhaps someone who is not so little at all!’

‘Will I have to leave Tarkar behind when I go to University?’ (She doesn’t know quite what she wants to be yet but she knows she wants to go to University because Catalina’s stories make it sound so interesting.)

‘Not unless you want to. But whatever you decide to do, I’m sure you’ll take much better care of Tarkar than I took of Benito.’

‘I will.’ She says it seriously but Catalina laughs. It’s a nice laugh though.

‘Good. Now was there anything else querida? You sounded so upset when you called.’

It’s funny- she realises suddenly that over the course of the story, she’s not only stopped crying but she’s started feeling a lot more normal. Maybe it’s knowing that Tarkar is in her bag after all or maybe it’s how very well and alive Catalina sounds but whatever it is, she feels much more like herself.

She’s feeling so much better that she almost doesn't want to tell Catalina what was really wrong before….but then she doesnt want her godmother- or Anna for that matter- to think she’s a silly baby for crying over a cuddly toy so she takes a deep breath.

‘I thought you might be hurt. Or sick. Or something.’

Catalina sounds astonished. ‘Why mija? I’m perfectly well.’

‘I thought…’ She fiddles with the cord of the phone. She doesn’t really like saying it but Catalina obviously doesn’t understand. ‘I thought maybe you might be hurt. Like….like Mum and Dad.’

There's a little pause. ‘Oh. Oh Cathy. Oh mija.’

Catalina sounds so very sad that she wonders for a moment if she’s said the wrong thing, and then there’s a long silence and her eyes start to burn again as if the tears are threatening to return.

Then she sniffles and Catalina’s back on the phone, all hurried.

‘I’m so sorry you had to think about that querida. That must have been very, very scary for you. Especially being away from home.’

Catalina doesn’t sound cross but she still sounds sad.

‘.....I’m sorry.’

‘Oh mija, you have nothing to be sorry for!’ Catalina sounds most emphatic. ‘Nothing at all. I’m not in the least bit upset with you. I’m just so sorry we’re having this conversation over the phone and I can’t give you a hug. And I’m sorry you were having to think such things while I was off thinking about what a lovely time you must be having.’

‘I was having a lovely time.’ She doesn’t want Catalina to think she’s been pathetic all night. ‘Just...when we went to bed. And- I couldn’t sleep and then I started thinking about Mum and Dad….’

Catalina hums sympathetically.

‘And…and it made me think about how I didnt even know that they weren’t ok until they weren’t there any more and maybe I wouldn’t know if you weren’t ok and maybe you might have gotten hurt while I was away and I wouldn’t know-’

‘Ok. Ok mija. Let's take some nice deep breaths, ok? Can you try for me? In and out.’

After a minute of doing deep calming breaths in time with Catalina on the phone, Catalina says ‘This is what I used to do with Maria when she was expecting you.’

It’s very unexpected- it’s always a bit odd to hear her mother referred to by her nickname and it’s also funny to think about her Mum and Catalina knowing each other before she was born.

‘Really?’

‘Oh yes. Sometimes she would get so worried- she loved you so much, you see, and she wanted so badly to do everything right for you. She worried she might make a mistake.’

‘But you said I wasn’t born. How can you love someone who doesn’t exist yet?

‘Oh she loved you long, long before you were born mija. We both did- and Thomas too.’ Thomas she knows is her Dad. ‘I was in Spain and she was in England but she’d call me and we’d talk all about how excited she was to meet you and all the things you would do when you were grown up and how proud we’d all be- but sometimes she’d worry that she was going to make mistakes and then I’d tell her to take some deep breaths and remind her that everything was going to be ok.’

‘Like you’re doing for me.’

‘Like I’m doing for you.’

‘It wasn’t all ok though. She died. She and Dad can’t be proud of me because they’re dead. So it didn’t happen how you said it would at all.’ The tears are back properly now and she thinks that maybe just maybe Catalina’s voice sounds a bit watery too.

‘I know mija. And it’s very very sad. But we have to try and think about the good things too, as well as the sad things.’

‘What good things?’ She isn’t sure there can be any good things- not when Mum and Dad are dead. How can she enjoy Catalina’s stories knowing how it’s all going to end? She’s sure that her Mum and Dad wouldn’t have been so happy thinking about all things she’d grow up to do if they’d known they wouldn’t be there to see any of them.

‘Well, there’s how much she loved you. That’s still a good thing. She loved you enough for a hundred years, enough for a thousand. How she thought about you every day, before she’d even met you, and how your Daddy did too. That’s a good thing. They were both so excited- you know, your Daddy called everybody he knew when you were born, everybody in his contacts list, people he hadn't spoken to for years and years, just to tell them he had a little girl.’

‘Tell me some more good things. Please.’

She likes that Catalina doesn’t even have to stop and think. ‘There are all the lovely memories you have with them- that’s a very, very good thing. No matter what happens mija, no one can take away your memories. There are all the things they taught you.’

‘Like how to ride a bike. And to swim.’

‘Yes-. And other things too- like how much you like reading. That’s something good that they left you with. That’s something you’ll always take with you. You know, your Daddy got you a library card when you were only just born.’

It’s funny to hear Catalina say that. She’d always sort of imagined liking reading of something that was just luck- but now it seems different. More special, like a present but not one you can see or touch.

‘Even just the way you look mija- your beautiful hair, for example. That’s something they’ve given you.’

‘Are there more good things?’

‘So many many more mija. I could talk all night and I’d still not have finished. It’s hard, it’s very hard sometimes to see the good things but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.’

The thought makes her cry a bit more- like the tears are feelings that she just doesn’t have room for any more. They’re not bad feelings- just feelings. She can’t contain them and they overflow as tears.

‘Were you happy too? When I was born?’

‘So very happy mija, you cannot imagine. I had planned to come to see you and your Mummy and Daddy in England anyway but I was so impatient, I called them- I called to ask if I could possibly come early because I couldn’t wait. And you know, when I spoke to them on the phone, Maria said she had been asking Thomas if he thought I would mind coming earlier…because she so wanted to introduce me to you.’

Her voice softens. ‘I have never been sadder than when we lost Maria and Thomas but- since we cannot change that mija, as much as I wish we could, I’m so very happy that I can take care of you for them. And I like to think they would be happy too. I think they are happy too. As much as they'd prefer to be with you themselves...I think they’re happy that you’re with me because they know that I love you like they did. And I know they’re so very, very proud of you. Of what a very brave, clever, good girl their daughter has become.’

They’re both definitely crying now but it doesn't hurt like her tears before had hurt, and when she can talk again, she feels better. Lighter. Her eyes are very very sore and her mouth feels dry, but somehow, she doesn't feel so scared anymore.

Thinking about her parents- in a good way- hurts but in a way that feels right. Healthy, almost. Something that hurts but that is good for you too, like hard exercise and injections. She wonders if sometimes the things that are good for you- the things that you need- do just hurt a little bit, if that's just how some things in life are.

There’s a little pause as they both sniffle into the phone...and then Catalina gives a little laugh and says ‘Oh mija I shan't be able to scold you for wiping your nose on your sleeve any more, I ran out of tissues-’ and she starts laughing a bit even as she's still crying.

It feels good to be able to smile.

‘Good.’

‘You can remind me of this when I tell you off for it.’

‘I will.’

‘Are you feeling a little bit better now mija?’

‘Yes.’ She actually means it.

‘Good. I think perhaps we should maybe have another talk about this soon, yes? Properly, when we’re both a bit less tired and when we can see each other and I can give you a proper cuddle.’

That sounds quite nice.

‘Ok.’

‘Ok. ‘ There’s a pause. ‘Shall I come and get you now mija? I’m not as worried about leaving you anymore.’

‘Will you really come?’

It’s been a tiny niggling worry at the back of her mind the whole time- that maybe Catalina is just trying to distract her, to make her forget about having to drive over to get her in the middle of the night, that maybe she’s just planning on telling her that now she doesn't really need to come home at all...but Catalina sounds shocked she’s ever asking.

‘Of course! Of course I will. I could be with you in...hmm, about half an hour? Forty minutes at the most.’

‘Really?’

She sounds very serious. ‘Mija if I can, I will always come and get you if you need me.’

‘What about when I’m grown up?’

‘Always. If you need me, I will come, even when you're grown up.’

‘What if I'm somewhere really far away?’

‘Then it might take longer but I’ll still come.’

‘What if you're really tired?’

‘Even then. I’ll drink lots of coffee and sleep when you’re safe back home.’

‘What if I make you really really angry? What if-’ She tries to think of the worst thing she can imagine. ‘What if I break all your nice things and shout at you and say I hate you and...and steal money from you and...and and set the sofa on fire and…’

‘Then I will be angry and sad and you will owe me a new sofa….but I will still come.’

There's a pause as she takes it in.

‘Will you be alright now if I hang up now mija? I’ll be as quick as I can.’

She thinks about it.

She thinks about Catalina having to get up and get dressed and drive in the dark and about having to have her knock on the door and wake everyone up and explain why she's going home.

She thinks about Anne waking up without her on the morning after her birthday and about how it would mean that Anna will have had a proper sleepover with Anne and she won’t.

She thinks about Tarkar waiting for her in her bag, about how cosy her bed in Anne’s room suddenly seems and about how sleepy she’s starting to feel.

She thinks about how Anne has said that Mary has promised to make them pancakes for the post-sleepover birthday breakfast and about whipped cream. And strawberries. And Nutella.

She takes a deep breath.

‘It’s ok. You don't have to come. I’m- I’m alright now.’

‘Are you sure mija? I promise it’s no trouble. I wouldn't be in the least bit upset with you and neither would anyone else.’

She thinks, wavers….and then makes up her mind. ‘No, it's ok. I'm sleepy now anyway. And Mary said she’d make pancakes and Anne said she brought whipped cream specially. The kind in a squirty can.’

Catalina chuckles. ‘Alright mija. That does sound worth staying for. Snuggle down with Tarkar and dream about something nice for me, alright?’

‘Ok.’ She pauses. ‘I'm sorry I woke you up.’

‘Oh mija you have nothing at all to be sorry for! ! I’m so glad you called- I’d hate to think of you miserable and not calling me.’

‘I nearly didn’t.’

‘What made you change your mind?’

‘Anna said I should. She said it would make me feel better.’

‘Well she sounds like a very sensible and nice girl.’

She normally bristles when her godmother so much as suggests that Anna might have any redeeming qualities...but somehow she just doesn't feel that hot surge of irritation any more.

After all, Anna did help. If it wasn't for Anna, she realises, she’d just be lying in bed and feeling sadder and sadder by the minute and who knows how sad she’d have been by morning? Probably too sad to want even a small pancake and what a waste of a treat that would be.

‘Yes, she is. She’s very nice. And she’s keeping BT in business.’

Catalina chuckles again. ‘Well that’s good to know. Will you do something for me mija? Is Anna still with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could you pass the phone to her for just a minute?’

Anna is half asleep on the floor when Cathy nudges her with the receiver. ‘She wants to talk to you again.’

Anna takes it. Again there is buzzing and another couple of yeses and thank yous- and then Catalina is back.

‘Thank you mija. I just wanted to say thank you to her myself for giving you such good advice.’

She thinks for a minute. ‘I’ll say thank you too. And do something nice back for her- when I’ve thought of something.’

She can almost hear Catalina smiling down the phone. ‘Well that’s a lovely idea querida.’ She lets herself feel a little glow of pride and then Catalina stifles a yawn. ‘Now, you and Anna should probably go and get some sleep before it’s time for pancakes…’

‘Ok.’

‘Just one more thing before you go to bed, I want you to imagine something for me. Can you do that?’

‘Yes’

‘I want you to imagine I’m giving you a big big hug, ok? A very big hug- to last you until morning. Don’t use it all up at once, mind.’

The idea of trying to save a hug- like its a chocolate bar or a bag of crisps- is novel enough to make her smile- and then she yawns.

‘Ok. I won’t.’

‘Good. Sweet dreams mija. Sleep well and I’ll see you very soon.’

‘Good night Catalina.’

‘God bless querida. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

She puts the phone down.

There's a second when the shakiness feels like it might come back- just a second, and then Anna is standing up, stumbling a bit because her foot has gone to sleep, and Cathy has to catch her arm to steady her.

‘Oooh!’

‘Sorry-’

‘It’s ok. Are you alright?’

‘Yes. Just my foot, it’s all tingly and funny-’ Anna puts weight on it experimentally. ‘Are you better now?’

She nods. ‘Yes.’

‘I was really worried. You looked so, so sad.’

‘I was. But I’m ok now.’ She pauses. ‘Thank you for staying with me. And for making me use the phone. It was a good idea.’

‘It’s ok. Your godmother is nice.’

‘She is nice.’

‘She said thank you for getting you to call and that I sounded like a very sensible clever girl and a very good friend for you to have and that she was pleased to meet me even if it was over the phone and that she’d heard a lot about me.’ Anna pauses. ‘Did you really tell her about me?’

‘Yes…’ She hopes Anna won’t ask if they were always nice things.

Anna looks surprised. ‘I didn't think you liked me. Much.’ She looks a bit awkward as she says it and Cathy suddenly feels hot guilt in her tummy. Somehow it didn't seem so bad to not like Anna when she thought Anna hadn’t noticed but now….

She shakes her head quickly. ‘I do. At least I do now. And not just now. I liked you. A bit. Before. Even when I didn't want to.’

She wonders if Anna will be really, really cross with her, or worse if she’ll cry, and the guilt burns worse than ever….but when she looks up, Anna is squirming a bit too, as if she is the mean one.

‘I liked you too. Even when I didn't want to. I-’ She pauses. ‘I wasn't so happy when you came back’ She says in a rush ‘I mean I was sort of happy because you seemed nice- you let me play even when you looked like you didn't want to and I felt a bit bad...but...when I started, I didn’t know anyone and I was so happy that Anne wanted to be friends and then she said it was just until you came back to school and...I hoped and hoped that you wouldn't come back at all and that you'd end up going to a new school so that I could keep on being friends with Anne….and then I felt bad because you let Anne stay friends with me even when you did come back….’

She breaks off and they look at one another.

Cathy waits to see if she’ll feel angry over what Anna has said, as Anna is obviously expecting her to be….but to her surprise, she finds that she isn't.

Her main feeling is relief- the guilt in her tummy is nearly gone, now that she knows she wasn't the only one having not-so-nice thoughts secretly.

‘It’s ok. We’re even now.’

She smiles at Anna and crooks her little finger, and Anna smiles back and hooks it with her own and they shake on it. Then Anna shivers and Cathy realises how cold her hand is.

‘You're freezing! Let's go back to bed quick so you can warm up.’

‘Its ok, I don't really mind. I was getting a bit hot anyway- the duvet is really big!’

They start up the stairs.

When they get into Anne’s room, she expects Anna to go straight back to bed but she hangs back.

‘Cathy...can I see your otter? Just quickly before we go to sleep? Only I heard you say that you DID bring him and I've never seen a toy otter before…’

She can't imagine not knowing you could have toy otters and feels a little bit sorry for Anna.

When she fishes Tarkar out of the bottom of her bag, there’s a yellow post-it stuck to his back with Catalina’s handwriting: ‘Just in case’ and then three kisses.

She tucks the note and the kisses safely into the pocket of her pyjamas and hands Tarkar over and Anna strokes him admiringly. ‘He’s lovely. I'm going to ask mutti for an otter for my birthday- we saw otters at the zoo once, they were so cute and funny.’

‘I like the otters at the zoo best too. Catalina’s going to take me and Anne to the zoo when it's the holidays and she can get some time off work. She promised.’ She pauses, stroking Tarkar’s foot. ‘Maybe...maybe you could come too. If you’d like.’

Anna’s eyes are all big and shiny. ‘Yes! Yes please!’ She gives a happy little bounce and then yawns in the middle of it and they both giggle.

Anna hands Tarkar back and goes back to Kitty’s bed and Cathy gets into the camp bed.

She’s shivery enough that the big duvet actually feels quite nice now- cozy rather than stifling, and she’s so tired that even the pillow doesn't bother her so much any more. The washing powder smell is still strange- but Tarkar smells reassuringly familiar.

She buries her face in his fur and dreams of home.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #sixfic #the next best thing

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gay-for-tord · 5 years

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Sewed Together: Chapter 5

Taglist and links to the other chapters will be added in a reblog, so I can make sure this shows up in the tags. Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist. ____________________________________

Arriving at the table, Jack was surprised. He had figured that they would be like his parents and make something simple, like Instant Noodles. The food laid out on the table was a feast! There was roasted chicken, baked potatoes, rice, sweet rolls, and cornbread. But Jack was hesitant to eat the food in front of him. Sure it looked delicious, but was it safe? How did he know they weren't planning on poisoning him?

"Go on," His Other Father insisted. "Anti's food is the best!" He makes a show of eating some of the chicken and Anti rolls his eyes.

Jack chuckles a bit and relaxed. Both of them were eating the food and seemed to be fine. Or at least, neither of them had dropped dead yet. He reached forward to serve himself a bit of each.

"It is good," Jack admitted after taking a bite of the chicken. "Thank you for feeding me."

Anti beamed. "It's no problem! You're our child after all, and we've been waiting for you for a long time. "

"For me?"

His Other Father nodded. "Yep. It wasn't the same without you bud."

"But we knew you'd arrive someday," Anti's grin grew wider. "And now we can be a proper family. More chicken?"

"No thank you." Jack wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Can I have something to drink?"

"Of course!"

Anti snapped his fingers and jugs came flying from the kitchen. Paying close attention, Jack noticed that the jugs weren't floating like he first thought they were. They were actually being held up by red strings.

How strange, He thought. But also really cool.

"Which one would you like to drink? As you can see, we have orange juice, apple juice, sweet tea, chocolate milk, and strawberry milk."

"Strawberry milk please."

With a flick of his wrist, Anti made the strings lift the strawberry milk jug to pour it into Jack's cup.

"Thank you." Jack took a sip of his drink and was pleasantly surprised that it tasted completely like strawberries. Normally things like chocolate milk and strawberry milk still faintly tasted like milk.

"Our personal favorite is apple juice," Anti said. Other Chase nodded.

"Yep!"

"Apple juice is pretty good," Jack agreed. "But strawberry milk is my favorite."

"Because you like strawberries?"

"Uh-huh."

"Noted," Anti mumbled to himself. He returned his attention back onto his food and continued eating. "Pass me another sweet roll, dear."

Other Chase did as he was told. Though for a moment, it had seemed as if he didn't want to touch Anti. Jack shrugged it off. He was probably just imagining things. But speaking of Anti, he had told Jack that they were his other parents. But if his Other Father looked exactly like his dad, why didn't Anti look exactly like his mom?

"Hey Anti," Jack said carefully. "If you guys are my other parents, why don't you look like my mom?"

"Hmmm, that's a good question," Anti went silent and stared at the wall, thinking. "I suppose I don't look like her because your other parents are supposed to make you happy. And she doesn't make you very happy, does she." Anti's last sentence didn't at all sound like a question. It was a statement.

"No," Jack quietly agreed. "She's always busy on her computer, and she likes to start fights with my dad. I never knew I had other parents." He changed the subject. Talking about his mom that way had always made him feel uncomfortable. Although it was true, it still felt wrong.

"Of course you do. Everyone has other parents." Anti's green button eyes were gleaming. Other Chase shifted in his seat, but Jack didn't notice.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh! And as soon as you're done eating, why don't we go outside and play a game?" Anti excitedly taps his fingers on the table. "It'll be lots of fun."

"What kind of game?"

"An exploring game. We all go outside and explore the grounds, see who finds the most things."

Anti was giving Jack an excited look. He made Jack feel bad for what he was going to say next.

"I'd love to play but I.... I need to get back to my other parents."

"But we're your other parents."

Jack gave Anti a small smile. "I meant my other other parents. You know, set number one?"

"Ah, of course." Anti slouched in his seat a bit, disappointment clear across his face. "But do you have to go so soon? I mean, you just got here and we've been waiting for you for such a long time..."

"Yeah, don't you want to stay a little longer?" Other Chase asked. "They won't know you're gone. You could explore the house, visit our neighbors, look at your room?"

Guilt ate away at Jack. On one hand, he didn't want his parents to know he was gone and freak out and get mad at him. But on the other hand, this place was really cool. And the sad and disappointed looks Anti and his Other Father were giving him made him feel worse.

"Ok," Jack caved. "I'll stay here a little longer."

Anti's face brightened up, and he stood up from his seat. "Great! You go on and head up to your room, play with your toys. Your father and I will clean up the table and wash the dishes."

Jack stood up, and his plate was whisked away. Giving his other parents one last look, he headed upstairs to where his room should be. Stepping into his room, Jack wasn't prepared. His room here was so much different than his first room! The paint on the walls were pink and green stripes, which wasn't as interesting as the rest of the room. The most interesting thing about his room was his toys were alive.

Though more than half of the toys in his room were things he couldn't recall ever owning, they were still an amazing sight. Small wind-up angels and airplanes flew threw the air, stuffed animals wandered around the room, occasionally pausing to wave at him, and many other things.

Jack sat down on his bed. While his room here was amazing, he didn't think he'd like to sleep in there. With all the toys moving around and doing whatever they pleased, he wouldn't be surprised if they woke him up in the middle of the night. Nor would he surprised at waking up to see toys too close for comfort. That would certainly give him a heart attack.

"Do you like it?"

"Hm?" Jack turned to see Anti and his other father standing in the doorway, holding hands.

"Do you like your room?" Anti repeated. "I put a lot of work into it."

"Oh, uh, yeah I like it. It's really cool."

"How about we play that game I mentioned during dinner?"

Jack shook his head. "I'm sorry, I can't. I have to get back to my other home before parents one see that I'm missing." Anti frowned and once again guilt ate at Jack. "I'll come back tomorrow though! Then we can play the exploring game!" He scratched at the rash on his hand. He had forgotten about how itchy it.

Anti still didn't look very happy, but his expression did brighten up a little.

"Alright then, tomorrow it is." He gave Jack a smile. "How about we take care of that rash of yours and send you off?"

"With what stuff? My dad didn't know how to get rid of it."

"There's a doctor living above us, remember?"

"Dr. Schneeplestein's here too?" Jack stared at Anti in confusion. How was he here as well?

"Yes and no. He's the Other Dr. Schneeplestein. And I'm sure that he has something lying around to get rid of your rash." Anti held out his hand. "We'll walk you upstairs."

"Ok."

Jack took Anti's hand and allowed him to lead him downstairs and outside. Outside of the house, nearly everything was the same, except for two things. The moon was full and there were more stars in the sky. Jack didn't get much time to stare up at them because he was soon in front of the doctor's house.

Anti knocked on the door and called out, "Doctor, we have a guest in need of your assistance!"

The door opened and the Other Dr. Schneeplestein ushered them in. Jack was pulled aside and was frantically inspected.

"If you look at his right hand, you'll find what needs tending to," Anti said in amusement.

"Oh! You have a rash. Don't worry, I can get rid of it!"

Other Dr. Schneeplestein let go of Jack and disappeared out of sight. Now that he wasn't be checked over and shook, Jack was able to look around the room. The doctor had many shelves in the room, all filled with medical stuff. Some shelves were filled with tools and some were filled with glass containers.

Other Dr. Schneeplestein returned two minutes later from wherever he had gone with a small container of some kind of paste.

He opened the container and said to Jack, "Give me your hand."

Jack held his hand out and watched as the other doctor rubbed some of the paste onto his hand.

"Your rash should be gone by morning." Other Dr. Schneeplestein closed the container and reached into his coat pocket to pull out a lollipop. "Here, for being a good patient." "Oh, uh, thank you. For both healing my rash and giving me a lollipop." Jack stuck the lollipop into his pocket.

"Doc, I need to talk to you for a sec." Anti pulled Other Dr. Schneeplestein farther into the room, so Jack couldn't hear their conversation.

"How does your rash feel?" Other Chase asked.

"Not as itchy."

Jack stared at Other Dr. Schneeplestein, taking in his appearance. He looked nearly identical to the Dr. Schneeplestein that lived in Jack's world. The only things different were Other Dr. Schneeplestein's partially green hair and his blue buttons. He couldn't say whether or not their personalities were the same though, since he's only talked to Dr. Schneeplestein in his world only once.

"Alright, goodbye doc." Anti took hold of Jack's other hand and walked him out the door.

"Bye Doctor!" Jack shouted. "And thank you!"

Anti flashed him a grin as he led them downstairs.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay longer?" He asked Jack as they stepped inside.

Jack shook his head. "Sorry..."

Anti gave him a tight smile. "That's alright."

They followed him to the small door.

"Hug me goodbye," Anti said as he opened his arms.

Jack did as he was told and Anti squeezed him.

"We'll be counting the minutes until you come back."

Jack gave him a small smile and pulled away. He quickly hugged his other father before opening the door and crawling through.

"Goodbye! See you tomorrow!" Anti called out.

"Bye!"

Soon Jack was pushing through the door and he was back in his own home. He didn't hear his parents frantically looking for him, so it was safe to say that they were still asleep. With that in mind, Jack quietly walked back upstairs and to his room. There he fell into a dreamless sleep.

_________________________________________

I want to promise I'll update more, but I get distracted so easily and procrastinate so hard.

Also, I know it's pretty stereotypical to portray Stacy as a bad person since no one technically really knows anything about her, but now my reasoning for it has been revealed! I did it so I had an excuse to have Anti as the Other Mother.

#sewed together #jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #chase brody #henrik von schneeplestein #dr. henrik von schneeplestein #Dr Schneeplestein #coraline au #jacksepticeye au #jacksepticeye egos #jacksepticeye coraline au #jse coraline au #septic coraline au #jacksepticeye anti #jacksepticeye chase

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aggressivelyclueless · 5 years

Text

Storytime

prompted by @browa123 "the book Jack got instead of a pony" Words: 6435 Warning: mildly spooky but that's about it

It was late, and Maddie had already gone to bed. Jack still had a lot of work to do, but he knew that it would have to wait until tomorrow. He stuffed as many parts as he could back into a storage box, and tossed the box up on the top shelf along with all the other projects he'd promptly forgotten about. He shut the fluorescent lights off, yawned, and then shuffled upstairs. His body was tired, but his mind was still abuzz; nights like this, he thought, made for good bedtime reading. Fortunately, he had just the thing for that. It sat up on top of the bookshelf in the living room, and with some difficulty he pulled it down. It was by far the heaviest book in the house, and he set it down on the couch and went to grab a soda and make himself comfortable. He remembered with fondness the day he'd gotten it; he'd turned twelve, and had puzzled for most of the afternoon about what could be in that enormous package on the table. He'd stacked all his other presents on top of it so that he could save it for last, and he hadn't been disappointed. John Fenton-Nightingale's Daunting Text of Unearthly Anomalies and Mystical Oddities, the cover had read when he'd pulled the paper off. Nevermind the fact that he hadn't been able to lift the thing - he was over the moon, and had spent the next six weeks chewing through it one chapter at a time. Those were the days when you just went out and caught ghosts, Jack thought to himself as he grabbed the blanket from the couch and tossed it over himself. The lamp on the end table clicked on, and he pulled the massive book onto his lap. Its pages were soft around the edges from years of use, and most of them were dog-eared. He pulled the front cover open, and absently began flipping through the pages. The book seemed to read his mind; it flipped to the first page of his favorite chapter, and Jack grinned. This book knows me so well.

Excerpt from chapter seventeen, J.F.N.'s Daunting Text, unabridged

In all the years that I have devoted to the meticulous study and record of the strange world of the supernatural, few items have held as much interest as the gateways to the world itself. I have only ever seen one with my own eyes, and I regret that I had neither the time nor the tools to study it properly. I can say this, however, with certainty: it appeared a puzzling and ethereal green, flat like a portrait that might hang on the wall or over a fireplace, but there appeared from it a creature like no other. I refer, of course, to the Viscous Anomaly (described in detail in chapter twelve), and if it were not for the malevolent specter, I may have been able to study the gateway from whence it came. Alas, the anomaly attacked me on sight, and I was forced to engage with it as the gateway slowly faded away behind it. Recent research has been conclusive, however, that...

Jack frowned. Why was this his favorite chapter again? He skipped ahead a few pages, finding a fully detailed sketch of the gateway the author had seen. Ah, yes, that was it. The portal in the basement looked a lot like it, except without the metal frame and control panels and such. According to Nightingale, these just appeared sometimes; Jack hoped to find one someday. Wouldn't that be cool, he thought. He stared at the sketch a minute longer, and then flipped back to his other favorite chapter.

Excerpt from chapter three, J.F.N.'s Daunting Text, unabridged

I remember with the utmost clarity the first time I had ever seen a ghost. At the time, I was eight years old. My father's father had passed away of the pox, and there was to be a funeral for him the following week. It was the third night after his passing when he returned; he was but a ghastly shadow in the corner of my bedroom, and I may not have noticed him at all if it weren't for the fact that he glowed most ominously! He barely possessed a form at all - it was as if he had pressed himself into the corner of the ceiling, and he glared at me with two round red eyes! I admit with some embarrassment that I had let out a shriek at the sight of him, not knowing at the time that he was my late grandfather, and had slept in my mother's room that night. He returned to me the next evening, this time appearing slowly. When I saw him, he dared even to speak! He spoke - this I remember very clearly indeed! - telling me, "Calm, child. 'Tis I, Matthew Nightingale, and I shall not harm you." What a fool I was to believe him! He had no sooner spoken of his benevolence than he crashed through each and every piece of furniture in my room, cackling madly! I had known him in life to be somewhat of a trickster, but this was less a trick and more a mean-spirited and cruel stunt! It was then that I swore to exact my vengeance on him, and all that were like him. The realm of the dead, I discovered, was not entirely separate from the world of the living. I began to do what little research that I could, compiling as many notes as I could, but it was too little to be able to form any proper defense for the horrible spirit that had crawled into our home. Over the next weeks, my departed grandfather destroyed more and more of our house, and we were forced to move to one across the city to escape him...

Jack was heartbroken. The poor boy - only eight, and already being pushed around by ghosts! He knew how the story ended, of course, and elected to skip the pages in the middle detailing the prolonged suffering in Nightingale's teenage years. Jack knew the ending almost by heart, but read it anyway, silently rooting for him the entire time.

...it was on my seventeenth birthday that I acquired the final piece to exorcise the poltergeist of my grandfather from my old home. My mother fretted when I told her what my plans were regarding the issue, but I remained staunch and undeterred. I collected everything I needed in a modest canvas satchel, donned my favorite hat at the time (alas, I do miss that hat dearly, but that's another story), and assured my worried mother that I would return after midnight. As I approached the house, I knew that the spirit's power had grown steadily since the first time I saw it. The yard outside was dry and dead, and the same ethereal green emanated from each of the front windows. I remember thinking it was almost as if the house itself had come alive, but I know that's impossible. The wooden gate hung open, and I made my determined way up the front path to the door. It swung open for me as I was about to open it for myself, and the front hall was almost completely dark. I lit myself a candle to see, and made my way into the house. All the memories from my childhood came back to me in broken fragments, and seeing the rooms where I once played in such disrepair was disheartening. Nonetheless, I crept silently up the stairs to my former bedroom. That was the place where the poltergeist had first manifested, and I knew that was where it would be defeated. My late grandfather seemed, somehow, to know that I'd be coming. I remember how he'd stared at me - it was as if he was so confident in his abilities that he didn't even consider me a threat to his dominance over the house! "Child," said he, "Surely you came knowing your demise was assured? I do not fear you." He should have feared me! I set to work at once preparing the ritual for the exorcism - allow me to illustrate the steps, in the event that this information might be useful to anyone suffering a similar ghastly affliction: The first and most important step: be sure to keep the offending entity distracted adequately enough that he does not interfere with the beginning stages of the ritual. That can be achieved in any manner! Each spirit is different, and has its own weakness. In the case of my grandfather, he was alarmingly susceptible to fits of hysteria, especially after I told him that I was going to make a living with this work, and that I'd put spooks like him to shame! The second step, which is also very important: draw a circle in white chalk upon the floor, and use red chalk to mark eight corners. Draw a star between them. Use one drop of Nightingale's Elixir of Exorcisms (detailed in chapter twenty-seven) to mark the corners as well. This will keep the poltergeist from fleeing the house in the event that you cannot capture it right away! The third step: under no circumstances should you step outside of your circle! Spread your blood salt (also detailed in chapter twenty-seven) around the perimeter of the circle. When it begins to glow, you know you have used an ample amount! From here henceforth, do not step outside the circle under any circumstances! The fourth step: recite the curse which applies the most directly to the circumstances of your haunting (see the table in chapter twenty-five for a more detailed explanation). If you have the correct chant, your circle should glow brighter; if it turns white, you have pronounced everything correctly! If, however, it quits at once, or slowly dims, or turns a ghastly green, you should probably run and come back when you are more adequately prepared. The fifth step: do not move away from your circle! When you have completed your curse, stand perfectly still. If it appears that the poltergeist is unaffected, do not move! Sometimes, as I learned, the mystic forces behind the curse take a moment to come into effect. No matter what the spirit says, or how threatening he is, remain still! I cannot stress this enough! He will vanish off the face of the earth, and you will be able to tell because the furniture floating around you will drop out of the air, and the grave laughter will cease, and the candle in your hand will be blown out by some mysterious ghostly wind. Only when it is silent will it be safe to relight the candle. It was the first victory of my career, and I remember exactly how chuffed I was that it had been such a brilliant success. The house never sold after that, however, since it had been known for almost a decade to be "irredeemably and completely haunted," but I knew that the evil within it had been vanquished. I returned to my mother, and boldly explained what had transpired. She was too proud of me to speak!

Jack swelled with pride. Every time he read the story, it touched him in a way that little else could. To think that he had the heroic Nightingale blood in his own veins! He thought, with some jealousy, that it might have been more adventurous in the old days. Ghost hunting was one of the most important jobs in the world, but it didn't carry quite the same air of mystery that it used to. That was part of what made books like this so much fun to read. People actually used to live like that! How exciting! He skipped over the next few chapters of Nightingale's autobiography. He'd spent a handful of early years in the oldest towns in Europe, hoping to find ancient ghosts of any sort. It hadn't worked out for him; it took him a while to get established as a reputable expert of the paranormal, and it was more fun to read about his successes than his struggles anyway. He flipped forward a fair amount before pausing on another one of the full-page sketches. This was of one of the ghastly entities that he encountered several times, and considered his lifelong foe: The Hanged One, a shadowy devil that hung in the air as if from a gallows, no matter whether there was a gallows present or not. Jack could only stand to look at the sketch for so long before turning the page; something about the blank-red eyes or the wispy edges of the thing unsettled him. He was grateful that ghosts didn't look like that anymore. Most of the ones that he'd come across had been variations of green. That was the color a ghost was supposed to be, he thought to himself with a little nod. He flipped another few pages, remembering the chapter when Nightingale had first met the Hanged One. That one always spooked Jack, and he considered whether or not he wanted to get any sleep later. He decided that it was fine. He'd read a couple of the fun chapters afterward.

Excerpt from chapter five, J.F.N.'s Daunting Text, unabridged

It had been six months since I had opened my newest machining shoppe in a scarce-known settlement called Amity Forest. It's the perfect little hamlet - I'm quite certain of this! - and the quiet has allowed me to perform all sorts of experiments that I was unable to before. The first day that I arrived, I admit that I had been rather dubious, but my doubts have long since been laid to rest. Why, I thought, I may just settle down and build myself a little house, if only I knew how to build houses! How fortunate for me that there was a little house for sale already! Of course, I had plenty of funds to spare from my wandering days in the abandoned towns of Italy, and after sailing back to the New World I thought that I may settle down for good! I think, in retrospect, that I may, perhaps, have been better off with some foresight of where I was headed. Amity Forest is a wonderful little town at first glance, but the time I've spent here has allowed me far more glances than just one. I am forced to admit that I may be in over my head. It was the first week after I had finalized the purchase of the house. I was very much at home already, and I had been in a good mood since my first night in a new bed. I came home one sunny afternoon, having been in town for errands regarding this-or-that, when I felt the eyes of a mysterious spirit upon me. I turned, hoping to catch even a glimpse of such a specter, and that was when I saw it. It appeared as if it was a shadow cast by something else entirely, but the shadow itself appeared in the shape of a hanged man, with a bent neck and dangling limbs. Its head was faceless - faceless, except for two burning eyes, which fixed themselves upon me and stared, unblinking. The shadow turned slowly this way and that way, as if there could have even been something holding it up, and even as its head tilted, its eyes remained fixed upon mine. I admit that I'd been so utterly afraid in that moment that I'd turned and run back up the path and into my new home. I'd locked the door behind me, and only then did I regain my senses. A shadowy specter, haunting the very woods in which I lived? John Nightingale fears nothing of the sort! I set to work immediately to rid myself of such a haunt, staying up much later into the night than I had anticipated, and being most thorough in the placement of spectral deterrents around the perimeter of the house. I slept soundly that night, assured that the defenses that I put in place were impenetrable! After that, the shadowy anomaly in the woods utterly and completely slipped my mind. I turned my attention to my newest book, John Nightingale's Book of Ghosts (it has since been completed, and is in the process of publication as I write this new book, An Autobiography by John Nightingale. I suspect that this project will be ongoing for quite some time, and may be the last of my works to be published), and for two days afterwards I was quite happy alone. I discovered on the third day that I was not, as I had thought, alone. I had only seen the anomaly once thus far, and it had been well outside of the yard. Imagine my surprise when I came upon it for the second time, and it was hanging over my garden! I admit, it had been very late when I saw it, and the candles had burned almost to the end so it was very dark, but I know there was no mistaking it. It was the very same specter - of this, I have the utmost certainty. Its red eyes were always fixed upon mine, no matter how I moved or which way it turned as it dangled in the air, and although it said nothing - not even a horrible ghostly wail! - it made its intentions clear. It was in that moment, as I stared, transfixed, at the ghoul outside my window, that I came to an important realization. This was no mere spook, nor a haunt, nor even a poltergeist. This was, in the most awful sense of the word, a revenant. I could hardly believe that I had been afflicted by such a thing - and how? Revenants could only be brought to the realm of the living by way of a direct summoning ritual, and there was no one that I knew of in my life that could possibly have loathed me enough to set one upon me! I knew that the defenses I had set around the house were inadequate. This was no longer a matter of deterring an entity - this was going to be a battle outright, and I had precious little time to prepare. At once, I tossed aside my books and my notes, making as much room as I could to concoct a new, more potent blood salt. I was certain that it would take everything I had - both in experience and in weaponry - to defeat a monster such as a revenant, and I could afford to waste not a second of precious time. For the entirety of that night, the thing stared at me through my front window. Every time I looked back, I fully expected it to have disappeared, only to reappear in the bedroom, or hanging from one of the beams in the hall. It vanished only when the sun began to rise, and I was finally allowed to collapse in exhaustion. For the next two nights I worked tirelessly in an effort to properly defend myself for the next time the revenant appeared. It wasn't until the next day after that, when I paid a visit to the library in the village, that I happened upon mention of the revenant. It's called The Hanged One by most of the people who live here, and it has vanquished at least a dozen witch-hunters prior to myself. If I was to believe what the historical records told me, it would strike again on the night of the new moon. At the time, I had nine days to prepare. I have found out since then that the Hanged One is no normal occurrence of a revenant. It has not, as far as I can tell, been summoned by anyone, and all of my attempts to thwart its terror have failed. I have not ever seen it inside my house, but I wonder if my defenses would hold if it decided to enter. The question still lingers in the back of my mind, in every waking moment: am I to become just another in the list of victims to such an entity?

Jack shuddered. He regretted, almost immediately, that he'd reread this particular portion of the autobiography. He could almost see the spirit, rendered as it had been in the sketch, lurking in any shadow of the house. Why did he do this to himself? He'd tried once to calm himself by skipping to the chapter where Nightingale fights back the Hanged One, but that hadn't made him feel any better. He knew exactly how the story ended - which is to say, it hadn't, even after it had destroyed his house in Amity Forest and forced him to move away to Salem. Nightingale had never fully banished the Hanged One before the day he died. In theory, it could still be out there somewhere. He flipped back to the page with the sketch, making the knot of fear in his stomach twist before he couldn't bear it and looked away. Why do you do this to yourself, Jack? He turned forward, past the end of the autobiography, and set his attention instead on a chapter cataloguing most of the more standard ghosts. This was more familiar territory for Jack; these were the kinds of ghosts that he'd been able to catch, and he tried to set his mind at ease.

Excerpt from chapter ten, J.F.N.'s Daunting Text, unabridged

In my travels, I have encountered several different kinds of otherworldly anomalies, and have spent years researching and cataloguing them. Here, I present the fullest extent of the knowledge of my findings so far. If, in the future, I am able to compile a more complete list, I shall be certain to have published an updated and revised version of this book. If John Nightingale's Book of Ghosts: Revised is seen in the shoppes, do be sure to purchase a copy! There are, of course, several categories of ghostly anomalies. "Ghost," although a term that is applicable to most categories if only in the technical way, is used by experts such as myself to refer to one specific type of entity. Fear not! They will all be described in detail. Creeps - barely on the scale at all. They are usually only seen out of the periphery of one's vision. It took me several days to even be able to capture one for study, but after several attempts I was able to hold one in a glass jar. My conclusion is that Creeps are very difficult to capture because they aren't scary enough - or powerful enough - to be any more than a common nuisance. They also seem to be unusually shy, and would rather escape and hide than cause any sort of ruckus or mayhem, no matter how small. Spooks - generally known as "things that go bump in the night." Spooks are almost as harmless as Creeps; I say "almost" because, while they are equally shy, they will not hesitate to knock over anything left out on a high shelf, or turn hanging portraits upside-down, or cause meat to spoil. Spooks will flee once their antics are noticed, however, and are rarely caught in the act. If you are quick enough to catch a Spook, there is a very obvious way to identify it. They appear very similar to Creeps, but there is a key difference. Does it have teeth? It's a Spook! Ghosts - generally mistaken for Spooks (or, rather, Spooks are often called Ghosts). They will often cause moderate disturbances within one's home, but my newest research indicates that they may not be fully aware of their actions. Ghosts are, in most cases, among the least intelligent paranormal entities to exist. They will often wander through walls or windows as if they aren't there at all, and on more than one occasion I have had to shoo them away from my important research because they kept making such a mess of my notes! The most important thing about these lower classes of entity, however, is that they can all be avoided very easily! A modest line of even low-potency blood salt around the perimeter of your home should be sufficient to deter any and all of these paranormal entities. Spirits - by far the most common sightings. Spirits can even answer questions if properly persuaded! Although not horribly powerful, Spirits do seem to possess willpower and are capable of returning to the same place several times, even if caught and released elsewhere. Unlike Ghosts, Spirits tend to gravitate toward one person specifically, although the reasons for that remain unknown. If you are, or think you are, being followed by a Spirit, the easiest remedy is to bury a rabbit under your front door. Spirits will be unable to follow you into your house, and after a few days they won't even know that the house even exists! Specters - much more devious than Ghosts and Spirits. Specters are capable of appearing whole - whether or not they resemble a man is entirely dependent on the specimen, and they tend to cause mayhem deliberately, rather than by chance. More direct than Spooks and Spirits, Specters will often leave faucets running, lock doors from the inside, and hide valuables or important items. Specters are among the most persistent of any category, and can reappear - sometimes within hours - after even moderately advanced banishment spells. If a specter is terrorizing a household or person (it should be noted that they seem to have no preference over their target), they can only be dissuaded by one of two things. The first is a potent and routinely-maintained spray of Nightingale's Ectoplasmic Repellant, applied generously over the front door of the afflicted house. For best results, reapply at sunrise for ten days. The second - stronger but less readily accessible - solution is to cover all four posts of the afflicted person's bed in solid gold. Gold, as a metal, resists any and all corrosion; this makes it a powerful deterrent for multiple categories of spectral anomalies. Ghasts - these malevolent beings are almost always tied to a specific item. Dolls - especially really creepy ones - are sought out as habitable spaces for Ghasts, and they are more clever than even most witch-hunters give them credit for! In order to determine whether an item is within a Ghast's possession, leave it tied to a hefty brick at the bottom of a tub of water. Come back the next morning; if the item in question has been afflicted, the Ghast will have untied it and removed it from the water. Ghasts, although incapable of direct contact with the realm of the living, are more than willing to cause disruptions around the house. Mysterious disappearances of pets or small children may be attributed to a Ghast - this is especially dangerous because small children's dolls are often the most susceptible to their devilish clutches! Fortunately, there is a very simple way to rid a household or company of a Ghast! Simply take the affected item and throw it off a cliff! Haunts - one of the more severe paranormal afflictions. Haunts will settle into a certain place, and are usually tied to a specific tragedy or event. Victims of disasters, for example, will often return as haunts and affect their previous home, or the place of the disaster. Haunts can be especially violent! The utmost care must be taken in disposing of them, and that task should be left to those who are properly trained! Haunts may, before they have adequate time to sink into a building, keep to the shadows, or possibly present themselves as Spooks or Ghosts. If the remedies for any of the lower-class phenomena have no effect, there is a high chance that a Haunt is actually at fault. If funds are short, or if one wishes to banish a Haunt as a test of their own abilities, there is a way to accomplish it. Nightingale's Elixir of Exorcism should be used in conjunction with the Aint Afraidus No Ghostus banishment spell - but, do be careful! As an added precaution, I personally recommend carrying a vial of Nightingale Emergency Arsenic in the event that a Haunt may attack directly. Get it in the eyes! They hate that! Ghouls - able not only to appear in full form, but also to manifest physically almost anywhere after dark. Ghouls are among the most aggressive categories of paranormal phenomenon, and can injure man and beast alike. Characterized by gaping mouths and sharpened claw-like fingers, Ghouls are a terrifying menace even at first sight! Unfortunately, there are few things on this earth that can destroy them, save for sunlight; a well-lit room is also a very difficult place for a Ghoul to manifest, and it can be one of the only places safe from such a terror in the night-time hours. No attempts should be made to remove or otherwise evict a Ghoul without a professional witch-hunter present! They are easily aggravated and can cause horrible damage in seconds! Ghouls, Poltergeists, and Revenants may be deterred with household items, but such a solution will be only temporary and professional help is necessary to be rid of them. In the case of an emergency, a Ghoul may be placated by prolonged music, but failure to properly entrance it could be disastrous. Poltergeists - one of the most dangerous categories of ghostly occurrence. Poltergeists attach themselves to homes or buildings and will attack the living on sight. The best course of action, if confronted with a Poltergeist affliction, is to run! Staying in the same house as a Poltergeist even for a few days is extremely dangerous, and they will not hesitate to destroy any and all earthly possessions left within their grasp. Revenants - the most powerful of all paranormal forces. Revenants are exceedingly rare, fortunately; they can only be called upon by an exceptionally advanced summoning ritual, and once set loose they cannot be controlled. A Revenant will attach itself to the accursed target, and will stop at nothing until they are destroyed. Only a handful of successful Revenant summonings have ever been recorded in history; only once has such a thing been defeated. If you find yourself unlucky enough to be at the mercy of a Revenant, my only advice is this: pray.

Jack paused. He'd been hoping that he'd be able to get a decent amount of sleep, but the tale of the Hanged One was still stuck in his head. He sighed. He really did do this to himself. Maybe if he crawled into bed with Maddie he'd feel better. The silence of the house at night was unsettling, and he was certain that if he stayed down in the living room too long he'd find himself face-to-shadow with the Hanged One, or maybe some other ghastly apparition from the book. He turned back down to the pages before him. He'd give this one more shot. He flipped to yet another chapter, although his hopes weren't particularly high, and tried one last time to distract himself.

Excerpt from chapter thirty-three, J.F.N.'s Daunting Text, unabridged

I remember the last season I grew petunias - I've since dug them up in favor of a larger plot of bloodflowers - and I must say that I do miss them. They grow very well in the warm summers here, and they carry a rather pleasant scent without overpowering the air. I must make a note of caution, however: none love petunias more than bees and wasps! The best time to prune them is very early in the morning, before such insects can be seen crawling about on them. I have been stung many times over a summer when I have forgotten this! Bloodflowers, on the other hand, are very peculiar plants indeed. They earn their name because of their dark red petals, and because of the fact that, unlike all other plants I know of, they refuse even the richest soil. The first year I planted them in the garden, they'd all withered in ten days. I tried again, and this time kept them well-watered, but to no avail. I had heard that they were somewhat tricky to grow, but surely it had something to do with my soil, and not with me! As it turned out, it had everything to do with my soil. Bloodflowers are unusual plants in many ways; I discovered after several failed attempts to cultivate them that they will only grow if a small piece of meat is buried in the garden every few weeks. The reason for this - at least to my knowledge - is unknown. I learned it from the seller who's been providing me with the cuttings, and one night I thought I may as well give it a try. I kept a few scraps left-over from dinner, and planted them as I would any other seedling. I must admit, it felt quite silly - as if I could perhaps grow a chicken like that! - but the results were simply astonishing. The bloodflowers in my garden prefer chicken to pork, although I'm uncertain if all do, and once I began to provide the correct environment they grew like any other plant. Their blooms are particularly interesting; they grow white buds, and only when the blossoms open up do they suddenly take on their red hue. I have only seen this happen once, and it is such a spectacular occurrence that I know I shall never forget it. The flower bloomed, as flowers do, and the red color appeared on the petals as if the center had been pricked and bled into them. It takes only seconds to stain them, and only then do they gain their multiple intriguing qualities. I had been hesitant, at first, to believe that such a thing existed. One flower, capable of repelling all manner of ghosts, witches, and even the devil himself? Surely, that must be a grand hyperbole! Only when I began cultivating them did I realize how powerful they are, and they have become an important ingredient in many of my most potent elixirs. It's said - and I cannot wait to behold this for myself - that their scent alone is enough to cause a spirit harm, and it is in that hope that I've planted so many. The Hanged One has been vacant from my yard since I began this venture; that encourages me to believe a fuller extent of their mysterious properties. I have used them in the preparation of a relatively simple yet spectacularly versatile substance - the blooms, when picked and dried, can be ground with rock salt and beetle wings into a fine red powder. Blood salt, as I have named the substance, can be used in a wide variety of circumstances; it dissolves into warm water very easily, and I've sold many samples of John Nightingale's Devil Poison already. Surely, if an evil spirit masquerades as a living man, it would be revealed in an instant if the concoction was slipped into a glass of wine! It should be noted, however, that I have yet to find proof of this, as there are no spirits in my home at all, much less any strong enough to present themselves as living men in order for me to put my suspicions to the test. How fortunate for me that I have become so successful at cultivating these plants! I've done my best to make use of the leaves as well, but their only purpose as far as I am aware is to fill my basket of clippings and be thrown out into the woods with the stems. Only the blooms are of any use to me, and so I have kept the garden outside my window where the stout little bushes have flourished. I have noticed, too, that the wasps dislike them almost as much as the ghosts do - that, in my opinion, is a fortunate thing indeed! I had planted the petunias again, very closely against the bloodflowers, in the hopes that they would remain free of pests and insects. They appeared to be free of them, and I was glad for it. Gone are the days of being stung trying to pick a pretty flower! They can now be gathered in peace, and I've made plans already to produce and sell John Nightingale's Wasp-Repelling Powder which can be used by gardeners who have had the same horrible luck as I have...

Jack yawned. His eyes fell out of focus for a moment, and he nearly nodded off. He caught himself, snorted, and blinked a few times; he really should be in bed, he thought, and he shut the book on his lap in an effort to convince himself not to fall asleep on the couch. Right. Sleep. Upstairs. He pulled himself up to his feet, the Daunting Text still in both hands, and set it back up on the top shelf. He yawned again, somewhat satisfied. At least the Hanged One had gone from his mind, and he'd be able to sleep. He thought of the adventurous John Fenton-Nightingale as he shuffled upstairs. He'd read the story about how he met his wife in the morning. Emilia Madeline Fenton was her name, and Jack thought that she must have been the most beautiful woman in the world. Nightingale spent an entire chapter of his autobiography fawning over her; they'd married after only a year, and they'd been inseparable and happy for the rest of their lives. Jack crept into his room. Maddie was fast asleep - she probably had been for at least an hour - and he tried his best not to wake her as he slid into bed. She half-woke anyway, mumbling something about what time is it? but not protesting too much about it. She stretched out somewhat, drifting back off again almost immediately, and went quiet again. Jack draped an arm around her, smiling. His tiredness began to overtake him in an instant; her scent was comfort, and everything slowly melted away into dreams. He dreamt of John Fenton-Nightingale, and all the adventures he had; he dreamt of scientific breakthroughs and spectacular ghost-catching feats; he dreamt of his beloved Maddie, and in that moment he was truly happy.

#danny phantom #phic phight 19 #phic phight #team ghost

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purkinje-effect · 5 years

Text

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 37

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 4. Go to previous. Go to next. TWs: lascivious themes, insects, blood, coprophobia, mysophobia, decomposition. It’s not as explicit as the nosedive or the short story, but he’s revisiting the memory of those things here so.

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Now that the sun had set, little light entered the clubhouse’s lounge lobby through the high paneled windows to either side of the back wall behind the bar or the broken windows at the front. At first, ‘Choly had made his way by the sound of Bogey and Angel chatting, but they fell quiet once he exited the locker room and 'Choly instead came up to the bar by the light the two Mister Handy robots’ thruster flames emitted. He sat at one of the stools with a tired smile, and hooked his cane beside him on the edge of the countertop.

“I hope the change of attire suits you,” Bogey started, to break the silence. ‘Choly looked between the two of them and nodded. “You really must forgive my poor hosting. I was programmed as the bar and grill server, but it’s all bar and no grill as of late. Could I interest you in a drink? I regret to note we’re out of ice at the moment.”

Angel answered on his behalf before he could even consider cocktail options.

“Mister Carey, a Nuka-Cola Wild sounds to your liking, doesn’t it?”

'Choly would have rolled his eyes and objected to the euphemism for a designated driver, were it not for the irony that Angel had still not noticed that he had sampled at least three flavors of bicentennial Nuka-Cola and discovered they’d each turned alcoholic. But, he hadn’t encountered the sarsaparilla flavored variety in mention in the past few months, so although he had a suspicion it too would have fermented, he couldn’t confirm it from personal experience.

“We’re fresh out of Nuka-Cola Wild, I’m afraid,” the brass Handy apologized, believing its patron to be making up his mind as to what to order. “If you’d like something non-alcoholic, could I interest you instead in a Nuka-Cola Classic, or a Nuka-Cola Cherry?”

The chemist gave it a sloppy grin.

“You’re really too kind, Bogey. You don’t need to provide me dinner. I’ve already eaten tonight. Angel has the right idea. A Nuka-Cola Cherry sounds refreshing.”

While pouring the Nuka-Cola Cherry into a highball glass using two pincer tendrils, with the third Bogey surreptitiously flicked on the fusion cell lantern on the counter. The bar area illuminated with a warm coppery glow, and highlighted the myriad of dents in the chassis of the brass Handy. It set the glass in front of ‘Choly, as well as the bottle of what wouldn’t fit, and awaited his approval in bated posture.

“Thanks for the drink. Really hits the spot.” He sighed comfortably. “And thanks for turning on some light. My eyesight isn’t so great anymore.”

Bogey flinched, only to loosen, accepting the gratitude.

“You’ll be staying the night, then?” it fielded at a caution.

“If it’s all right with you, that is.” He took another drink. “You wouldn’t happen to have a straw, would you?”

It provided without skipping a beat, and he smiled approvingly as he fidgeted with the bending section. A straw made it so much easier.

“I suppose you could put down a bed roll behind the bar, or in the corner. Or, if it’s no trouble to you, there is a couch in the ladies’ locker room. We’ve no other patrons on the premises, and haven’t for many years, so I don’t think it would create any fuss.”

This time ‘Choly flinched, but recovered quickly enough to conceal the cause of the discomfort in Bogey’s proposition. He’d sooner admit loathing the idea of sleeping on yet another couch, than that he took exception to the furniture’s location. No, he couldn’t ask either of them to move it, either, because then they might ask why.

“Is this the only lantern?” ‘Choly asked it. “I wouldn’t ask to borrow it, if you need it.”

A little too readily, it nearly foisted the lantern upon him.

“It is! But, neither I nor Angel need it, if you’re so inclined.”

Bogey’s nervousness didn’t go unnoticed. He put a hand to the pincer holding the handle, and looked into its ocular lenses in earnest.

“You’re doing an amazing job. Really. Provided everything that’s happened, I’m still getting the same quality of service as I always have coming here.”

Bogey set down the lantern. It withdrew all its tendrils in close and turned away from him a moment, before glancing back to him by turning its lenses and not its body.

“...I’m glad to have your vote of confidence, Sir. It’s really been far too long since I’ve hosted anyone. You’re the first civil person I’ve encountered in easily a hundred years.”

“I can’t imagine there’s many people left with interest in playing golf, let alone knowledge how to play. The Commonwealth’s always had love affair with baseball, really. I always preferred fairway over diamond. Quiet. Broad. ...Cathartic. A real head space sport.”

“We shall see about arranging you with a bucket in the morning, if you so desire it, Sir. From the sound of things, you could really use a quiet commune."

“I’ve been telling Bogey about the recent series of scraps we’ve found ourselves in, Sir,” Angel elucidated, a little sheepishly. “It’s just I worry for you.”

“As long as you haven’t been exaggerating and telling Bogey I took out that deathclaw all by myself, or any of that,” ‘Choly laughed. He poured the rest of the bottle into the glass now that it had the room. “That couch already beckons. The day has already tried me.”

“It’s been trying for sure,” Angel agreed like a grammarian. “I’ll go lay out your blanket and pillow.”

“And my holotape, if you could,” ‘Choly called off to him once it was halfway to the lockers. “You know the one.”

“Ah yes. A bedtime story. Certainly, Sir!”

‘Choly left the empty glass for Bogey. He nearly reached into his pocket for a tip, but stopped short of the thought process at the realization that in lieu of human coworkers, a Mister Handy had no real use for money. His mouth became a thin line before he shot the brass Handy a huge grin and patted both hands on the counter. Even if it asked for money, he couldn’t in good conscience follow through with that habituation when he’d since learned better of the current economy of the Commonwealth. He stood and took up his cane, and picked up the lantern in the other.

“I must figure out a proper way to repay you for your hospitality before we head out, Bogey. Good night.”

“Oh, it’s quite all right, Sir. If it’s important to you, we can discuss it tomorrow. The only thing pressing at the moment is that you rest well.”

“With the two of you here, I’ll sleep easy for sure.”

“Mister Carey, I’ve arranged your bedding,” Angel reported emerging again from the lockers. “I’ll be right here in the lounge lobby, protecting you and Bogey. Just call for me if you need anything.”

At the mention of Bogey, he turned back to look at the brass Handy, to discover it had put out its pilot light to crouch on its tendrils through the night. His head fell askew as he continued on his way to bed, but he chalked it up to it reserving Handy Fuel. He snapped his fingers. Maintenance. He could provide Bogey maintenance. It’d be nothing as fancy as he’d given Angel, without the proper tools or materials, but surely Bogey had gone decades if not centuries without a re-fuel and a tune up. That would serve the Handy bounds before any currency ever could, especially one isolated in the middle of a large abandoned golfing green.

The ladies’ locker room had fewer lockers and more space. Angel had left not just the ‘Flyblown’ holotape on the coffee table, but also a canister of water, and he set down his glasses and the lantern with them. He’d leave on the light throughout the night, just for sake of it being an unfamiliar location. 'Choly toed his shoes under the faded dark blue leather couch, settled down onto it, and pulled the covers over himself. Since the couch’s arms still had most of their filling, he opted to stuff the pillow between his legs. He popped the holotape into his Pip-Boy’s cassette deck and set to reading to unwind amid the heavy low of the final Melancholia and the slurring comfort of intoxication.

The notion of scandalizing bloatfly syringe usage had rotted into an entirely different context since the conception of the work of fiction. It had been his go-to escapism off and on for months now, but he hadn’t reread it since before he’d escaped the burning pharmacy. Bloatfly syringes no longer exclusively existed in fictional parameters. He’d seen what they were capable of in reality. He found himself glazing over every few paragraphs and having to reread frequently, and ultimately closed the document and turned off the Pip-Boy screen.

‘Choly stared off into the recessed detailing of the ceiling, and how the lantern light, trapped in the crumbling edges of the peeling paint, created the illusion of a pile of dead leaves. He’d dodged death more times than he probably knew in just the last week alone. He could have burned alive in the pharmacy. Jared’s raiders could have caught him and murdered him for killing their leader. The deathclaw could have torn every last one of them apart. Radiation poisoning would have gotten him, if Angel hadn’t found him in the Red Rocket. They could have been blown to bits in that car graveyard. And if that giant mosquito had stabbed him in the chest even an inch further down, it would have pierced his heart. It seemed like just about anything in the wasteland could kill him, and a majority of it would kill him without hesitation.

Inspiration lay in wait all around him. He’d have to get more creative with his bucket list erotica, next time he penned any. Even in the slim chance that Mama Murphy hadn’t explicitly spoken the future into the present, it at least proved he could endeavor that his works act as a form of vicarious self-fulfilling prophecy. He drifted to sleep floating amid the notion that very little stood in the way of fiction becoming reality any longer. He need only apply himself...

‘Choly completed his rooftop chem break for the afternoon, and retired to his office garden to sow a fresh layer of fertilizer. The next thing he knew, he was coming up for air after having his face shoved down in the gardening planter full of brahmin manure. His head swam and swirled with kaleidoscoping hubflowers and flies. Eventually he was washing himself in the Mystic River while Angel laundered his clothing, chastising him all the while as though it believed he’d taken that nosedive on purpose. “Did you intend for that encounter to end your life?” If it’d had a tongue, it’d have clicked it in distaste. A cloud of bloodbugs swarmed him as Angel fish-eyed further and further out of reach. They jabbed him and sprayed his naked body with his own partly-digested blood. The Quincy survivors stood on the opposite bank, staring at him. He tried to cry out for his Mister Handy, but it minded the laundry. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it, Mister Kara?”

He was in the Red Rocket with Jacob again, fucking on the desk. He clawed for breath in a panic as the familiarity of acute radiation poisoning overwhelmed him. Bloatfly larvae packed into the feral ghoul’s fetid features, and they fell off and out of the ghoul and onto ‘Choly. Rather than lingering, they fell off into the floor and all over the desk, seeking to crawl back onto feral ghoul. Tears rolled down his face between the pain and rejection, and he could tell the mosquitoes had infected him with something that caused him acute, rapid swelling in his lower half. He realized the recoolant station office was crowded with other faces, all as rotten and disfigured but just as recognizable as Jacob’s. All of them teemed with those diligent lichinka, in wriggling indifference to ‘Choly. Jared. Mrs. Rosa. Heydar Jahani. Gristle, Lonnie, and Jerry. Jerry, in her power armor frame, with her Fatman perched squarely on her shoulder, ready to fire on him.

He shot awake when Jerry pulled the trigger, and gasped amid smoke. The pharmacy was on fire, and Angel was nowhere to be found. His legs had become so swollen, tight, and stiff, that he couldn’t move. He pulled his face into his shirt collar, and couldn’t stop coughing. A woman in ornate sheer lace lingerie stood before him, rubenesque and redheaded in silhouette of the flames behind her. She administered a Stimpak syringe to her hip and sneered at him with a sustained stare. He knew it was Duchesne, but he didn’t have the breath to call out to her. Stocking-foot and disinterested in the fire, she approached him out of pity. In closer proximity, he recognized she had succumbed to the same flyblown putrescence as the others. “You always wanted to know what the Stimpaks were for, didn’t you?” She administered another, and discarded the empty syringe to the floor. The fold of her thighs roiled with lichinka beneath her panties. “It’s so they don’t leave before they finish what they’re here for.” Duchesne traced a third Stimpak from ‘Choly’s jaw down to his stomach, and he stuttered. Her lip curled in revulsion. Both of them could tell the larvae would not contour to his body despite hers came in proximity. “Not even Radroaches would eat you.”

'Choly awoke hyperventilating in a fever chill. He steadied his breathing as he opened the health tab on his Pip-Boy to double-check it had not sensed blood pathogens of any kind during its diagnosis. No malaria, no filariasis. No bacteria, viruses, or parasites. His tongue stuck to his cotton mouth and he frowned, reaching for the water canister. Sitting up, he wet his throat then washed his face. The sun had risen, and filtered in through the clerestory windows which lined the top of the wall at the half of the locker room with the lavatories and showers. He turned off the lantern, then folded up his blanket.

Like the men’s locker room, the ladies’ lockers had also all been left open, with the patrons’ clothing folded neatly. He skimmed their contents, half-lucid, and realized only in contrast to the women’s garments, what had been missing from the men’s lockers. He helped himself to any socks and stockings he found, as well as a geranium red cashmere sweater. No valuables of any kind lay in either set of lockers: no money, no jewelry, no timepieces. If this place had been looted, the clothing wouldn’t have been folded so ceremoniously. Bogey must have combed it over and deposited all valuables in a safe somewhere on premises. He caught himself scheming whether he needed to sneak around Bogey to determine the safe’s location, and chastised himself for even thinking about taking advantage of such a good host. He put his hands on a pair of lacy black panties and guffawed in delight at the very thought of wearing them, only to jerk in recollection of the nightmare he’d just had, and he flung them down with a nauseated snarl.

He piled his things, old and new, atop the blanket, and carried his effects in this way across the way to the men’s room, where he’d left everything else overnight. He found Angel had slung his canvas spinal corset and Vault Suit over the locker doors to dry, and stared at the blood stains for some time. After pinching the fabrics to test their dryness, he disrobed, slipped on his orthotics, and redressed. He appreciated how tacky it was, to wear one striped sock and one argyle. One mirror in the men’s room had survived, and with it he used a few splashes of water to slick his hair and tuck it into a fresh french twist.

The chemist cursed his initial craving to start his day with a Melancholia, recalling he now had none left. He couldn’t tell if he sought the comfort of the meal replacement, or the nepenthe of the opiates. With a sigh, he opted for the cashmere sweater rather than the sweater vest, and folded the contrast cuffs over the cuffs of the sweater. He then put on his shoes, and went out into the lobby lounge with his cane.

“Good morning, Sir!” Angel sped up to him with a fresh cup of coffee for him. “You slept well, I hope?”

“I think the healing affected me in a bad way,” he murmured, taking the coffee to the closest table to sit. His face scrunched up and stared into the drink. “...This isn’t my mug.”

“...Ah, it’s one of ours,” Bogey explained, also approaching. “Angel told me this morning that, in your haste to escape that explosion yesterday afternoon, the two of you left behind the hot plate and percolator it had been using to brew your coffee. Between my appliances and dishes, and its purified water and coffee grounds, we concerted our efforts to ensure you had a fine drink to awaken to.”

‘Choly’s face journeyed through exasperation to appreciation in a matter of seconds, and he let the mug warm his hands for lack of a better reaction.

“We can easily replace the percolator and hot plate,” Angel reassured. “The hard thing to replace would have been the beans, and that’s still safely stowed in my storage.”

“You can keep the mug, if you like it. A souvenir from the Billerica Golf Course.”

“Heh. You two are just swell--”

He winced at his choice of words, still unable to distance himself from the nightmare. He thanked them both through clenched teeth, and shoved it all down by taking a testing sip of the hot black drink.

“Would you like me to whip up a box of Insta-Mash for you, Sir? Or perhaps you’d rather some more sweet rolls?”

“I’ve honey roasted peanuts, as well.” Bogey dropped five heat-sealed clear bags of peanuts onto the table, then returned to hovering just behind Angel. “If you’d like. It’s all I have.”

He smiled.

“Peanuts and a sweet roll sound superb. My appetite’s not so great when I first wake up. I’ll eat more at lunch.” Angel set the requested pastry before him, but he didn’t eat just yet. He patted his hands together, then wrung them. “In the mean time... Bogey. I’ve been giving it some thought. I have the money for the cola from last night, and for the peanuts and coffee now, and for your hospitality... But you’re the only one on premises, aren’t you? Money’s not going to do you much good if you’re out here all alone.”

“I-- I meant it last night, that you haven’t got to recompense my attentions. It’s been a delight in itself to have someone to tend to again after all these years.”

He persisted in the offer, his smile widening. His nose scrunched to push up his glasses.

“I’m sure Angel’s mentioned that I do maintenance on it, and that I’m responsible for its recent upgrades. I can take a look at you, and see what I can do about anything ailing you. Angel went a long time without upkeep, and I’m sure you need it just as much as it did. You mentioned Angel provided the water, for instance. I can get your condensators working again. And I noticed you put out your pilot light last night. You were conserving gas, weren’t you? I can refill your fuel tank.”

“Oh! that sounds just delightful,” Angel beamed. “Bogey, Mister Carey will get you right as new. You really must say yes. I swear by his care.”

“I... I’m not sure what to say.” Bogey withdrew back by a row of tables, its tendrils curled at its front. “You... you noticed I put out my pilot light. I didn’t mean to give you cause to fret.”

"Neither of you affected the quality of my sleep. I promise.” He bit into his pastry finally, his mouth suffusing with cinnamon oil. “We really can’t stay too long, Bogey. Say you’ll let me look you over before we go. I have to pay back your hospitality and kindness somehow.”

“If you really must insist, a tune up sounds... well, it sounds too good to be true.” Bogey caught itself in the reflex to dart away, and stood firm. “I... I have to admit, I thought you might be one of those... ugh, Devils, when I first caught a glimpse of Angel. I should have known better. Your work is much more sightly, and much more careful. I can certainly appreciate that you stayed within the scope of the General Atomics warranty.”

‘Choly’s brow flattened, then raised slowly from behind his coffee as he sipped.

“Devils? You’ll have to tell me all about it while I work.”

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#fallout 4 #fo4 fanfic #fallout 4 fanfic #sole survivor #mister handy #the anatomy of melancholy #melancholy #angel #bogey #the plot thiccens

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kpopchangedme · 6 years

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To tease you, Yongguk decides to claim that the main character of your popular online Pirates!AU Fanfiction is inspired by him. Little does he know…

Protagonists: Bang Yongguk & You

Word Count: 8.8k

Genre: FicWriter!Au - Friends to lovers - Romance - Smut - Pirates!AU - (Kind of a Fic-ception?)

Rating: NC-17 - NSFW - *Explicit Sex* - *Swearing* - *Violence*

Snippet: “If he is your ruin then so be it. You don’t care, you want it all. You will become his everything and him yours; even if you must vanish into each other tonight. “Please, Guk… Stay…””

Lyz’ note: I was tasked by Santa’s elves to create for the magnificent @yehet-me-up as part of the KpopTrashNet’s Holiday Haul! Here it goes Sarah, I really hope you enjoy this. You’re often using our weaknesses to wreck us and this is my revenge. Also: I’m sorry this took is so long, tell me what you think! HO. HO. HO.

M A S T E R L I S T

The dim light is drawing shadows on the dark stranger’s face, hiding most of his emotions, but you already know he’s unhappy. His breathing is deeper, gaze heavy when he slowly approaches you. To keep your fingers from shaking, you grab the edge of your corset. If there’s a thing your father taught you about pirates it’s that although they abide no laws, they usually respect courage and determination. Sadly, you know you lack both of those qualities. It’s okay though, you just need to make them believe you are strong. The tall man finally comes to a stop when his face is a few centimeters from yours, studying you.

“This doesn’t look anything like a muskets shipment.” Although his gaze is still boring into yours, it’s clear he’s talking to the small and stocky built man that brought you here.

“The w-weapons were gone, Cap’n!” There’s fear in his voice and you try to not think too much about why he seems to be so afraid of the man in front of you. “Somebody t-tip them off… We took her instead; she’s the d-daughter of the Gov’nor.”

At this revelation, the Captain’s face pales and his eyes leave yours to briefly glance the man’s way.

“Leave us.” His order is immediately obeyed and the door slams when the pirate hurriedly exits the cabin.

You know you promised yourself that you’d stay strong, but the perspective of being left alone in the Captain’s room makes you panic. Without really meaning to, you try to take a step back, only to be stopped by a piece of furniture.

“Is it true?” The stranger leans in too close, not bothered the slightest by your evident display of fear. He smells of rum, salt and sweat.

“Yes.” You force yourself to roll back your shoulders, proudly. “I am y/n, daughter of the Governor of this holy land and coast.” You raise your chin, braving his glare again and you’re surprised when he smirks, amused by your change of attitude.

“Not that. I don’t care who your father is; I’m not into hostage trading.” He tilts his head and licks his lips, letting his words sink in. “How did your father hear about our little raid?”

Not into hostage trading. Meaning you’re not getting off this ship, at least not alive. Incapable of stopping your panicked train of thoughts, your eyes flutter to the Captain’s unmade bed. Dead or maybe even worse.

Annoyed by your lack of response, the dark man follows your gaze. When he realizes what you’re thinking; he takes a fast step back and you turn your attention to him, surprised by his actions yet again. He’s now leaning against a low table, his fingers leisurely toying with a beautiful feather. He’s avoiding to look your way.

“I… I am not into rape either.” This time his voice is striped from the coldness it held earlier. “You will not be touched as long as you are under my guard. This is my ship and the men here abide by my rules. You can trust me when I say that you are safe… As long as you stay-”

“Why should I trust your words?” You don’t know why you spoke and immediately after it leaves your mouth, you regret everything. The Captain eyebrows shoot up and he bites his lips, refraining from laughing.

“You’re right; if I were you I would not trust me…” He shrugs and studies your reaction. “You are feisty, I like that.” He smiles widely; the gesture transforming his traits into a softer, almost reassuring, expression. “It’s strange, now I feel like convincing you!” The man shakes his head as he stands up and walks towards the door. “Don’t try to leave this cabin, you’re way safer inside… And don’t worry…” He pauses to look at you one last time, an arrogant smirk plastered on his face. “I’ll come back when I have an answer to give you!”

Kicking open the door, he disappears in-

“Don’t!” Your fingers freeze over the keyboard. “I’m writing do not read above my shoulder, you know I hate that!” Yongguk lets out a hollow chuckle, moving aside to drop on the chair next to you.

“Don’t be so mean Austen, I come bearing gifts!” You wince at the nickname, but as if he hasn’t done anything wrong, your friend slides a new cup of coffee next to your laptop. He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, waiting for you to take a sip, before opening his mouth again. “I’m glad I ran into you, Daehyun wanted me to make sure you are coming to his house-warming party tomorrow.”

“I don’t know, it depends on how it goes. I’m busy with this week’s update.” You vaguely gesture your laptop and Yongguk laughs again.

“I know, I’m happy to discover that they actually meet in the 3rd chapter! I’ve been reading it too…”

“You really have?” You ask, tentatively taking a second sip of the coffee he brought you. It’s perfect, mixed just like you love it. “Why? It makes me nervous if you say you’re reading my work…”

“Hundreds of strangers read it, why should I make you more nervous?” Your old friend shrugs and you stare as he mindlessly licks the foam his own latte left on his lips. “Is it because it’s about me?” He tears his eyes away from the wooden table he was staring at to meet your gaze and grins mischievously.

“No! Why would you say that?” You snap your head in direction of your laptop screen; anywhere but him.

“Here.” He points to the last paragraph on the screen. “I’ve said that. You asked why you should trust a guy like me and that was my answer. Those were my exact words. You were so mad back then.”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes back and slam your laptop shut, nearly catching his finger. It’s true; you drew inspiration from the first time you two met back in college, still, it doesn’t mean that he is the character.

“Fine, I wrote that because you used to be kinda cool.” Yongguk’s smile widens almost inhumanly at your statement and you know you better add something to deflate him. “Are you a mysterious lonely pirate? The smooth Captain of a ship full of blood-thirsty hoodlums?” He shakes his head negatively but continues to stare at you with his amused expression. “See? He, is not you: are you a sensual corsair looking for love?”

“I mean…” Yongguk tilts his head to the side, hesitating about something. “… I could be.” He leans closer, reaching to push your hair behind your ear, the tips of his fingers linger, voluntarily grazing your cheek. You freeze, completely lost and blushing at his sudden proximity. You realize your lips parted slightly by reflex when you catch him glancing at your mouth and you move slightly away. “Is this smooth enough for a lonely corsair?” Going back to his usual self, he blinks coyly. “You see? Aren’t I still cool? I still got it!” He ends up beaming again when it becomes clear you won’t answer his questions.

You both used to fool around. Partied too much together when you were younger and occasionally ended up making out in dark alleys in the middle of the night. None of you ever pushed it further though, nor ever brought it up. That’s why his move surprised you and took you back to those fleeting memories. Except it’s the middle of the day, years later and you’re both way too sober to be remembering that.

“So, Daehyun?” You clear your throat to regain control and he nods.

“I could text you his new address, but he moved into my building… Except not on my floor, thankfully.”

“It’s so weird that he’s out of the dorm, I wonder how the guys feel…” Yongguk shrugs; he was the first to move out almost a year ago. “It seems like only yesterday I was helping you all to move in together…”

“And Himchan was mad at you for almost a year because of that scratch on his table.” You laugh but wince almost immediately at the memory.

“Ugh, happier days, when we ignored he could be that frightening!” Yongguk scoffs, eyebrows raising up.

“You; used to ignore Himchan could be scary. I was never that naive!” Saying that he stands up on his feet. “I need to get going. I saw you by chance from outside the coffee shop, but I was actually on my way to the hospital.”

“Ah! You see, that’s why you can’t be my pirate! You’re all motherhood and apple pie; cool corsairs don’t volunteer at children’ hospitals on their free days!” He chuckles and fakes to think about it.

“Are you absolutely sure? I’ll ask the next time I meet a mysterious and sensual pirate…” Laughing, you watch him grab the messenger bag he dropped under your table earlier. “Oh, by the way, y/n?”

“Yes?” You open your laptop, already thinking about the rest of this week’s chapter.

“What’s his name, your pirate? Because you haven’t mentioned it in the previous chapters and I am pretty sure that… Captain Bang sounds about right!” He playfully winks at you and walks away without waiting to hear your protestations.

Maybe he was right. Perhaps you should stay in that cabin but after 8 days of captivity you just have to, at least, do something. When you first hear the screams and muskets firing, you directly assume that the Royal Navy is attacking the pirates. You’re relieved, they probably found the ship at your father’s request and are trying to get you back. That’s why you try to peek outside. In front of the door, the darkened corridor is completely empty. The boy responsible for your meals, your personal jailor, isn’t even guarding it anymore. You assume he left to murder poor soldiers of his Majesty on deck with his companions and without thinking twice, you make a run for it.

It’s annoying, now that you’re finally leaving that damn room, you can’t help but think back to the words the Captain said to you the first day of your kidnapping about your safety. You don’t want to ponder on them now. You have no idea where you should go or what you should be doing, you’re just running in direction of the deck. Finding and throwing yourself in front of the first man in a uniform would probably be the most efficient method to be rescued. You follow the sound of the screams in hopes of finding someone. You barely have time to register that you’re emerging on deck when the reality of the situation hits you.

“Bloody hell” You swear, a rare occurrence, as you witness the slaughter in front of you.

No, this is definitely not the Royal Navy. Too bad, it’s too late. You grasp the next bribes of information through impossibly short impressions rather than logical thinking; the omnipresent smell of gunpowder in the air, the main mast burning, the sun dipping low on the horizon and sounds of sword fights and gun firing everywhere around you. Your luxurious jail now seems like a safe haven. You turn back; how did you even get so far on deck? You’re a few meters away from the entrance you came from. It would have been smarter to take a peak before running out, but you were just too focused on getting rescued. In your haste, you slip on the wooden floor and fall on something soft; someone.

You push the body away, scared, but when you look, you recognize him: Jihun, that’s his name, your jailor, although he inappropriately called himself your bodyguard. When he presented himself, the first night of your captivity he tried to give you a dirty handkerchief to wipe your tears, but you ignored him. Now that he’s lying there, in front of you, holding his own guts with both hands, it’s impossible to do the same thing. Forgetting where you are, you stare in horror at the blood slowly spilling out of his torn abdomen. The boy can’t be much older than your youngest brother, around 17. You press your shaking hands on his bloody ones, seemingly waking him up from his daze.

Jihun stares at you for a few seconds in amazement before remembering his surroundings. He tries to push your hands away, but you fight back to help him, tears stinging the corner of your eyes. You hate to admit it, but he was nothing but decent with you and nobody this young deserves something like this. Jihun renounces and reaches for something on his right instead. You feel a cold object getting pressed in your palm; his pistol.

It’s clear that the boy is dying right here, on the dirty deck of this vessel, where he won’t get a proper burial, not even a single prayer. He opens his mouth, but blood spills out instead of the words he intended to speak. The dark sanguine fluid contrasts with the pallor of his skin. It hits you how he already looks like a corpse although his body is still warm, he must not have a lot longer to live. Jihun’s gaze grows glassy, distant, but he still presses his pistol into your hand and motions for you to leave with one finger.

The boy is dying, he knows this, but still, he’s trying to make sure you make it back to safety.

When your fingers finally stop the pressure on his open wound and grasp the cross of the metal gun, his lips curl shyly upward.

He is gone now.

Shaking, you rise to your feet and turn in direction of the corridor leading to the Captain’s cabin. You need to go back now before it’s too late and you end up like your young bodyguard.

You make a run for it. Holding your heavy skirts in one hand and the pistol in the other; you race. It’s curious how nobody seems to notice you, they’re all busy fighting for their lives, close, yet so far away. You’ve almost made it to safety when you’re suddenly yanked into the opening and unceremoniously pinned against the wall.

Captain Bang is staring back at you, enraged.

You lean back in your chair, satisfied. Stretching your arms above your head, you let out a loud yawn. If somebody dies in the chapter, should I put an additional warning for the readers? You rub your eyes and glance at your phone’s lockscreen.

1:16am

Maybe you should go to sleep and wake up early tomorrow morning to finish that chapter. You need to upload it before Daehyun’s party if you don’t want to wake up to passive aggressive update requests Sunday morning.

You stare for a second at the last sentence on the screen before saving and shutting off the laptop. Captain Bang, you scoff. It does seem rather fitting for a pirate. At first, you thought it would be a fun way to get back at Yongguk, but the more you think about it, the more you fall for the name.

Only now, it is impossible to not picture him as the love interest in your story. You bite your lips, imagining your friend in the Captain’s tight hide trousers and loose white shirt. What a bad idea. Yongguk shouldn’t have joked about this sort of thing. Ever since you coincidentally met him this morning, you haven’t been able to keep this image out of your mind. It’s true you drew inspiration from your first meeting, but the pirate character was born of a fantasy, something that had nothing to do with him. Well, a fantasy that used to have nothing to do with him… It’s not surprising that when you finally fall asleep that night, you dream of your first meeting.

It’s officially 2:00pm and he isn’t here. You scribble the word “LATE.” on the corner of your notebook. You were annoyed, but now you are straight up pissed. This only confirms the suspicions you had when you were paired with the tall dark man in the back of the class. Your friends were all jealous, but you immediately knew it meant that you’d have to do the bigger part of the project all alone. You weren’t a fan of the good-looking-guy-often-skipping-class types, but maybe if you carefully kept track of his whereabouts, the teacher would understand and reduce his note consequently.

At 2:20pm, you’re still sitting all alone in the coffee shop, so you find yourself stalking his Facebook profile.

Bang Yongguk. Status: single. Born in March 1990.

You scoff, the man’s so late, of course; he’s an Aries! He’s making you wait and he’s actually younger than you by a few months.

His description box catches your attention and you roll your eyes: “"Do what you like and love what you do“ - Ray Bradbury”

Moving on, you scroll down on his wall, looking for something interesting about your assigned partner. Not much is public, but after a few memes posted by his friends, you find a single photo with his brother, a twin, paired with a curious caption: “Flashing Lights. Hip Hop for life. Proud bro.” You’re not sure what it means, but you know he’s a music major, so maybe he’s into rap or that sort of thing. Studying the picture, you take a sip of your coffee. The girls in your class were right; the man’s gorgeous.

“Are you stalking me?” You almost drop the hot liquid on your lap when you hear a low voice above your shoulder. He smirks when he sits in the chair in front of you and opens his bag. “Hi, y/n, I believe you already know my name, enchanted.” There’s something more to his voice, a small shyness you wouldn’t have guessed. You blush from embarrassment, but then remember that you’re mad at him.

“You’re 30 minutes late, I have to start my shift here at 3pm!” You sigh and he freezes, his arm mid-way out of his bag.

“Sorry, I’ll forget to tease you about the stalking if you let my tardiness go?” He glances up with a timid smile before carefully placing his laptop on the table between you two.

“Let it go? Are you always going to be late like that?” The shy curl of his lips disappears completely and you would feel sorry about it if you weren’t so fed up with people using you for college projects.

“Sorry.” He blinks, expressionless.

“I was looking you up to see if you had an accident. I was about to research about spontaneous human combustion!” You cross your arms and he struggles to hide his amusement.

“Actually I was just volunt-”

“Scratch that. I’m sorry if I’m being an asshole, but if you weren’t dying, rescuing kittens from a house fire or saving children’ lives, I actually don’t want to hear it.” This time Yongguk can’t help himself. You’re surprised because he laughs hollowly like you’ve said something incredibly funny like he’s aware of something you ignore. “Look, I just want to finish the project. We only have two weeks and after that, we won’t ever have to see each other again. Let’s just divide the work, I know you’re in music and this class probably isn’t serious to you, but I don’t want to carry you as a dead weight.” He freezes again before starting to pack his things back in. You bite your lips, perhaps you were too harsh, but you’ve met many students like him.

“I have no idea what you think you know about me, but you’re wrong. I won’t let you do the work alone and I didn’t choose this literature class to half-ass it. It’s one of my favourite subjects.” When he zips his bag, you open your mouth to try to protest, but he continues: “We could just exchange emails, but instead, I’d prefer to meet you here before your shifts to discuss. Do you mind?”

“Euh, no?”

“Perfect. Just bother worrying about your part, I’m quite an exigent partner! You can trust me to do mine just fine!” Your part? You roll your eyes, annoyed at his insinuations.

“Why should I trust you? We are just forced to be teammates, sorry to point that out-” You gesture him vaguely with your hand; his long black floppy hair and loose Hip Hop t-shirt. “But you’re not the type of person I trust blindly! Plus; you just arrived, but you’re already leaving! So why would I ever trust you?”

“Why trust me? You need a reason?” He grins with all his teeth, clearly enjoying your little confrontation. His smile is breathtaking and your mind goes blank, betraying you. “You said you have to work! But don’t worry, I’ll come back when I have an answer to give you!”

With that, he is gone and you’re left alone in the half-empty coffee shop. You scoff thinking back of the man’s arrogance. It’s weird, for a second, you were almost sure he was a bit shy. You bring your palm to your burning cheek; you can’t deny the effect his words had on you. Annoyingly enough, you feel like you don’t really need an answer to your question anymore.

Waiting is pure torture. You were able to clean your bloody hands in the water bassinet kept in the cabin, but somehow they still feel stained. You had never seen somebody die of a violent death before today. Or was it yesterday? You don’t know, you can’t sleep. You heard of the violence committed by pirates as scary stories, they attack, gut and take women all for the sake of gain, but you had never seen it. Jihun’s face haunts you; his last smile. The Captain was furious when he dragged you back to the cabin, but since then he hasn’t come back. Nobody has. Your shock passed, the echoes of the fight faded, but still, no one came. Perhaps they’re all dead, this thought may be scary, but getting out again to find out is even scarier, so you stay hidden. Like he ordered you to.

He finally comes at night. When he does, he enters in silence and drops on the chair at the desk, his desk. This is his room you remember that fact and blush, despite the situation, you’re actually lying on a man’s bed. You never witnessed a man’s intimacy before your kidnapping, let alone live in a man’s room. The Captain’s eyes are closed, he hasn’t even looked your way. You know it’s wrong, but you find yourself really wanting him to.

“Well…” You clear your throat, sitting up. “I don’t think I need an answer to my question anymore…”

“I thought you were sleeping.” If he’s surprised, he doesn’t let it show. He still keeps his eyes closed and his head rests on the chair back. The unique oil lamp in the room is placed on the desk, lighting his features and his raven hair. Resting like that he doesn’t seem so scary, his presence is strangely comforting to you. You prefer staying here rather than switch captors, you already accepted this reality; you really do trust him now. “You can stop watching me, I won’t bother you. I just came to rest away from my men.”

“I wasn’t-” You bite your cheek. “That’s not what I…” You stop talking and blush even darker, the truth wouldn’t be less embarrassing than his assumptions. The man opens his eyes and turns your way.

“Is it because you have questions?” His jaw tightens and the veins of his neck swell. “Jihun and many more are dead, but we won, so you don’t have to worry anymore.” Jihun. Without realizing, you wipe a fugitive tear on your cheek. The Captain silently watches as you cry, you wonder what he’s thinking, but that’s not what you want to ask.

“Were they also pirates?”

“Mercenaries…” He gives you a curious look.

“Mercenaries? Why?” He turns his head away and you think it must be a silly question to ask, probably for weapons or treasures.

“You.” His voice is even lower this time, almost inaudible. “Somebody paid a lot of money to get you….”

“My father?” His words make you nauseous, those people died because of you.

“Yes… Your father sent the Royal Navy, but they couldn’t catch up to us.” He smirks at that, but his face falls when he notices that you started to cry again. “Probably angered the Governor… They asked nicely and we told them that we weren’t going to sell you…” The man frowns this time, standing up to sit on the edge of the bed. “Are you alright? Why are you crying? I told you about that already.”

“W-What?”

“That I don’t trade hostages; I told you I’d keep you safe until I find a solution! Those scumbags… Well, you probably wouldn’t have a private room on their ship. It doesn’t matter how much your father is paying…” You wipe your cheeks again; it’s weird how you thought you should trick the pirates into believing you were courageous. All you ever do here, since your first day, is be a cry baby. “So… Please don’t cry anymore, okay? I’ll find a way to get you home somehow… You just need to stay here.”

“Jihun… He was just a kid.”

“Jihun was a good pirate, not a kid. He knew what the ocean life meant…”

“He died because of me…” The Captain turns to stone, his body a mere meter away from you.

“No…” You can hear the tension in his voice and you raise your eyes, only to discover distress on his face. “I did it.” He brings the back of his hand to delicately wipe one of your stained cheeks. You wonder if the gesture is even more comforting to him than it is to you. “Don’t cry anymore, I’m the only one bearing that.”

After that night, the Captain starts to visit you almost every evening. When you complain that you are bored, he brings you books; stories of adventures and passionate love affairs that make you blush, stuff you wouldn’t have known existed before. When you say you feel lonely, he jokes about his company not being entertaining enough for a lady. He starts playing cards and dice games with you and some of his men. When you tentatively mention feeling stuffy, he brings you out for a walk on the deck at night and teaches you about his favourite constellations. When the day comes where he mentions that the ship is almost back to your father’s harbour, you realise you’re more scared of what you used to call home than a vessel full of pirates.

The day after this announcement, he comes in abruptly. He doesn’t even knock, he just enters and walks in, slightly unsteady.

“Jesus Christ! Guk, are you hurt!?” He drops himself on the bed and you follow with concern. You stop in front of him; he brings one of his fingers to your mouth. The hot contact on your lips spreads goosebumps all over your body.

“Shhh- Don’t swear, feisty lady!” You wince at the bad nickname and he raises his eyes to meet yours, a strange look on his face. “Would you really care if I hurt?”

“Yes…” You’re breath hitches when his fingers move down under your chin. “Are you drunk?”

“I am hurt.” Ignoring your question, he whines. “Why do you hurt so much?” You stiffen at his words, not sure to understand what he means.

“W-what?” Neglecting to answer once again, he encircles your waist and buries his face in your clothes.

“I didn’t know it would be that painful…” Without really knowing why, you find yourself shielding him in your arms and toying with his black hair.

“Me neither…” Slowly, you sit next to him on the bed and he sighs into you. You both stay like this for a moment that feels like everything, until he pulls away. His face is close to yours, so much so, that you are lost in the softness of his brown irises. Somehow, his right hand has found its way to your lower back. He’s using it to draw small circles with his palm; the warm sensation is waking something entirely new in your stomach. Weirdly, the foreign tingling doesn’t scare you but seems to be pulling you even closer.

“I don’t think I can keep you safe anymore.” His breath on your cheek makes you shiver in anticipation and you watch as he licks his lips.

“Then don’t.” When the words leave your mouth, you see a hint of incertitude on his face, but you close your eyes and lean in.

At first, the Captain doesn’t react much, then he lets the desire take over. His lips move against yours, eager and you fight back. The kiss is messy and needy. His lips taste like what you believed heaven would and when he begins exploring your mouth, you discover his tongue is as sweet as rum. You suck it and he moans, leaning even more into you. His hands explore your body, playing with your hair, then with the ribbon of your loose corset. He tries to pull back, but you hold on, fingers intertwined in his hair. If feels as though you don’t need to breathe; together you are one and if you must die, then you want him to consume you. Your whole body is burning, the sensations are devouring you. You’ve been aware of your own feelings for a few weeks now; he is your end, you won’t ever need to leave this ship. Suddenly, he pulls back, panting.

“I think I’m the thing threatening you tonight… I should go…” You don’t hesitate when he tries to stand up and you grab his shirt to keep him close.

If he is your ruin then so be it. You don’t care, you want it all. You will become his everything and him yours; even if you must vanish into each other tonight.

“Please, Guk… Stay…”

You nailed it, the new chapter was uploaded this afternoon. Now you can just relax and enjoy Daehyun’s party, even if it means avoiding Yongguk. It seems like an easy task; he’s nowhere to be seen until 11pm and even then, he disappears with a man to discuss something about his music. You’re glad that he doesn’t try to talk to you at all, perhaps he didn’t even have time to read the chapter. You’re overreacting, but you shouldn’t have named the Captain after him. You knew one hour after the upload that it was a mistake. Not because you were anticipating your friends’ reactions, but because you grew anxious and scared of his opinion. Even now, you’re not quite sure if you want him to like or hate it. You probably wouldn’t mind it as much if you hadn’t spent the last 36 hours fantasizing non-stop about your best friend. Like a jerk.

“Y/n, do you want another glass of wine?” Hana, Daehyun’s girlfriend, turns to you like a saviour.

“Yes, thank you!” You grab the glass, looking once more around the room to make sure that Yongguk is not mingling in the kitchen. You catch Hana staring at you and you exchange smiles. She’s way more reserved than the rest of the group of friends, which has always been kind of intimidating to you. You never know what to say to people like that, you’re good at conversations that keep going back and forth. Talking with a silent introvert has a history of turning you into a rambling mess, Yongguk is no exception to that rule.

“Are you looking for Yongguk?” You almost choke on your sip of wine at her question and shake your head vehemently. “He’s talking with Jinyoung in the living room.”

“No, I wasn’t- Why would I be looking for him?” She gives you a puzzled look and shrugs. You’re usually hanging with him during those events, after all, he’s the one who introduced you to the boys. “Ah, actually, I’ll go talk to him sometimes… later…” Hana nods, unconvinced, but if she’s curious she doesn’t let it show. You feel a strong arm wrap around your neck and freeze, relieved when Youngjae speaks with his usual cheery tone.

“Have you asked her about it yet?!” You wince, it’s not like you didn’t know this would come up tonight. It’s a chance that the person of interest isn’t here right now. “Because we want answers!”

“Ask me what?” You play dumb and Daehyun who appeared at the same time as his partner in crime laughs knowingly.

“About your story!” Youngjae giggles in your ear and you wiggle out of his hug, while Hana shoots you a sorry look.

“Hana told me that the sexy pirate AND love interest of your current story has sort of a familiar feel-OUCH!” Dae whines after his wife elbow him. She may be on the quiet side, but she definitely knows how to handle her extra lover.

“I didn’t tell him…” Hana looks at you with sincerity before turning to Daehyun who still is rubbing his ribs. “He just doesn’t want to say he reads it himself!” Youngjae squeals, hitting both of his friend shoulders excitedly.

“HEY! Nonononononono- It’s because of that dance practice after care one!” He pushes Youngjae back.

“My Show Me Everything smut?” You crinkle your nose at the thought of your friends enjoying your erotic stories. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been doing this, you can’t help but still find it a bit cringe-worthy.

“Yes, Hana made me read that one! It all started because she really wanted to try som-”

“SHUT UP!” Everybody in the kitchen stops to look at Hana when she screams. Even Youngjae doesn’t dare to push his curiosity further when he sees the cute girl with her face covered by her hands. The tips of her ears are bright red and she slaps her husband’s hand away when he reaches for her cheek

“Glad to know you read me Dae” You poke his arm teasingly and he grimaces. “But don’t overshare or I’ll use it and-”

“You’ll what?” Youngjae cuts you off, onto something. “Name a sex beast character after him?” While both Daehyun and he burst out laughing, Hana risks looking up at you to see your reaction.

“Sex beast?!” You roll your eyes dramatically. “Are you sure you read that story, there’s no sex!”

“Yet… No sex yet!” Everybody freezes when Yongguk makes his entrance, an amused smirk on his lips. “Can I talk to you, outside?” Here it comes; the moment you were dreading all night. He tilts his head to the side, curious when you say nothing back. It’s Youngjae who wakes you up from your daze with his usual teasing.

“ARRR!” He grunts, offering you all his best pirate impression and Daehyun laughs loudly, encouraging him. “Fancy a glass of grog tonigh’ Cap’n?” Shoving past them, you grab Yongguk’s sleeve to get away. You hear him laugh too when Daehyun yells “YO HO HO!” as you pass by, but you ignore them.

Zelo, who’s in deep conversation with a girl in a corner, catches your gaze as you exit the room. He winks your way and raises his index finger in front of him, curving it like a hook. Great, everybody’s in on it!

Yongguk leads you down the corridor to one of the bedrooms that’s left empty by the guests of Daehyun and Hana’s housewarming party. Not only is the newlyweds’ apartment in his building, it’s also the exact same disposition as his place. He pauses to see you’re following him before going inside the darkened room. None of you turns the light on, so the room stays dim lit, most of the lighting coming in through the cracked open door. You’re growing even more anxious. Earlier, he didn’t seem angry or annoyed, but he avoided you all night too and he never acted like that before.

“So…” You breathe out because he’s staring at you in silence and it’s very intimidating. “What do you want to talk about?”

“That kiss!” He sounds still amused by all this and you frown, uncertain. You assumed he would want to discuss the name of the main character, his name, not the storyline.

“What about it? That is a love story, Yongguk… Haven’t you read the preface?”

“You made our characters kiss…” Ignoring your question, he takes a step closer and you back up against a wall, feeling trapped.

“I already told you…” Somehow, you’re troubled by his demeanour. He always had moments like this; ones where you were absolutely unable to tell what he was thinking, but it’s been a long time. “That pirate. Is. Not. You…” He scoffs at this and you feel his breath on your face. He’s way too close, what is he doing?

“Or so you keep claiming, but you named him after me.” Yongguk brings his hand above your head, towering over you. “So tell me, again. Tell me you weren’t thinking of me, at all, when you wrote that.”

“Wow, you’re so full of yourself!” He smirks at this, you sound less than convincing and he knows it very well. “What are you doing? We aren’t kids anymore…”

“I want to know what happens next…” He ignores you again and your breath hitches when he licks his lips, gazing down at you through his lashes.

“A-are you into spoilers, Bang?”

“Yes…” He gulps, getting closer. Suddenly, you flashback to those drunk nights out in college, those very dark alleys… “Will you humour me?” You don’t know when it happened, but his other hand is now rubbing small circles down your lower back. Just like you wrote, just like you imagined he would do; you close your eyes, knowing what comes next. His lips are soft and warm on yours, nothing but a delicate touch. It’s just the same as when you were young, the calm before… Something entirely different…

“Are you drunk?” You pull back, worried of letting it go too far and his eyes widen in surprise, shining in the darkness.

“Do you think I have to be drunk to kiss you?” You nod and he shakes his head, annoyed. “I didn’t get a single drink tonight, you were in the kitchen. I couldn’t possibly go there without seeing you, without wanting to…” He brings his fingers under your chin, softly pecking your lips again. “That.” He smiles his usual smile, the one you used to believe was full of shyness when in fact it’s just pure sincerity. “I can’t stop thinking about that, you shouldn’t be allowed to write things like this.”

It’s your turn to ignore him, you pull on his collar, lowering him to kiss you again. After all, you wrote about that scene and couldn’t stop thinking about it either. That new kiss isn’t soft like the other ones. He opens your mouth and pushes himself inside, exploring with his tongue and you grip his hair to keep him close. Yongguk traps your body against the wall, pressing himself on you. You toy with his lips, sucking and nibbling, making him grunt in your mouth. His hands roam your body, riding up your dress to give himself access to your ass. This is new, you think, this is great; he never did that before. You moan loudly when his hands massage your thighs, climbing up and he chuckles, pleased. You both want it and need this, you roll your exposed hips and Yongguk moans.

“-and this room is the guest bedroom and my own personal stud- OH SHIT!” It’s like time is frozen when Daehyun flicks the light open. You and Yongguk both stop and tear apart, but it’s clear the intruders had a great view of your body. You’re eyes meet Jongup’s, who’s accompanying Dae, and he turns away, burning red.

“Gentlemen…” Yongguk grabs your hand, leaving the room with a nod when you pass the boys. “Sorry, we’re leaving so soon!” He drags you along towards the front door and you follow, too happy to care about what your friends are thinking.

Somewhere down the corridor, Youngjae stretches his neck to see what the commotion is: “I KNEW IT!” He screams, earning himself a slap across the chest from Hana.

Yongguk’s place is two floors lower, that’s where he takes you. When you make it, his hands immediately continue their exploration. He guides you to his room, not slowing down a bit when you begin to speak

“It’s funny, earlier, you just said you wanted to talk.” You turn to face him, pecking down his neck and trying to tug his shirt above his head. “I love how you talk about things.”

“You know I’m not a big talker.” He chuckles, helping you with his shirt and immediately attacking his belt to get rid of his pants. ”Tell me what happens in the next chapter, we can discuss things even more.” You sit down on his bed, not sure what he means.

“What? My story?”

“Yes…” He sits next to you, half-naked, sliding his hand in your lower back to rub small circles again. “What do they do after that kiss? After she asks the Captain to stay, I want to know about that.”

“Spoilers?” You gulp nervously. You’re so comfortable with Yongguk, that you haven’t thought twice about what is happening between you, yet. You have no idea where the story is going. “I don’t know, it’s not written yet…”

“Do you want me to tell you then?” He pushes you on the bed and climbs over, eyes beaming. “He could tell her about how he has been wanting her ever since they first met…” Yongguk begins to suck your right earlobe and hums against your skin. You feel him getting hard on your leg and he presses on you, grinding almost subconsciously. “Forget that! Even before their first meeting; he was missing her. He could say he wants to give himself to her, ask if she’s willing to be his everything.” He pauses, hesitating. “Say he wants to fall asleep next to her every night…” Your heartbeat dangerously accelerates at his words you bite your lips to stay calm.

“Guk?” He grunts in response. “Nobody wants to read about that kind of sickeningly sweet romance…” He sits back between your legs, a mysterious look on his face.

“What’s wrong about fluff?” You shrug, too busy admiring his torso instead of actually thinking of an answer. “Well, then I have a few other ideas that could help you…” He rolls up your dress up until your panties are exposed, throwing it over your shoulders. You raise your eyes to meet his again, now he’s got your full attention. “I bet the pirate likes it hard, don’t you think so?” Your eyes widen and he slides a hand to your panties, his thumb brushing over the wetness of your already apparent arousal. He chuckles, tilting his head to the side. “Or is he into teasing?” He presses harder, rubbing the soft fabric and you curl, craving fiction.

“Guk… N-no teasing…” He takes his hand off, licking his lips with a skeptic look.

“I’m pretty sure that’s what the next chapter is all about, though…” You lift yourself on your elbows to protest, but your words turn into moans when he resumes his misdemeanours. Yongguk hooks his fingers to your panties, sliding them off your legs. You try to cover yourself, embarrassed, but he grabs your hands, holding onto to them as he drops kisses on the inside of your thighs. “You say you don’t want to be teased, but you’ve been tormenting me for way longer… I think it’s just fair game. ” He freezes, inches away from your core to stare at you and you sigh deeply, head hanging low, defeated. He blows on your core and you wiggle, miffed. He can’t help but laugh at your evident frustration.

“For fuck sake’s Yongguk, I already capitulated!”

“Did you?” He quirks a questioning brow, his voice is even lower than usual, sinful.

“I do now! Stop teasing!”

“I haven’t done anything yet! Besides, haven’t you heard my policy?” You sigh, irritated and bite your lips to keep from answering something you’d regret. Yongguk gently bites the interior of your leg to make you squeal cutely. You raise again on your elbows to glare at him. “No quarter!”

That’s the moment he chooses to give in to you when you’re busy laughing at his bad pirate joke, that’s when he leans in to finally taste you. Yongguk runs his tongue on your slit. He goes slowly at first, although he knows you’re more than ready; he wants to savour the moment. He wishes this to be the first time of many more, so it should be right. He flattens his tongue, running it everywhere on your folds. Your hands grip his hair tightly, intertwining your fingers with his curls messily, but none of you care. Your moans get louder and louder as he goes. When he sucks on your clit, you can’t help but grind on him in ecstasy. He lets you do it, pleased he has this effect on you. He wants to make you come like this, know what you feel like when you orgasm, delight at your everything in his mouth, but you pull him higher.

“G-Guk” You peck his lips, tasting yourself on them. “Just…”

“You want me inside you?” You nod and sigh, a bit overwhelmed. He reaches in his nightstand for protection and you stare at the ceiling of his room. You and Yongguk. Yongguk and you. In more ways than one, it makes perfect sense. You sit and wrap your arms around his shoulders, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

“What is it?” He turns to you, concerned, and pushes a strand of your messy hair behind your ear.

“Nothing… I’m just-”

“A bit nervous?” You bite your lips and nod, making him chuckle knowingly. It’s not fair how he can guess you so well when you can’t figure out what’s on his mind half of the time. “We can wait if you want t-”

“Oh hell no!” You bite on his shoulder in frustration and he laughs. “I’m not waiting for anything any longer Bang Yongguk!”

“Then do you want my answer now?” He raises an eyebrow and you immediately know he’s being a little tease again, but you just have to ask.

“What answer?”

“The why-you-should-trust-me one.”

“I trust you.” He smiles at your instant reply.

“I know, but I never told you what answer I came up with…” You blink, waiting for him to go on. “I like you. Trust me, because I like you and I’ll never deceive you. I’ve been liking you since the second you were an ass to me in that coffee shop.”

“That’s a weird way to fall for someone!” You bury your face in his neck, embarrassed. “You’re so cheesy, why are you telling this to me now?”

“I thought your story was lacking…” You scoff and roll your eyes. “I think my character needs to come up with an answer, you know, to bring a culmination point to their romantic story.” Slyly, you slide your fingers to his length, grabbing him in your hand.

“Isn’t this a good enough conclusion? Closure of some sort?” You stroke him and he drops his head back on your shoulder, melting.

“That’s not romance-” He grunts, getting lost in your touch. “That’s just development, a twist…” You nibble on his ear, toying with his cock and rubbing his tip. “It needs an end, sex isn’t completion…”

“No? So we need a denouement right, Mr. Writer?” He grunts approving and you smirk. “Then can you come over here?” He whines, needy when your hands ghost him and watches as you move to straddle him.

“You want to ride me?” Yongguk helps you get on him, strong arms catching your thighs.

“You said we needed a climax, Mr. Writer…” You lower your hips to meet his, languidly, taking him inside you and he grunts in response.

“Oh shit.” You bob on him, keeping a slow pace and his hands find your boobs. “I have to say-” He inhales, sharply, throwing his head back. “-I, um- Love your work ethics!”

“Yongguk…”You smirk, grinding harder and digging your fingernails in his shoulders. “Will you just shut up already?”

He nods in approval and brings his forehead against yours to gaze at you. His eyes are full of lust and softness and you stare back at him, forgetting everything about being embarrassed at his scrutiny. Your pants fill the room and before your thighs tired, Yongguk flips you both, to sink deeper into you. He drops his head in your neck, burying himself into your core relentlessly. You feel the apex of sensations come closer again, only this time you don’t stop it, you wait for it to wash over you. The knot in your stomach tightens, building up and all at once, you can’t hold it anymore. You let loose, reaching a new peak of pure delight. Your orgasm washes over you through waves of bliss and Yongguk comes soon after, feeling your spasms around him.

After you’re both done, he falls on the bed. He wraps your shoulder in his strong arms and pulls you against his chest. You’re still lost in contentment when he chuckles lightly, not able to conceal his happiness.

“What?” You snuggle closer, curious and brush your nose against his jaw.

“I wonder what the guests upstairs are talking about…”

“Oh god…” You grimace, finally remembering you’re exposure from earlier tonight. “We’ll never hear the end of this, right? Not in a million years…”

He shakes his head, still laughing, not caring at all what everybody thinks of this.

Raising your eyes above your laptop, you catch Yongguk walking through the living room. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What?” He throws his hands to the sides, an innocent look plastered on his perfect face. “I’m just gonna go grab a glass of water” You wave a hand his way for him to get out and lean back again on the couch.

This chapter, the finale, needs to go up tonight. It’s your deadline; chapter 20. Well, it could be up tomorrow but Daehyun might come bursting through the front door, freaking out because of the wait. Afterall, he knows where you live. You take a deep breath and rub your temples, tired. When you open your eyes, your boyfriend’s strolling through the room again, humming the melody he’s currently working on.

“Hum? Mind you? You’re distracting me…”

“I forgot to bring the cookies…” He shrugs and you giggle as he leaves.

You try to write for several more minutes, erasing words and going back to change a sentence. The pirate’s bride needs to defeat the traitor and free the Captain, but somehow it isn’t working as it should. You sigh and surely enough, Yongguk appears out of his studio’s door. He just can’t help bothering you today.

“Are you done?”

“Do I sound like I’m done, Guk?” You throw your hands to the sides, exasperated and he grimaces. “Are you done?”

“No, I’m hitting a dry spot…” He takes a step into the living room, studying your reaction to see if he’s in enemy territory.

“I really really need to write this, I can’t talk right now!” You warn him, but he gets closer, a look you know too well on his face. He stops in front of you, lowering just enough to brush your lips with his. He smiles when he feels you’re giving in, slightly opening your mouth, inviting. “We need to work…”

“I know, let’s do a quicky then!” Without warning, he shoves his t-shirt above his head, revealing his chocolate abs.

“Yongguk…” He throws your own shirt across the room, leaving you topless on the couch. He smirks proudly at the sight and kisses you again, this time deeply.

“Let’s be clear…” He pulls back, suddenly serious. “This is purely professional. I’m just doing this for you. I’m sacrificing myself right now!”

“What?” You frown and he nods with all his fake conviction.

“Everybody knows I’m your muse… I’m just doing this to help you with the story, you know; for inspiration.”

“Wow, that’s dedication! Come here Bang, I need insight right now…” You tug his sweatpants down, grinning playfully. “And I need it fast and good!”

“Please… Call me Captain.” He laughs, ignoring your warning glare.

M A S T E R L I S T

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