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fangirlwriting-stories · 6 months

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Training

Summary: Danny checks in on Sam and Tucker, while Sam and Tucker take the first steps into a world of ghost hunting that they don't understand.

Author's Note: Hey, just a heads up that the next installment is probably gonna take a bit longer than the other ones in this series have. It ended up needing more than one chapter to work for the next part of the story, and I'd like to finish all of them before posting to make sure they flow and fit well together. So you'll have a bit longer to wait, but you do get longer updates out of it!

...

Sam and Tucker aren’t at school the next day, but they show up the following day, and it’s a little ridiculous how relieved Danny is to see them. The second he spots them in the hallway, he walks right over, trying to keep the smile off his face, because they might still not be doing too hot.

But it’s impossible to keep himself from smiling just a little bit as he approaches. “Hey, guys, how you holdin’ up?” he asks.

“Fine,” Sam says, then starts towards her locker without saying anything else. Tucker walks after her, looking uncomfortable, but neither of them object when Danny follows them.

“Sorry I wasn’t there to help the other night,” he says as they reach Sam’s locker, because he still has to say it.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sam says, though her tone is clipped. “We made it out fine. We weren’t even hurt, and it’s not like you could have done anything.”

She wouldn’t be saying that if she—

Shut up.

“Still,” Danny says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Getting captured sucks. I mean, I’d know.” He’s aiming for joking, but the tone falls flat.

Sam turns and looks at him for a second, and he can’t read her face. But then she just says, “Yeah,” and turns to grab her books.

The warning bell rings overhead, and Sam slams her locker shut and walks away without a word.

“Hey,” Danny says before Tucker can do the same. Tucker turns to him, startled.

“Is she okay?” Danny asks, looking after Sam. “I mean, after everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t blame her if she was a little freaked.”

Tucker opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything, and after a second, Danny narrows his eyes in concern.

“Are you okay, Tuck?” he asks.

The second bell rings.

“Whoops, late for class,” Tucker says, ignoring his question entirely. “See ya, Danny.”

“See ya,” Danny says, looking worriedly after him for a second before he turns to walk to class too.

Man, is this what Tucker feels when he refuses to talk about what’s going on with him? If so, Danny totally gets it.

He’s still not going to tell them he’s Phantom until he’s at least somewhat sure it won’t go over absolutely terribly, but he does get it.

He’s also not going to push them to tell him anything for that exact reason, though. He wasn’t that big of a hypocrite.

So, when Tucker and Sam are quiet and a little weird in class, he doesn’t ask. He just gives them an understanding smile and focuses back on what they’re working on.

It’s during lunch when things change. Danny’s attempting to make it easy on them both by filling the silence, but not much has happened in his life lately— at least, that he can talk about. So what he ends up doing is complaining about the essay he’s going to have to write in English. Tucker’s in that class too, but even so he can tell it’s not working well. Tucker’s poking at his food and not even touching the meat on his tray, and Sam just seems tense and almost angry.

He’s debating switching the topic to the horror movie they saw two Fridays ago, which is the one thing he’s actually done outside of school in a while, when Sam suddenly speaks up.

“Hey Tucker,” she says, cutting Danny off in the middle of a sentence and turning to face Tucker sitting next to her. “You want to go to Nasty Burger after school?”

Danny blinks, trying to figure out what just happened.

Tucker seems surprised too, turning to Sam with a confused look. “Huh?”

“Oh, no offense to you, Danny,” Sam says, turning to him like she’s just thought of it. “It’s just, you won’t be able to go for a while and after yesterday I think I need to do something fun.”

Danny blinks again, then processes what she said. “Oh. Oh, yeah, of course,” he says, waving it off despite the pinch in his chest. “Don’t worry about it. Go do whatever you need to.”

“Thanks,” Sam says, then turns casually back to Tucker. “You want to come?”

“Uh,” Tucker says, looking down. “Sure.”

Then he looks hesitantly up at Danny, who sends him his best attempt at a reassuring smile. Of course he’s not going to be bothered by them doing things without him. He can’t expect them to wait for him forever, and he’s not going to keep them from doing things they want to. Especially not after last night.

Tucker doesn’t seem to relax much, but Sam does, and the next second she sits up and starts talking. She’s also just talking about schoolwork, but it’s enough to make Danny think brushing this off was the right move, even if the idea of them going without him stings a little.

Either way, he ignores the sting and lets Sam talk as long as she wants to, which turns out to be the rest of lunch. She goes on several rants about teachers and the lack of environmental awareness involved in the assignments they give out. One of the teachers apparently prints way more handouts than needed. It’s normal enough that it calms Danny’s nerves a little and makes him smile. Sam seems to be doing okay, mostly.

(There is a bandage on her wrist where her wrist ray usually sits, and she keeps picking at it. But Danny gets the sense that bringing it up would be a really bad idea.)

Tucker’s still quieter than normal, but that’s nothing unexpected. Whether they got away easily or not, getting captured by a ghost is never fun. It’s understandable that he’s still a little shaken by it.

The rest of the day passes fairly easily, and in the classes he has with Sam and Tucker, they both seem a little more themselves.

When the end of the day rolls around, Danny looks for them in the hallway, but he doesn’t see them until he’s near the front doors, where Sam is pulling Tucker out of them very quickly, likely heading straight for Nasty Burger.

Danny sighs, and lets them go without trying to catch up with them.

“Hey, Danny,” comes Jazz’s voice, and Danny turns to see her approaching, with her bag already on and a couple books clutched in her hands. “I saw Sam and Tucker earlier, how are they doing?”

Danny turns to look over his shoulder, but he can’t see either of them anymore.

“Fine,” he says to Jazz, turning back around. “I think. I don’t know. Hey uh, do you have anything going on this afternoon? I think I need a distraction.”

…

“So this is what we’re doing now, then?” Tucker asks as he and Sam walk right past the Nasty Burger. Sam is looking down at the address on the business card they got two days ago, and following a set of directions to it she’s written down on a piece of paper.

“What are you talking about?” Sam asks without looking at him. “We already agreed we’d be doing this.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tucker says. “You didn’t have to come up with the Nasty Burger excuse. Danny already had to go home right after school, you could have just not said anything.”

“And?” Sam asks, firm and harsh and in a tone that very strongly announces the conversation is over.

Tucker doesn’t say anything, just follows Sam as she turns around a corner.

“Almost there,” Sam says after a second, and Tucker looks around to see if he can spot anything that seems like what they’re looking for.

But no, the street they’re walking down seems pretty standard. There’s mostly houses, and what looks like a small park.

Sam, however, doesn’t acknowledge any of them, and eventually she stops in front of one of the houses. She looks back and forth between the address on the building and the business card in her hand a couple times, then says to Tucker, “This is it.”

She walks up before Tucker can say anything and knocks on the door.

There’s no immediate response, and after a good ten seconds pass and nothing happens, Sam rings the doorbell.

Another five seconds pass, but then before Tucker can suggest knocking again, or maybe calling the phone number, or maybe going home and never coming back ever again, the door opens, and there stands Vlad Masters.

“Children, what a delightful surprise,” he says, with an obvious tension in his voice. “You came at the perfect time, I wasn’t at all in the middle of something.”

“Oh, well in that case we can come back later, right Sam?” Tucker asks, giving her a nervous smile. “So let’s go and—”

“Nonsense,” Vlad says, waving him off. “It’s hardly an inconvenience. If anything I should be the one being flexible for you two, you’ve been through so much already. Please, do come in.”

Tucker bites his lip, pretty sure he’s doing a terrible job at hiding his nerves. Sam looks much more collected next to him, and when she turns to look at him, her eyes narrow into a glare.

She’s holding him to this, then.

He’s pretty sure he’s holding himself to this, too.

So when Sam turns and starts up the stairs, Tucker follows her, and Vlad follows them both in, shutting the door behind them all.

What looked like a normal house from the outside, however, looks like anything but from the inside.

Vlad appears to have no furniture whatsoever, and instead has turned the house into some sort of training grounds. There’s what looks like a sparring ring off to the left, a section on the right with rings and obstacles attached to the ceiling, which Tucker has no idea how they’ll access, and a large area in the middle with punching bags and targets made to look like ghosts.

It’s all more than a little overwhelming, if Tucker’s being honest, and all he can think to say is, “No one said there’d be exercise.”

“Please, you could do with some exercise,” Sam says, turning to face him. “Considering the state the rest of your health habits are in.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! Just because you have a love affair with vegetables doesn’t mean I have to!”

“There’s a difference between not loving then and not eating any of them,” Sam says with a smirk.

“Oh come on—”

A loud thump sounds on the opposite side of the room, and they both turn to see Vlad setting two boxes down on a table with what looks like a bunch of lab and engineering equipment on it.

“I had these whipped up by a billionaire friend of mine,” Vlad says, turning to face them and gesturing at the boxes. “They’re for you, they should help.”

“What do you mean?” Tucker asks.

Vlad just gestures at the boxes again, and Sam walks over the table and pulls one of the boxes open. Her eyes widen, and then she turns to the other one and pulls it open.

“You just had someone make these?” she asks, turning to Vlad.

“What?” Tucker asks, feeling hesitant to walk over.

“Come see,” Sam says, waving him forward.

Tucker winces, but walks over to Sam and peers down into the boxes she’s looking at. Sitting in each of the boxes is what looks like some kind of battle suit, one of them purple and one red, with obvious padding, and guns that look like much more dangerous versions of Sam’s wrist ray.

“Wait,” Tucker says, turning to look at Vlad. “Are these for us?”

“Well obviously I’m not going to send either of you into battle empty-handed,” Vlad says. “And I had the money to spare. If you didn’t want them, it would have been no real loss.”

“I call the purple one,” Sam says immediately.

“Wait,” Tucker says, grabbing her hand and pulling it back. “Battle? Like, like we’re going to be fighting… what exactly? Ghosts? Are we still just talking about Danny?”

“Well unfortunately, the most likely time you’ll be able to find Daniel in his ghost form is during other ghost attacks,” Vlad says. “So that, naturally, is what all of this is for.” He gestures around them at the training grounds. “And of course, they can fly, so you shouldn’t have to worry about any more sudden plunges to your death.” He prefaces the last part with a nod at Sam, who clenches her fists tightly and looks down at the suits again.

Tucker casts his gaze around at everything a second time— the sparring ring, the punching bags, the obstacle course on the ceiling. He takes a shaky breath. All of this is starting to feel a little more real than he’s prepared for.

He looks over at Sam again when she takes a deep breath. Her fists start shaking for a brief second before she tightens them more, some kind of fierce determination entering her eyes. After a second, she steps forward again.

“I call the purple one,” she says firmly, and picks up the box.

“Of course,” Vlad says. “But here, let me show you how to put it on. It’s built to shrink down so you can bring it with you.”

He pulls the suit out of the box and hits a button, and then it shrinks down into a bracelet that he hands back to Sam. Sam puts it on her wrist, and then at Vlad’s instruction, hits a button on it. The whole suit appears around her in what feels like half a second. Well shit, those things are efficient.

Vlad pulls the other suit out of the box, then shrinks it down to a bracelet and holds it out to Tucker.

Tucker looks at it for a long second.

Vlad raises an eyebrow. “Are you backing out now?” he asks. There doesn’t seem to be any judgment in his voice, but Tucker’s stomach still lurches with guilt. He shakes his head, reaching out to take the bracelet.

He slips it on and hits the button, and he feels the suit expand rapidly, fitting around his limbs like it was made for him specifically— which, well, he supposes it was.

He looks over at Sam, and finds he can’t see her face through the suit anymore.

“You should be able to talk to each other through the headsets that are built in,” Vlad says. “They’ll have voice modulators so you won’t have to worry about Daniel figuring out who you are. And I can set it up to connect to Valerie as well, once you meet her.”

Tucker turns to Vlad in surprise.

“Valerie Gray,” he confirms with a nod. “I’m sure you’ve seen her around. She has a red suit like yours. I imagine you three will be working together quite a bit.”

Valerie is the other ghost hunter Vlad mentioned? Tucker has a pretty good idea he knows what he means by the red suit. Now that he’s looking at his and Sam’s, there’s definitely a similarity in design. But he hadn’t known she’d been working with Vlad all this time. Honestly, Tucker isn’t sure what to make of that. He barely knows Valerie, really just having seen her a couple times around school.

And now they’re going to be working together to hunt down and hurt Tucker’s best friend.

Does she even know Danny is Phantom? He supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

“Well then,” Vlad says, clapping his hands together and turning to move the boxes off of the table. “Shall we get started?”

…

“Oh hell yeah,” Danny says, grinning down at the speedometer in Jazz’s hand. “112 miles an hour?”

“That’s what it says,” Jazz says with a smile of her own. “You’re pretty fast, little brother.”

“Pretty fast? That’s almost faster than Dad driving the Ghost Assault Vehicle!” Danny says with a grin.

Training with Jazz was absolutely the right move. They’ve been down in the lab all afternoon and he’s barely thought about Tucker and Sam having fun without him once. And it has the added bonus of meaning Jazz will stop pestering him about practicing.

Yeah, he has needed to run drills for a while. But in his defense, they’re not usually this fun. He’s never done them with Jazz before. Having someone there to help keep track of his progress, to push him harder, and maybe a little bit to show off for, actually helps a lot. And granted, he’s never had someone to hold up a speedometer, but he’s still pretty sure he’s never gone that fast before.

“Clearly I should be a racer,” Danny says to Jazz. “A ghost racer. Do ghosts have races? They totally should.”

Jazz laughs. “Oh you’d kill them for sure,” she says with a smirk.

Danny gapes at her. “Jazz! Was that a pun? You’re learning!”

“Ha ha,” Jazz says. “You know, if you’re just gonna make fun of me, I could just point out that your duplication still needs work.”

Danny blew a raspberry at her. But a second later, he sighs. “Yeah, I know,” he admits. “Vlad could do it, like, effortlessly when he first showed me. But so far the best I can do is get to the point where I can eat two nasty burgers at once.” Which honestly he probably shouldn’t have said, because now he’s thinking about Sam and Tucker again.

“Wow, thanks, I really didn’t need that image,” Jazz says, a slightly disgusted look on his face. Danny laughs, distracted enough to focus back on Jazz.

“Honestly, I’m not sure how long it’ll take before I get it down,” he says, though he doesn’t like admitting it. “I mean, Vlad’s had like 20 years to practice. Who knows when he figured out duplication.”

“That’s true,” Jazz says. “But all you can do is keep trying. You’ve managed at least one milestone from learning it was possible.”

“I guess that’s true too,” Danny says with a smile. “And I think I really have gotten better.”

“You have since I started paying attention,” Jazz agrees. “I’m proud of you.”

“Jazz, what did we say about the sappiness?” Danny says, dropping to the floor and changing back into his human form, since they seem to be wrapping up training with how much they’re talking.

“Hey, this is how I do things,” Jazz says, crossing her arms. “If you didn’t want emotional support you shouldn’t have told me your secret.”

“I didn’t tell you, you found out on your own!”

“And then you decided to tell me,” Jazz says, starting for the steps. “Which totally counts.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Danny says, rolling her eyes as he follows her up.

They timed it right, because as they both reach the kitchen the door bangs open and both of their parents barge in, fully equipped in ghost gear from a day of hunting around town. (Which didn’t result in anything. Danny knows because if it had he would have been there.)

“Hey kids,” Mom says with a bright smile as she walks into the kitchen. “How was school today? Have Sam and Tucker come back yet? Danny, you reminded them to come over to get checked out, didn’t you?”

“Uh, totally Mom,” Danny lies. “They’re just both super busy. They’re really piling on the homework lately.”

“Safety is even more important, hun,” Mom says. “Just make sure they get here sooner rather than later.”

“Mom, I really don’t think they’re displaying any signs of being affected,” Danny says. “They didn’t even say the ghost attacked them. I think they’re okay.”

Mom sighs, but she doesn’t look happy about it. “Alright, sweetie,” she says. “Just let us know if anything changes, okay?”

“Or the second they need to be put through lots of painful tests for their own good,” Dad says, giving Danny a firm nod.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Danny says, while simultaneously writing off the possibility forever.

“Honestly, you two need to cool it sometimes,” Jazz says, in a casual tone that could easily be written off as a joke. Danny knows she doesn’t mean it like one, though. “Sam and Tucker aren’t hurt. Who’s to say this ghost even wanted to hurt them?”

Both of their parents burst out laughing, and Danny and Jazz exchange a glance.

“Jazz, sweetie, it’s a ghost,” Mom says, waving her hand dismissively. “Of course it was trying to hurt them.”

“You don’t even know which one it was!” Jazz groans, but their parents have already moved on, heading over towards the fridge as they start discussing dinner.

Danny shrugs at Jazz. “Good try.”

Jazz huffs but doesn’t say anything else.

“Maddie,” Dad says a second later, drawing both their attention. “The hot dogs have teeth again.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Mom says, moving Jack aside to peer into the fridge. After a second, she sighs.

“Alright, I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow,” she says, closing the fridge. “Do you kids want to go get dinner out?”

“But Maddie, we’ll miss out on your terrific cooking,” Dad says, sounding disappointed.

“The terrific cooking that makes hot dogs come to life?” Jazz mutters under her breath. Danny elbows her lightly in the side.

“Well, we can’t exactly eat those, no matter what we do to cook them,” Mom says. “We can go to Nasty Burger, we haven’t been there in a while. Is that alright with you two?” she asks, glancing over at Danny and Jazz.

Well, Danny would have actually preferred to eat somewhere that didn’t remind him of Sam and Tucker’s comparatively effortless social life when looking at his own continued house arrest, but he’s also not going to turn down going out to eat, so he nods.

“That’s fine with me,” Jazz says.

“Alright, we’ll head out in ten minutes, then,” Mom says. “We’ll meet you kids back down here.”

“Sounds good,” Danny says, and he and Jazz head upstairs for a minute.

Dinner at Nasty Burger is probably a good idea for multiple reasons, actually. A large greasy meal will give him the energy he needs to go on a longer patrol tonight, and he’s already decided he’s going to be extra cautious, at least for the next couple days. It’ll help him feel better about not being there for Tucker and Sam, and also make sure that whatever ghost captured them doesn’t stick around too long.

And at 112 miles an hour, he’s pretty sure he can do it in a fast enough time that even Jazz can’t get on his case about losing sleep.

…

Tucker and Sam actually do end up at Nasty Burger, funnily enough. And Tucker ends up with another reason he doesn’t exercise.

“See, this just proves my point,” he groans, head on the table as he tries not to focus on how all of his muscles ache.

Training with Vlad is apparently no picnic. And figuring out how the suits work isn’t exactly easy. They’re complicated, and hard to maneuver. He feels like he has a bit better of a handle on it now, but nowhere near enough to actually fight in it.

“Well maybe if you actually tried in gym class once in a while,” Sam says, but Tucker can tell she’s exhausted too. She’s barely touched her tofu burger, and keeps twisting her new bracelet back and forth on her wrist. He keeps worrying she’s gonna hit something and the suit’s going to pop up, but so far she’s managed to keep her hand far away from the button that does so.

Still, her comment bugs him a little bit. It’s not like he was the only one who had no clue what he was doing today.

“Look, can you not make fun of me for once?” he says, narrowing his eyes at her. “You slipped up more than twice on that ceiling obstacle course too.”

Sam glares at him for a second, then sighs. “Alright, yeah,” she sighs, slumping down in the booth. “Sorry.”

Tucker sighs too. “It’s okay,” he mutters. “I’m just… are we really doing this?”

“Yes, we’re really doing this,” Sam says, back to glaring at him. “We can’t back out now.”

Tucker opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, the door to the Nasty Burger opens, and Tucker half glances over, then feels all the blood drain from his face.

“Tucker?” Sam asks, noticing and sitting up. “What is it?”

“Sam? Tucker?” Danny asks, walking over as he notices them, and Sam whirls around. “You guys are still here?”

“Yes!” Tucker says, at the same time Sam says “No!”

Danny raises an eyebrow, and looks back and forth between them both.

“Oh hey guys,” says Mrs. Fenton before Danny can say anything, approaching over Danny’s shoulder. “What a fun surprise seeing you here! We just decided to take the kids out for dinner as a treat, but it’s so nice that you’re here too! Do you mind if we squeeze in?”

“Not at all!” Tucker says, before Sam can say something rude and suspicious and make them all think something is off.

So in the next couple minutes, they find a way to somehow fit all six of them in the booth, with Sam squished into one side with Mr. Fenton and Jazz, and Danny, Mrs. Fenton, and Tucker on the other.

Danny manages to catch Tucker’s eye and mouth “Sorry,” and Tucker waves him off with another pinch of guilt in his chest.

“But really, I thought you guys were coming here straight after school,” he says to Tucker as his parents and sister order food. “Why are you still here?”

“Sir, your order?” the waiter asks, sounding very tired.

“Oh, just a regular nasty burger and fries please,” Danny says with a slightly apologetic smile at him.

“Coming right up,” he says, before he heads off with all the new orders.

“We left and then came back,” Sam says, leaning across the table to catch Danny’s eye, before shooting half a glance at Tucker. “My parents were being insufferable, so I needed to get out of the house again.”

So Tucker’s still supposed to let Sam do the talking, then.

“Ah,” Danny says with a nod. “Sorry, that sucks.”

Sam shrugs it off. “It’s fine. They’re just hard to deal with sometimes. Sorry we didn’t tell you. Just, you know, grounding. We figured you still couldn’t come.”

“You figured right,” says Mr. Fenton, pounding a fist on the table, and all three of them become instantly re-aware of the fact that Danny’s parents are sitting right next to them. “He’s still got another three months before he can come back here.” There’s a pause as Mr. Fenton looks around. “Obviously, this doesn’t count.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam says.

“Yes, I get it, you’re attempting to ruin what little social life I actually have,” Danny says, looking up at the ceiling in obvious exasperation. “Do you have to do it right now, too?”

Tucker laughs a little despite himself. Danny at least doesn’t seem that bothered by them supposedly having fun without him today.

…Tucker’s supposed to be hunting his ghost now.

He looks back down at his own food, pushing his fries around on his plate. Suddenly he doesn’t feel that hungry anymore. He just wants to put on whatever face won’t get him asked questions until he can go home and crawl into bed. Then he can sleep until his body doesn’t ache anymore.

He doubts there’s much to be done about the churning in his stomach, though.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #tucker foley #sam manson #jazz fenton #tw emotional manipulation #everyone knows au #my fic

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uncouth-the-fifth · 1 year

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pythia, a supernatural rewrite. phantom traveler, p.2

read it on ao3. masterlist.

words: 4747 notes: HI FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HELLO. uni is finally no longer kicking my ass, so here is a pythia update! since it's been an embarrassing amount of time since I last posted, i rly wanted to get something out for u guys - and as a result this chapter is shorter than what I'd like, but I hope still fun and silly ;) thank you so much for holding on with me and i can't wait to hear your thoughts! p.s - sam and dean are extra sweet this chapter bc i want all of u to love me again >:)

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 3rd, midday.

George Phelps was Max’s passenger, and, among other things, a loving and committed husband. He lived in a quaint little house in the suburbs, where his wife put his picture on the mantle and refused to say much to you. She didn’t have to. Just looking up at their house from the curb, decorated with soft glowing Christmas lights and silver crosses, you knew George Phelps wasn’t your guy. Maybe Max had seen him pry open the emergency exit on the flight, but you seriously doubted a dentist with acid reflux was behind the deaths of two hundred people.

Sitting in George’s living room and speaking with his wife, you swore that there was almost something there, but it was neutral enough that you doubted it was anything more than the wisps of George’s presence in the house. Fresh grief always felt the same.

You didn’t like how this hunt had been gnawing on you. The visions always itched you in their own way, but this time was distinctly, uncomfortably different, and you just couldn’t pin down why. It was your job to take the weird inclinations the Gift gave you and turn them into something usable. Somehow, you couldn’t even manage that.

You were the first one out of George Phelp’s stifling house and the first one into the Impala. In the safety of the backseat, you curled your nails into the upholstery until your fingers hurt and just felt. What were you missing? What were you recognizing, but failing to remember?

The thing you were hunting was big game. You’d had hundred-year-old vengeful spirits in your head, and they couldn’t even glimpse the kind of hatred you were dealing with here. It affected audio recordings, had loads of strength, and took a metal bat to your Gift every time you even thought about it. Somehow, it manifested with or connected to normal people. None of this rung any bells with you. Which was ridiculous, since it felt more and more familiar the longer you rolled your vision over in your mind—beyond close, like it was within arm’s reach.

Sam, in the Impala’s passenger seat, started giving you cautious looks in the rear-view. Dean had been halfway through griping about this case when Sam finally spoke his mind: “____… What exactly did you see in your vision?”

Both of the boys shared a furtive glance, then turned to look at you as one.

You must’ve shown the panic you were feeling on your face, because Dean’s clammed up with awkward sympathy. “...I know this one was tougher n’ usual, but I need you to buck up a bit, okay? This thing’s got nothing on you. C’mon.”

When you frowned, there was a bitter tang growing on the back of your tongue. You weren’t six. You didn’t need someone to coax your nightmares from you, and you definitely didn’t need anyone telling you to put your big girl pants on. Dean didn’t have to ask Sam to toughen up, even four years off his game, and you doubted he ever told himself to. Grr.

“Just start driving,” you gruffed, and failed to stop your lip from curling.

The arm Dean had hung over the front seat slouched into his lap. “...Sure thing. What’d you see?”

He turned the key and got you on the road again, joined, right on cue, by Sam’s kicked-puppy look swaying back to the windshield. You reminded yourself that the only reason you were pissed was because of how awful these last few days had been, and explained yourself.

“It was intense. Way more intense than most visions I’ve had. Not because of anything I saw—though the crash was… awful—but because of the feeling it gave me. Even when I got out of it… it just filled my head, I guess. This thing has a seriously powerful influence.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. “Did you see it at all?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, reminded again of how little you were helping. “Most of it was just flashes of the passengers. The plane going down. Before that, I saw a man’s hand grab the handle to the emergency door, the pilots talking about a flight out of Pittsburg, and then smoke. Loads of it.”

The car sunk into a heavy, thought-honed silence that only served to ramp up to your anxiety. You kept the case on your mind for all of two seconds, then were pulled to the ceaseless clicking of Dean’s turn signal and how scratchy your bandages were. Your suit sat too stiff on your body for you to relax into your seat, squeezing your empty belly in the worst way and chaffing on Baby’s leather. The cold air was too dry and your eyes and throat burned with the strangest pressure. Not a sick pressure, but a living one, pressing in. Black smoke. Your pain meds were wearing off too, so the sinew in your body felt taut and worn on an unfamiliar skeleton.

You stared dead-eyed at nothing for a minute longer, then Dean hauled the Impala up to the curb again and declared: “Fuck it. We’re getting lunch. What are you in the mood for, baby?”

“That’s a weird way to say the car needs gas, Dean,” you managed.

“No—not her-Baby, you baby!” Dean flushed, and honestly, he deserved some serious points for scrounging up any humor right now. Again, he tossed an elbow over the seat and threw a dazzling, morale-boosting grin at you. “What do you want to eat, darlin’? We can go to a sit-down place, have an actual meal. Or we can just grab something from the store. Anything.”

You hesitated to answer, and caught Sam’s grimace—you were way too poor right now to go for anything beyond instant noodles. “...We can wait til’ later, Dean. I don’t really have an appetite right now,” you lied.

Dean never begged, but forever reason he was willing to today. Maybe you seemed even worse off than you’d thought. “...C’mon, kid, you’re killing me here. Whatever you want. My treat.”

Again, you didn’t jump at the chance to answer. Truth be told, you could eat a grocery store whole right now, but the three of you did not have the budget. Dean was insane and devoted enough to steal lunch for you, too, and you didn’t feel like bailing him out of jail right now. Just the idea made your wallet tear up.

You opened your mouth to try and be realistic, only for Sam to interrupt you.

“Ice cream,” he read your mind. “She wants ice cream. The big grocery store tubs.”

Dean didn’t wait for any objections. He whipped the Impala out of park, jerked back into your lane, and peeled away toward the nearest store. “Ice cream! Hell yeah. I could fuck up some cherry garcia right now. Sam? Could you fuck up some ice cream right now?”

“Me? Oh, big time,” he lied, catching your eyes in the rearview again. You’d maybe seen Sam eat ice cream twice in your entire life. Again, he was probably hiding that he was lactose intolerant.

You had only a sliver of fight left within you. “Boys…”

“Yes?” They chimed. In their own ways, their voices dared you to resist, but the combined power of both Winchesters was too strong to withstand.

You bit down your grin and fell silent.

A few minutes later, Dean pulled into a thirty-year-old mini-mart that looked it’s age. Of course, he parked the Impala as far from the other cars as possible, so the mile-long walk through freezing, finger-numbing winds put everyone in the mood for ice cold ice cream. The first euphoric rush of interior heating made you sigh out loud. When Sam and Dean had swiped the snow off their blazers, you made an attempt at leading them toward another toastier, cheaper snack.

“You want ice cream,” was all Sam said, shrugging, and scooped up a basket for the three of you to use.

Either you were predictable or he could read minds, because even with the snowy weather you were more than ready to fuck up some ice cream. Just thinking about it made your bandages feel less scratchy. Lounging on the couch and plowing through a tub was a privilege the road really didn’t allow, so you were pretty sure you hadn’t even had any ice cream since October. Since you’d actually lived in your apartment.

“How did you know?” You asked him, out of honest curiosity.

Sam gave you a mysterious smile instead of an answer, swiped some snow off your jacket, then tilted his head after Dean in an unspoken come on. His brother had already caught the scent of the frozen treats section, so you both hurried to catch up with him. You stole glimpses of Sam as you wove your way to the back of the store. He was a little taller than the aisles, and his loafers cleared the age-stained linoleum in half the time your heels did. For whatever reason this is when your heart decides to remind you how absolutely spellbound you are by him. He takes a turn around an endcap of Little Debbies to find Dean, and you float right after him, orbited by cartoon hearts.

Maybe that’s intentional on Sam’s part, since you forget all about money and budgets right up until you’re staring down the row of smudged freezer doors. Dean’s already hefting his tub of cherry garcia overhead when you approach, and after a lot of fake stadium-cheering and whooping, he free-throws it with a perfect swish into Sam’s basket. Then, he slides aside and unveils the mini-mart’s slim selection of ice creams to you. Unfortunately, you’ve been trained from birth to think Dean’s funny, so you bite down on your cheek-aching grin and take a look.

“I dunno…” you say, even though you’ve already come this far. The math is starting to stack in your head. One tub is fine, but one for each of you builds up, and that cuts into real food money and motel money and gas money and—

“How about this,” Sam interrupts your mounting anxiety, voice smooth and anticipatory. “Dean gets his and then you and I get one to share. Sound good?”

You thank him with a small smile, imagining the face he’d make if you yanked him down by the lapels and kissed him for knowing you so well. Sam was a great kisser.

“That’d be perfect.”

Instead of going for your favorite, you swipe the dairy-free cookies and cream.

Dean shoos Sam further down the aisle, and his brother props up the basket like a hoop and starts serpentining between the frozen pizzas, the two of them beaming like rowdy middle school boys. You turn your tub over in your hand and line up your shot. Dean’s taunting and pinching is ultimately fruitless—the victory grin is already comfortable on your face when your ice cream swishes flawlessly into Sam’s basket. Sam whoops.

“Not bad, Slayer,” Dean approves. He gives your shoulder a playful budge, and you budge him right back on the way to the registers.

With your bad mood successfully thawed, you’re easy to distract while Dean sneaks away to (hopefully) pay for your plunder. One minute you’re in line with them, and in the next Sam is coaxing you away to poke around the value movie bin, hypnotizing you with a few well-placed, dimply grins. You forget altogether that ice cream costs money. You’re only just remembering what money is when Dean reappears, shoving a receipt in his pocket and jabbing a thumb toward the bakery.

“Cashier lady said they got spoons over there,” Dean explained.

You paused. “Don’t we have, like, a gazillion in the car?”

“You mean the car with the heater that takes ten years to start?” Dean sassed back, which instantly dissolved into one of his cheesy, goading grins. He started to rifle through the grocery bag for his flavor, half-walking and half-wrestling with it. “We’ll eat in here. Don’t worry about it.”

Somehow, you didn’t worry about it. Dean cracked jokes about adult freedoms and whole sleeves of raw cookie dough, Sam rubbed his belly like just the thought made him nauseous, and you giggled at every little thing they did. You were still laughing when Sam parked you by one of the bakery’s vents, the two of you crowded close to get as much warm bread fog as possible. Dean went over and bartered for three plastic spoons. The whole time he stole glances at you loudly giggling with his brother, and patted himself on the back for his job well done.

Dean wiggled closer to you both to be under the warmth of the vent. Now equipped with a way to get this ice cream into your ice-cream-ready belly, you borrowed Sam’s pocket knife to shred the plastic seperating you from your treasure. There wasn’t really a contactless way to hold the tub between you both. While Dean ravaged his cherry garcia, you and Sam tried, and failed, to preserve your personal space, only to lazily gravitate closer to each other with the first glorious spoonfuls of cookie-dough. The first bite balmed your sore throat and your sensitive burns. It was sweeter than you were expecting for dairy-free ice cream, but the surprise was welcome.

Dean stabbed his spoon into his cherry garcia. Then, he gave you another welcome surprise. He dropped his hand in your hair, smoothing it back, and asked around a mouthful of cherry flavoring, “Good?”

You couldn’t help but beam. “Yeah. I’m good.”

NTSB EVIDENCE WAREHOUSE, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 3rd, midday.

The next step in your investigation, naturally, was to break into a government warehouse, slip past security undetected, and hopefully learn something useful from the wreckage without being caught. No amount of ice cream could make that easy, but you couldn’t let your anxiety get in the way. The heart attacks you had showing your fake badge to the security guards were nausea-inducing, but the overpowering psychic weight of a disaster this fatal was going to be a thousand times worse. You steeled yourself.

Before you’d been a hunter, you’d come from a long line of spiritualists and occultists who made death their livelihood. They communicated with the spirit world, they studied life after death, they made the passing of old souls easier. Even before your Gift opened up you’d had similar connections to death. Beth, eyes gleaming with pride, used to tell stories about you at four, talking to the darkness of the attic’s crawlspace like there was someone there. Dean got head to toe heebie-jeebies when you brought that up, but a connection to the other side at such a young age was a Proctor mark of pride. The first time you’d ever seen an apparition had been celebrated as a milestone of womanhood. Death was your older sister, so you shouldn’t have been afraid of her.

You’d sensed her just a few miles out from the warehouse. It was gentle at first, seeping into your ears like a shift in air pressure, then gradually filling up your other senses. But over two hundred real living people—people who loved and were loved like you loved Sam and Dean—had died in that crash, so in no time you were squeezing your eyes shut and plugging your nose in the backseat. You felt Death every day in small doses. In Sam, restlessly watching the ceiling of your rooms at night, in your motorcycle, in the graves you dug up and the homes you questioned civilians in. Your sister sat beside you in the back of the Impala every day.

But two hundred whole people. You dug the nails of your right fist into your palm until it burned, thinking, desperately, about ice cream.

The closer you came to the scene, the more overwhelming the sense of death became. You were almost swaying on your feet flashing your badge at the security desk, who, of course, have to remind everyone of how useless you are.

“FBI? Don’t you guys usually work in pairs?”

Sam gave a tight smile. “She’s our aircraft specialist, thank you.”

A security clerk from the main office drove you out to the right hangar on a golf cart. Dean laid his action movie smolder a bit thick on the guy, but he at least could’ve passed as a trainee. By comparison, Sam at twenty-two and you at twenty-four were round-faced babies, too young to play agents on TV, nevermind in real life. The two of you squished together on the back bench of the cart and sat ramrod straight the whole ride, refusing to turn around. The less people who could remember your faces, the better.

When the warehouse was unlocked and the three of you were inside, your sister struck.

There was so much death. Great mouthfuls, lungfuls, chestfuls of it in the air, diffusing through your nose every time you breathed. You gagged on the psychic taste of it until your eyes watered.

A smarter person would’ve stayed in the safe bubble between Sam and Dean, but you’re done being babied. You break ranks the first chance you get. While the boys take slow steps around the perimeter of the wreckage, you gravitate toward the split-open center of the fuselage. All that remains of the plane’s body are a few rows of seating, gutted curves of scrap, and long tangles of roasted wires. There was so little left that you had room to walk through the middle, down the same path the passengers had taken to board.

When the ringing in your ears was too loud to hear over and you felt like a massive fist had closed around your chest, you stopped. Reached out. Felt, beyond the veil, the mark of the thing that had done this. It hung over this warehouse like a funeral shroud, but you felt it first through its spider web, which kept the last impressions of over two-hundred different people tethered to this place by invisible strands. None of the people—the spirits from the crash had manifested yet, but every living thing left an impression of itself behind. A footprint.

You pulled at different strands of the spider’s web for a while, sorting through the last memories of those on the plane for something useful. It was just as terrible as you’d expect. Mothers held their children, husbands clutched their wives, everyone wailed and screamed. This many people should’ve made up a whole nebula of different feelings, but instead you sensed just one: absolute, incalculable terror. With every passing moment the fear pressed in closer, but you ignored it. You pushed yourself deeper. Max Jaffey gasped into his oxygen mask. The seat in front of him was empty, and he was looking at someone—you reached and reached—across the aisle, a man sobbed and pressed his girlfriend’s trembling hand into his heart—you were going to die you were all going to die—

You’re ripped out of the swarm of memories.

For the millionth fucking time, you come out of the vision on your ass with the boys hovering over you. You’re slow to remember where you are and what’s going on, but the shame is there waiting for you, like always.

“—okay, just breathe, you’re okay—” Sam is telling you, soft and unbelievably patient, considering the number of times he’s had to do this.

His heart is full-on pounding like it’s gonna punch right out of his chest, and you wonder why you know that until you glance down. He’s got your wrist fished in his hand, pressing your palm to flat to the crisp chest of his suit, and it’s just plain embarrassing at this point how much it pulls you back to earth. Your dignity wants you to rip yourself away from him, but, luckily, Dean does it for you. He pushes Sam back and kicks a box of wires neatly between you, just in time for his premonition to come true: your twisting stomach makes its move, and you promptly throw up into the box like a sick toddler in a ball pit. Dean could always tell.

“Touchdown,” he winces.

This is it. You’ve reached the final level of humiliation you can stand. No matter how hard you try, every pathetic dive you’ve made to be useful to the Winchesters has ended with your face in the mud. You can’t even wipe your face right. Sam ends up doing it for you with his sleeve, and sighs, out loud, just to add insult to injury: “Poor baby.”

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 3rd, evening.

Two hours later, you’re back in the motel, sitting criss-cross at the end of Dean’s bed and contemplating what color you’re going to dye your hair. You’ve already landed on what your new legal name will be—Elizabeth Ripley. Elizabeth as in Pride and Prejudice and Ripley as in Alien. Sam would appreciate a Jane Austen reference and Dean would appreciate anything Alien related, so everyone would be happy.

You’re not sure where this plan to change your name and face came from. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, after you gracefully threw up everywhere and failed to learn anything new about the case, the real FBI showed up. Like. Real, gun-slinging, tie-wearing FBI agents. And they may or may not have chased you out of the warehouse. (Which you would’ve seen coming, by the way, if you hadn’t royally exhausted your powers). Just in case all that was enough—while you were off being useless, Sam and Dean got a potential sample from your mystery monster. An actual workable lead.

Fucking great.

The two of them are deciding what to do with you. If you were to look beyond the lens of your self-hatred for a moment, it’s more likely that the boys are worried about you and trying to figure this out. But you feel embarrassed and gross and unhelpful, so you strain to pick up every word you can and glare a new hole into the wall. They’re going to tell you to stay behind. Well that, at least, is something you can beat them to.

Ever since you were little, the three of you had a very special rhythm together. Sam was the mind and Dean was the heart and you were the subconscious. Each of you was important, and though you could work on your own, you were so, so much better as a system. With you sending out fucked-up signals, the two of them would be down a crucial piece.

Whatever. They’d probably function just fine without you on this one.

Of course, Dean sics his little peacekeeper on you. The door clicks open. You smear the last of your frustrated tears on your sleeve and talk before Sam can say anything: “Hey, is it okay if you guys take that sample to Jerry without me? It’d probably be good for us to get a leg up on research, and you guys don’t exactly need me there.”

Sam comes toward you, his voice extra soft and placating. Since, y’know, you’re a shitty timebomb that needs to be handled with kid gloves. “...Alright. That’s a good idea. That’d help out a lot.”

He says that specifically because he knows you feel unhelpful. He gives you those dewy, understanding Sam eyes and puts his big Sam hand on your shoulder, and all it does is piss you off. You hate how easily he can read you, and how much you want to listen to him. None of this should be such a big fucking deal. You’re twenty-four—you should have a handle on your Gift by now. Sam’s been back at this for, what? Two months? Nobody’s treating him like he can’t handle the pressure. He’s not being haunted by visions twenty-four-fucking-seven or dealing with stupid burns or—or being creeped on by random hunters! Or throwing up at crime scenes!

Your eyes start to burn. You glare harder at the wall, and force yourself not to take this out on him.

Sam’s hand goes to move off your shoulder, but something changes his mind and he keeps it there for another lingering moment. “Look at me a second.”

You force yourself to look at his face. As mad as you are, the boy-crazy teenage girl in your head gets one look at him and squeals into her pillow.

“Go easy on yourself,” he says, softer than before. “Really. Nobody’s built for this kind of thing.”

You want to scream. Me! I am! I’m built for this! But you’re not a teenager anymore, so you compose yourself, sigh, and tell him, “...I’ll try.”

Instead of getting up, Sam stares at you for a long beat. There’s something in his eyes you can’t describe, and his hand is still on your shoulder, tethering the two of you to each other. Your mental teenage girl is about to succumb to romantic psychosis when Sam’s greenish eyes find something else to look at, and he passes you something from his pocket.

He mutters something like feel better and gets up, leaving you with a shard of metal about as long as one of your fingers. He doesn’t explain what it is to you. He doesn’t tell you what to do with it. Because you’re a hunter, dammit, and Sam knows you can handle yourself. His warm, calloused palm slips off your shoulder and you get the impression that he was never using any kid gloves with you to begin with.

Sam leaves. You stare at the shard as the Impala slinks out of the parking lot. Just by touch, you know it’s a piece of flight 2485’s fuselage.

…You do as Sam asked, and go easy on yourself. After a shower, a little teeth-brushing, and a lot of mints, you’re feeling way less gross and a lot more like a hunter. The whole time you pour through research on your laptop, you rub the shard of flight 2485 between your fingers and sort through what this thing could be. Inhuman strength. Uses a vessel. Black eyes. Black smoke.

Nobody’s built for this kind of thing, Sam had said, and he’d been wrong. You’d been honing this Gift before you’d even known you’d had it. Most of your life had been spent learning every kind of divination under the sun, so there was no way this thing could hide from you.

You started easy, reading the shard through psychometry. The nauseous feeling rose up inside you again, and again, you heeded Sam’s warning and chose to push away from it. You tried numerology, which felt like a push in the right direction; 2458 wasn’t relevant, and though 7 survivors could mean something interesting (luck, the union of the physical and the spiritual, yadda yadda), your gut told you it was something else. The plane crashed 40 minutes in. Biblical numerology, maybe? Promising. But also potentially terrifying.

When your bone casting read felt flat and uninspired, you defaulted to the simplest method you could think of. Tarot.

The first time you’d seen an apparition, your mom had scooped you up into a massive hug and paraded you around the house, declaring to the spirits of the underworld that a new heavyweight champ had entered the ring. (This became a lot funnier the older you got). You were bought ice cream and root beer and told in a thousand ways, subtle and unsubtle, that this was a good thing. One of the ways Beth convinced you was with her childhood tarot deck, which she’d gifted you that day.

You turned the cards over in your hands, imbuing the worn-smooth texture of the paper with the feelings from your vision. The first card you pulled was done on nothing but pure instinct. And the second. By the third, you shuffled the deck as thoroughly as possible, but the answer was still the same every single time. You’d never pulled the same exact card three times. All at once, things pulled together—the overwhelming sense of evil, the human host, the numerology, the way it sucked up death like a goddamn sponge—no survivors, it’d said on the EVP. Holy shit.

You were dialing Dean’s number the second you set the card down. He answered on the second ring, and spoke at the exact same time as you—

“It’s a demon."

Underneath the illustration were two blemished words. The Devil.

tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looouou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoonn

NEXT PART: phantom traveler, p.3.

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester fic recs #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #pythia #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural rewrite

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lesbian-empress-nero · 1 month

Note

Goro Akechi knows many things.

He knows the many crimes of Masayoshi Shido. He knows the gory details of his mother’s suicide. He knows the histories of the elusive Phantom Thieves, each a tragedy of its own merit.

What he didn’t know was that he was still capable of dreams that didn’t turn to nightmares that left him awake and trembling in a cold sweat, desperately trying to ease the memories from his mind.

Tonight was his first time dreaming in some time. He was sitting in LeBlanc, the Phantom Thieves around him. Sakamoto and Takamaki are playing a game of a piece of blank paper in a booth, Niijima and Okumura are chatting merrily over lattes and delicious-looking pastries, and Isshiki- no, Sakura, he reminds himself- is playing with that cat at the counter.

Kurusu is behind said counter, smiling gently as he prepares another round of coffees and curries, his glasses fogged up from the constant steam that rises from his work.

Akechi sits at the counter as well, near the payphone in his usual seat. The book in front of him definitely has words, but he can’t read a single bit of it. It looks like English, but the letters are scrambled and warped beyond any hope of recognition.

The bell to the front door rings, and everyone, Akechi included, turns their head to look at who it is.

And Akechi suddenly feels as though he can’t breathe, because his mother is standing there, alive and well and beaming from ear to ear and suddenly Goro sees the resemblance between them in the way her brown hair falls around her face and her red eyes shine like rubies in certain lighting and the way she holds herself. And Goro finds himself wrapped up in her arms, sobbing, and the Phantom Thieves have their eyes on each other but they’re definitely still watching as though they’re the audience of one of those terrible TV interviews he keeps accepting.

“My son, my beautiful son, how you’ve grown so handsomely,” his mother murmurs into his hair, tucking it behind his ear and pressing a kiss against it, gently pulling away to cup his cheeks. Her gaze is soft and warm, kind and lovely. Goro wants to sob some more like a little child.

“Goro, how sorry I am for leaving you behind so young... How I wish to go back, to watch in person as you grow. Forgive me, Goro, I beg you...” His mother sinks to her knees at her son’s feet, hands still wrapped in his, her hair falling around her like a curtain, hiding her weeping face.

Goro can’t speak, so he kneels down in front of her, rests their foreheads together, looks at her for as long as he dares before bringing her to her feet as he rises.

His mother pulls him into another hug, and Goro smells cherry and vanilla- her perfume. There’s a hint of lavender there too, eerily similar to how Sakamoto smells when he’s close enough.

“Mom-” he chokes out, and his mother looks at him with the same odd tenderness that he sometimes saw Kurusu look at him with, or perhaps the warmth of Sakamoto. The determination of Takamaki. The resiliance of Niijima. The pureheartedness of Okumura. The tenacity of Isshiki Sakura.

He sees the Phantom Thieves in the simple, gentle gaze of his mother. And he feels as though he can’t breathe, but he continues to gasp for air and cling to her, cling to the memory of her warmth against his body, her gentle touch on his back, the kisses she peppers his hair with.

And when he wakes up, he swears he can still smell cherry-vanilla perfume mixed with lavender shampoo and coffee as it lingers in the air.

i love the detail that the words on the page can't be read. dreams are like ai generated images. there will be things out of place, words you cant read, distorted hands with missing or additional fingers, clocks that dont work, lights that dont turn on. idk im a person who likes dreams.

anyway onto the actual fic DOES RYUJI REMIND AKECHI OF HIS MOM??? IM GOING TO SCREAMMM when hes in his dream and the smell reminds him of ryuji... then he wakes up and he still smells it... also that must feel horrible whenever he wakes up, being so happy to see that person again only for it to be a dream and just wanting to go back to sleep forever and live in your mind...

#are akechi and ryuji cuddling PLEAAASSE #nero answers #shackle-foes #goro akechi #ryugoro #persona 5 #persona 5 spoilers #p5 spoilers #p5

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insomniac-jay · 5 months

Text

Performance of a Lifetime [MusicBelle]

Belle Holiday's performance is interrupted by an uninvited guest.

AKA Jay tries to write singing in word form

"I put a spell on you because you're mine." Belle sang, slowly danced to the piano like there was an invisible partner gliding along to her movements.

Her jewels glimmered in the color changing lights, creating an even more dazzling show. Belle's outfit was equally as angelic as she was, and even more so once she pulled out her fans. It was her last performance of the night, after all. Why not go all out?

"Stop the things you do, watch out, I ain't lying." Belle swayed and rolled her hips. "I can't stand no runnin' around. I can't stand no puttin' me down."

"I put a spell on you because you're mine, oh yeah!"

Both Belle and the audience looked to see the theater doors thrown open.

A tall, redheaded man made his way down the aisle, singing along to the song. His eyes were obscured by a pair of glasses with a quaver. The thing that caught Belle's attention the most was the gap in his teeth.

That's cute, she thought to herself. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Music Meister," the man sang. "And you are all my pawns."

The crowd went from confusion and shock to obedience--eyes glowing green. They lost all emotion in their faces and began to sing along with him.

"He's the Music Meister!"

"As I regale you with my story, know you have no choice but to do my bidding when you hear this booming voice!"

However, Belle's face stayed exactly the same. While she found his voice alluring, she wasn't affected like the pianist and her audience were. The Music Meister must've taken notice of this since he looked confused.

"And what of you, my angel of music?"

Belle furrowed her eyebrows. "I don't appreciate you crashing my show and hypnotizing my patrons."

Music Meister's eyes widened in shock. For such a calm lady, her voice was firm and icy. Then, an idea came to his head.

"Then sing with me and I promise no harm will come to them."

The pianist played the pipe organ as Music Meister and Belle stood across from each other. She recognized the tune as the song to Phantom of the Opera.

"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came. A voice that calls to me, and speaks my name," Belle sang as she danced to the music. "And do I dream again? For now I find the Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind."

Meister belted, "Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you grows strong again. And though you turn from me to glance behind, the Phantom of the Opera is there inside your mind."

Belle slightly yelped as he pulled her close to him. Though he easily towered over her, he touched her gently like she was made of glass.

"Those who have seen your face draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear."

"It's me they hear."

"My spirit and your voice in one combined," they sang in unison, slow dancing to the song. "The Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind."

The crowd joined in, "The Phantom of the Opera. The Phantom of the Opera."

Belle was mesmerized until Meister whispered in her ear, "Time to shine, doll."

Slightly embarrassed by the nickname, Belle began singing the high notes of Christine's part. Her singing must've impressed the musical intruder.

"Sing, my angel of music."

Belle sang higher.

"Sing, angel, sing for me."

She went higher.

"Sing, my angel! Sing for me!"

Belle reached deep into her chords and did the highest note she could. Her voice echoed throughout the theater, breaking Music Meister's hypnosis on the audience. Before Belle could react, thunderous applause and cheers and whistles roared.

"Thank you! Thank you!" Music Meister bowed.

Belle bowed as well, since she might as well go along with the act. Roses even found their way onto the stage. Hopefully she'd be able to play it off as a surprise guest or a fan.

"How'd you resist?" Music Meister whispered. "I've never had anyone do that."

"I lost almost half of my hearing in a car accident," Belle explained. "I can still hear things pretty well, but nothing too soft or hard."

Music Meister hummed. But for some reason, he couldn't be mad at this woman. Instead, he found her and her voice fascinating. He'd have to come to this theater more often.

"May I know your name?"

Belle swore he sounded Cajun in his speaking voice, but today was already weird enough. "Belle. Belle Holiday."

"Your real name, chere."

Just as I suspected. "Why? You gonna tell the cops?"

Music Meister chuckled slightly. "No. I want to remember you...and maybe come see you again."

Belle leaned in towards his ear and whispered, "Christine. Christine Bennett."

"Well then, Miss Holiday," Music Meister tipped his hat. "I'll be seeing you again very soon." He then disappeared.

A small smile curled Belle's lips. Even if she was still pissed that her show was interrupted, she couldn't deny she had fun. Not to mention she found Music Meister's gap tooth cute.

Maybe I will.

@floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @jasontoddssuper @honeysgalaxy

#jay's writings #ship: musicbelle

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cromaka3666 · 1 year

Text

a rant/series of ideas

So I've posted these on SB before but to put it simply, the phandom is stagnant. The same ideas are repeated over and over again mixed up but too similar to tell apart. Over on ao3s dp crossover section I've noticed a ton of these stories are created after the author reads a prompt here so I figured I'd gather the posts I've made on SB and post them here in hopes those authors can see them. I'm just copy/pasting these so they will look weird as they were originally posted on SB and I can't be bothered to edit them.

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So yall know how d.c. crossovers are really common. Well I just had a small idea to add to the list of why heroes don't usually kill, batman especially. Obsessions can help make ghosts and few people are more obsessed than villains, the heroes know this and don't want to risk powering up their rogue gallery more, especially since hell is real and as we saw with deathstroke/slade it's easy to make deals and return. Just another angle to add for those crossovers. Last thing anyone wants is a ghost/demon empowered joker running around.

We have tons of danny phantom dc crossovers but not a single one has Cujo join the super pets for adventures. This is a crime that should be rectified immediately. Best pup should be allowed to play with Ace and Krypto and fight animal crimes.

What aren't there any stories where danny is in the marvels zombies storyline, or dceased, or blackest night, or even the new dc vs vampires storyline.

Why are almost all horror stories about him being tortured when there are perfectly good zombie apocalypses he can fight in. I'd love to see danny wield a black lantern ring and be in total control because he's already dead and as such doesn't need to eat hearts to gain power.

I'd love to see danny get bite by a vampire only for them to taste what's basically deadmans blood. We need less secret sibling, torture filled, betrayal fics and more danny pulling a doomslayer and fighting trigons armies when he invades.

Pariah Dark pulling amity into the gz would have gotten international attention just like cannon. Something that's brought up but never really explored are meta humans rights clashing with the anti ecto laws, I'd love to see the various magic users testifying in congress, debunking the fentons beliefs that ghosts aren't people and as such deserve the same rights as everyone else.

Also I'd love to see walker put in control of arkham, blackgate, or Belle reve. He'd have those places on lockdown, and the thought of the joker trying to escape only for walker to toss him back in his cell is hilarious to me.

All these DC crossovers but not one shows an alternate danny in the justice lords, injustice, or crime syndicate version of the league.

I'm tired of rereading the same stuff, let me read about an evil crime boss danny or one who rules over the GZ like how the justice lords rule earth, or one that sides with superman after metropolis gets nuked. So many alternate worlds, timelines, and dimensions to choose from and they always pick the same ones.

Forget JLU, YJ, or TT let me see danny in the justice league dark apocalypse war movie as a trigon possed Dan Phantom and have him fight Darksied

The infinite realms is so underutilized in the dc crossovers, and just the phandom in general.

You have an entire dimension that can take you any when and anywhere you want/don't want and you don't use it to let superman meet his parents before krypton blows up, or any other orphan superhero for that matter.

Hell you don't have to save his family, you can set up a stable time loop where this meeting is what convinced them to send him to earth rather then any of kryptons dying colonies.

Have Pandora meet wonder women, I don't think I've seen anything more then a passing reference about her in any dc stories to date. The 4 armed ghost of a Greek Goddess would absolutely be something the Amazon's would want to meet.

I'd love to see more stories exploring the factions in the gz like make up a rivalry between the far frozen and Atlantis before the yetis died out and less stories about Lazarus pits being ectoplasm, and Danny bring the lover/secret brother to the entire bat clan.

Give me poison ivy possed by Undergrowth or the joker being terrorized by the box ghost because joker gas doesn't work on the dead. Hell weather wizard/ any other weather villain teaming up with vortex would be fun. Or have technus hijack brainiac/amazo, now that be a good threat.

Let's see Danny put on the helmet of fate and fight klarion because he's not at the same level as the cosmic forces of order and chaos rather then the gz being some super dimension that John "I sold my soul to 30 devils, 10 gods, an angel and a fae" Constantine is too scared to touch. Pariah was powerful, but he ain't Darkseid, Trigon, Child, or Nekron powerful.

Let's see more, superheroes deal with ghostly shit rather then Danny runs away/moves to Gotham for the 30th time. Like lets say the flash has to deal with Kitty and Johnny joy riding in Central city but he can't touch them or freakshow stops in Gotham and kidnaps Jason since the phandom is obsessed with making him a halfa or halfa adjacent. So much potential and none of it explored!

So, yall know how the phandom likes to make ectoplasm an emotional conduit. Where ghosts either can feel / feed on emotions and ectoplasm can have emitions without being a ghost, usually when talking about the pit rage Jason has in the DC stories. Well, let's roll with that and add the Emotional Entities that the lantern corps use.

If ghosts feed on emotions then the lanterns are basically walking snacks, if they sense emotions then the lanterns are walking flash bangs, and if ectoplasm can have emotions then let's have some ghosts get lantern rings simply because they are emotions given physical forms.

Also, yall know how the Danny defeats pariah and becomes king stories are a whole thing, why doesn't that apply to Dan?

Rant/prompt ideas done for now but I have so many more. Let's bring some life back to this half dead phandom.

#danny phantom #dc fandome #danny fenton #ghost zone #marvel #fanfiction #archive of our own #story ideas #crossover #phandom #young justice #teen titans

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noeggets · 1 year

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So in theory I wanted to make my own jellyfish sonic oc (im actually doing that with the phantom jelly fish idea) how would you recommend incorporating the jellyfish parts in its design?

See so what I do is two different things

Either I look at the animal I'm making a try to imagine what it would look like as a sonic person by taking the image and putting it in my preferred art program and draw a base body for a sonic character

Every jellyfish sonic person is gonna have a bell, that large head lamp thing, so you can only come up with so many creative ways to make to make it unique but in the phantom jellyfish case me personally I would leave it a solid color or put the faded like pink brain thing in it so it looks semi transparent cause you dont have many colors to work with alone but if your using crazy colors say i make the phantom jelly purple i would make the brain teal

I try to stay true to the animal and if it doesnt have spots or stripes I try not to give it any but if you want to you can that's just me

My second method is learn from others, if you search pinterest or tumblr or deviantart or Google for that matter and put " 'preferred animal' sonic oc" you can see how somebody else would do it and work with how they interpreted it into a sonic person form and cheat off that to make your own

it's not stealing it's what you do with that design choice cause if that was the cause Shadow's quills are sonic's but bent different ways as long as your not like taking a whole design there are 0 problems with doing this

another thing that helps is if you have a character and a element you don't need much else cause that brings you a color too

like Water, you have your jellyfish, that could be cool but let me make it cooler maybe the tentacles are made of water and they could attack with them like many whips that would be cool maybe they are always walking on them like Kit tsunami

You can use actual canon characters that aren't the same species to get a general idea on what your about to do when creating a animal that hasn't been used in the sonic world

Like we have only seen one jellyfish sonic person and its Opal from the archie comics but you know what we have seen to go along with that? Sharks,Dolphins,fish,otter,octopus some animals are like in the same category as others

these may not be the same animals but they are all ocean creatures and you can gather from every design choice that having a sonic sea creature oc they do not have noses like the rest of the cast (I would even argue Charmy shouldn't have a nose because he is a bug but thats up in the air for whoever is drawing him to decide)

Another way I dont do often is try turning a existing sonic character into the animal you desire, I have a sketch book where I turned all the hedgehogs into different kinds of dogs it was a fun experiment

i'd say Hedgehogs Tenrecs and Meerkats are almost in the same slot because Hedgehogs have quills but meerkats do not, but you can give them almost the same ear types like Sonic's or like Surge or Gold you could even do it like Surge except more pointed and tiny

for the Meerkat i would go round like monkey khan from the archie comics like how i did knuckles there

i hope some of this nonsense actually helps you cause this is actually how i do it

#wiralonprimesskits #sth #talkin #sonic oc #sonic oc help #character creation

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chickwiththepurpleguitar · 2 years

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hi bestie! I don't even go here so idk if this happens in canon, but for the julie and the phantoms fanfic prompts, it would be cool to see trevor and the ghosts hang out. what sort of inside jokes do they share that julie is totally oblivious to?

idk if this even makes sense but just thought i'd share. good luck w your goal!! 💕

God, you're the best. You don't even go here! (you should go here, though, seriously, join me in hell). Thanks so much for this prompt, my friend, I hope you (and the people who go here) enjoy! :D

Send me prompts!

Once the dam has been broken, the awkward pleasantries squared away, and the metaphorical elephants in Julie’s very real dining room slaughtered and stuffed, it becomes entirely too easy to see where Trevor Wilson once fit into Sunset Curve.

It’s not the same, obviously. He is now a forty-two-year-old man joshing around with his high school buddies who are both seventeen and dead. The movements they would have made to toss an arm around Bobby’s shoulder or drag him into a hug go aborted and unfinished now that he’s taller and broader than he used to be. The looks they give him— of exasperation at themselves, each other, or the world at large— go unshared, or met with wide-eyed blankness, because where they’ve had practice exchanging conspiratorial looks with Bobby in only the last year or so, Trevor hasn’t exchanged any with them in two and a half decades.

It’s obvious to Julie— to anyone who might have the misfortune of watching Trevor, Luke, Alex, and Reggie attempt to have a conversation over Julie’s dad’s dairy-free lasagna— where the cracks still lie, where twenty-five years and a whole lot of hurt have taken part of who they were as a group and thrown it away.

But Julie can see, more subtle though it might be, where the pieces fit together still, too. She can see how they used to be friends.

“So!” Luke says partway through dinner, leg visibly bouncing beneath the table. “Trevor.”

He gives him this look— quintessential Luke— like he needs Trevor to know he’s using his name as an insult, but instead of shying away, Trevor meets it head-on with a piercing look of his own— flat, unimpressed, one eyebrow raised just enough to draw attention.

It must be a quintessential Bobby look, because all three ghosts’ jaws drop, and Luke mutters something half-intelligible about forgetting what he was gonna say.

Later, Julie’s dad asks who wants dessert, and Alex deadpans, “Don’t let Bobby have any. Reggie’s only got one pair of pants.”

Dad goes still, and Julie watches Trevor with the same hesitation. He’s touchy around food as it is— for obvious reasons, though Julie still finds it a little funny that the boys who actually died from bad food have never once appeared to share the same reservations— and it must be weird to hear the ghosts of his bandmates call him by his old name.

But instead of getting upset, Trevor snorts and puts a hand over his face, shoulders shaking. Alex’s subtle smile turns a little more self-satisfied as Reggie enthusiastically launches into a story about his Bar Mitzvah suit and a poorly-placed tray of cream puffs.

When they’re cleaning up from dinner, Dad and Trevor end up at the sink together, elbow to elbow as Dad washes dishes and Trevor dries. Julie pauses in wiping down the table to watch them over the kitchen island for a moment. Dad says something low and Trevor laughs, leaning into his side and back again. They look happy.

“I hear wedding bells,” Reggie teases, appearing next to her.

After all this time, hse doesn’t jump. She could feel him coming even before he poofed. Still, she says, “I thought you guys were cleaning up the studio.”

“We are,” Reggie says. “Well, Luke and Alex are. I’m apparently ‘too much of a distraction’ and ‘too likely to break things’ so they told me to see if I could help in here.”

Julie laughs softly, reaching up to ruffle Reggie’s hair. “Well, I appreciate the offer, but I think we’ve got it handled.” She nods toward the kitchen, and only then fully registers what Reggie said when he came in. “Wait, did you say wedding bells?”

Reggie grins. “Oh, yeah. It might have been twenty-five years, Julie, but I still know Bobby. And that—” He points just as Trevor snaps a dishtowel at her dad’s butt— “is Bobby with a crush.”

“Oh my god,” Julie whispers. She turns around. She doesn’t want to see that. She doesn’t even want to think about it.

God, but the way Reggie just knew. It’s not just a best friend thing— Julie doesn’t think she’d be able to pick up on flirty Flynn that quickly, not if they hadn’t seen each other in a while.

It’s like Sunset Curve speaks its own language, one of looks and inside jokes and old stories and knowing each other more deeply than they know themselves. Julie doesn’t think she could learn it all if she tried.

But she thinks she’d like to.

Taglist: @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @teenagedirtbag-dot-jpeg @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @shrimp-colours @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @julieandthequeers @joyandthephantoms @it-tastes-like-lizard @jatpfs

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfiction #fanfiction #julie molina #trevor wilson #reggie peters #alex mercer #luke patterson #ray molina #rayvor

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princesssarisa · 2 years

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Character ask: The Phantom of the Opera (Andrew Lloyd Webber musical)

Tagged by anonymous

These answers are for the musical character only, because I haven't read Gaston Leroux's book yet.

Favorite thing about them: His poetic, musical spirit, his array of skills and the fascinating use to which he puts them, the tragedy of his life story which earns our pity without excusing his worst actions, and his ultimate redemption by letting Christine go.

Least favorite thing about them: Nothing much. Just that he murders two men, terrorizes the opera house, is controlling and possessive toward the woman he loves, kidnaps her, and threatens to kill the man she loves if she refuses to be his. That's all.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I love music.

*I feel insecure about my looks.

*I can be passionate – although I don't kidnap my crushes or strangle people when I'm angry.

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I have a loving family.

*I'm not a genius in multiple artistic fields.

*I'm not deformed.

Favorite line: The lyrics to "The Music of the Night."

brOTP: Madame Giry, especially in the film version where she saved his life and brought him to the opera house years earlier. In crossover-land, I'd like to see him meet Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, because they have a fair amount in common (although I admit I like Heathcliff better).

OTP: Emotional healing.

nOTP: Christine – sorry, phans.

Random headcanon: While like most opera lovers, he was introduced to the legend of Don Juan through Mozart's Don Giovanni, he's also well-versed in earlier versions of the story, since his array of talents includes "scholar" as well as musician, architect, and inventor. That's why in his opera Don Juan Triumphant, he called the Zerlina-like character "Aminta," since that was her name in the original play by Tirso de Molina. No word on why he named the Catalinón/Leporello character "Passarino," though.

Unpopular opinion: He's not a romantic hero. He's an antagonist. A tragic, sympathetic one, not to mention charismatic and compelling, but an antagonist just the same. Christine doesn't belong with him, and he redeems himself in the end by letting her go with the man she does belong with. Love Never Dies will never be canon to me.

Song I associate with them:

"The Phantom of the Opera"

youtube

"The Music of the Night"

youtube

Favorite pictures of them:

Michael Crawford:

Colm Wilkinson, with Rebecca Caine as Christine (hard to believe they did this after playing father and daughter in Les Misérables!):

Howard McGillin (a.k.a. the voice of Prince Derek in that childhood favorite of mine, The Swan Princess):

Davis Gaines (the first Phantom I ever saw onstage at age ten, as well as the singing voice of the Chamberlain in the above-mentioned Swan Princess):

Hugh Panaro:

Thomas James O'Leary:

Mike Sterling, with Meredith Braun (a.k.a. Belle in The Muppet Christmas Carol) as Christine:

John Owen Jones, with Celinde Schoenmaker as Christine:

Ramin Karimloo:

Gerard Butler in the film version:

#character ask #the phantom of the opera #andrew lloyd webber #musical theatre #ask game #tw: murder #tw: kidnapping #fictional characters

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nightlist · 2 years

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Big Pozt Of my zaved nozleep ztoriez

warning i havent reread theze and dont remember all of them and conzidering my tazte itz zafe to azzume they are all very fucked up

Cackling Grackles

The Artist

The Pancake Family

Gurgles & Bugman

Has anyone heard of the Left/Right Game?

Stuck

Ellie Bakerfield disappeared thirty years ago

My next-door neighbor was really loud

Deck the halls... if you dare

I've done terrible things to my son

It all started when I realized my iPhone was self-lubricating.

I was a boogeyman for 12 years. Yesterday the kid I was supposed to haunt finally saved me

When I was a little girl I had a phantom arm -- along with two real ones.

The Bell in the Woods

I'm the Only Woman at My IT Job and Now I Know Why

I killed all of my colleagues, and I'll never get caught. This is my confession.

I Was Dead for Six Minutes and Saw Heaven. I Would Rather Go To Hell. Part 1

Come to Daddy

Jogging in the Park is My Excuse to Look At All The Little Girls (thiz one iz not abt being a pedophile /g)

An old friend's been emailing me about a strange, secret website

The Broken Man

The Sun's Not Coming Up

For nearly 10 years my Secret Santa remained anonymous, but now I know the truth. - December 17

The Sisters of House Omega

I have an unusual job. The pay is good, but I really hate the moaning sounds that go with it.

Because You Are My Baby

My daughter was a monster

Better

The Puppet in the Tree

I work security at Disney World... well, I mean I did.

Matchsticks and Cigarettes

The same hitchhiker was waiting at every stop for the last 100 miles

My House Smells Like Shit And Brimestone. Thanks, Roomba.

My four year old never wants to sleep anymore. I need advice

I Bought The House I Died In As A Child

The Last Bus

Oh Sweetheart

I knew a woman who never took off her wedding dress

Maria on the Moon

Someone keeps leaving gifts at my doorstep, and the names of people they want dead

She's a Keeper

The Walls Sweat

I was adopted into a rich family and my new mother is a doll

I just graduated from medical school, and my new hospital has some very strange rules

This is not a suicide note!

Mommy Sleeps in The Basement

There's Something Beyond VantaBlack

Project Entryway

Feed the Pig

There's Something Wrong With Dad

Room 733

Rocking Horse Creek

The Pocket Watch

The Disappearance of Ashley Morgan

The Lost Town of Deepwood, Pennsylvania

July 10th, 1982

Aiden's Spot

Here comes the child bride

The local children think I'm a witch

Life’s tough when your best friend is a serial killer.

Down in the Library Basement

The Farm for Bad Animals

The Judge

Every Halloween, I have a story to tell...

Hell's Mortician

Ghost Repellent

My Best Friend Was a Mermaid

I'm the "Administrator" of the Numbers Station UVB-76 a.k.a "The Buzzer"

Have you ever met a boy named Tan?

The Crone's Wood

I Met a Demon on the Tokyo Subway

The Hello Game

If You See Particularly Clear Water at the Beach in Florida, Do Not Go Swimming.

The Last Time I Picked Up My Son

Ever See An Amber Alert You Were Responsible For?

Arranged Marriage

Everybody has a Demon

Teratophobia

There's a Monster Under My Bed

There's a Man Outside My Window

I remember the first time I helped kill my sister.

How to survive camping

The Salt Witch

The worst part about caring for my grandfather with dementia can be hearing the things he confesses to

Down the Drain

The world ended on January 1st, 2022

Dad shut himself inside his bunker at the start of the pandemic. Three months ago, we lost contact with him.

The Swan

if one of theze zoundz interezting but you have triggerz youd want to be warned for firzt feel free to zend me a dm or azk im happy to check ztuff (anon azkz are on)

#potapz horror recz #long post

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atqh16 · 2 years

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Overcoming Distance

4th Chapter. AO3 here

Naruto opens the door of his godfathers apartment at 4 in the morning to find an unhappy Uchiha staring at him outside with narrowed eyes and thinned lips that clearly said “If this is not the emergency you implied it to be then so help me it will be”

Which would scare Naruto if he hadn’t become impervious to all of Sasuke’s glares in the last 3 years they’d been friends. Even with being an inch shorter than the Uchiha despite both of them being 15, Naruto has shown several times over that he can take on his best friend toe to toe and nose to nose anyday.

With that said, he takes less than a second to read the very clear threat message and takes Sasuke by surprise when the blonde grabs him by the jacket sleeve of his crossed arms and dragged him over the threshold off his home.

Sasuke pulls his hand away but just as he’s about to voice his irritation, his eye catches the sight of someone curled asleep on the living room couch blanketed by a colourful afghan. Someone with familiar pale skin and long brown hair that was draped over his neck but someone who was also very much not supposed to be there.

This time it was Sasuke’s turn to wrap a steel grip on Naruto’s shoulder and march him, quietly, to his room before slowly shutting the door. Though just before it did, he heard the jingle of a bell and glanced down to see Naruto’s puffy Maine Coone slip through the tiny gap before jumping onto the bed and giving Sasuke a look off unimpressed disdain that he usually gave him whenever he came over. Sasuke swore the cat was a demon reincarnated. A theory supported by the fact that when Naruto had first found him as a kitten abandoned in an alleyway, limping and starved, the orange cat had greeted Naruto’s attempt to pick him up by trying to turn him into the next phantom of the opera via claws to the face. Not that it deterred Naruto even for a second. It took him a week to capture the tiny thing and almost a month of gentle coaxing before Naruto could sit in the same room with him without the cat trying to attack his feet. Now a year later, Kurama was still a little devil but one that spent half the day sleeping and the other half curled up near Naruto and being a menace towards anyone new unless Naruto himself calmed him down.

Sasuke gave the cat a scathing look of his own as he finally closed the door with a click of its latch. Turning towards Naruto, the look he gives the blonde is again more than enough to tell him what questions he needed to answer and answer fast because Sasuke is very confused as to why Neji Hyuga was passed out on Jiraiya’s sofa in the early morning.

The answer, is not a nice one.

“His uncle gave him like 5 minutes to pack up his stuff before he literally shoved him out the door. Hinata obviously tried to stop her dad but you know how Hiashi is”

It went unsaid that even if Hinata had managed to appease her father, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Neji despised his uncle and had been bidding his time till he was 18 to take flight. The only reason he had even stayed was because his father had asked him too before he died. Hizashi had loved his son more than anything, especially after Neji’s mother had passed away. But in the last few years of his life battling cancer, he’d been terrified of leaving his then 8 year old son alone or even worse, thrown into Japan’s inept system when it came to caring after orphans.

Naruto hated how Hiashi had basically forced his nephew into servitude for his own family in exchange for being cared for. But Naruto also understood that the alternative was not any better.

Even so, there had been an intense animosity between Neji and Naruto when they met for the first time in high school. Even worse than what he and Sasuke had as children. Neji was an understandably angry and bitter teen and maybe no one understood the pain of living in the conditions he did more than Naruto. But that didn’t mean he could excuse the other boys awful treatment and bullying of his cousin, who refused to tell her father about it. Seeing it as penance (that she should not have had to deal with) for the awful treatment her father put Neji through.

In a town as small as Konoha, everyone had turned a blind eye to the situation. Everyone minded their own business and any outliers were scorned and seen as troublemakers for daring to bring forth any ‘disruption’ of the status quo that existed. It was what made Naruto’s status as an orphan who’d come from outside of Konoha so despised by the community.

But that just made Naruto’s refusal to mind his own business the way everyone else did even stronger. This was Naruto after all. When had he ever followed any rule he simply didn’t like even if it did get him into trouble.

Which is why it hadn’t been surprising when a confrontation finally occurred between Naruto and the Hyuga after in a fit of anger, Neji had pushed Hinata down the stairs of their school and would most definitely have either caused grievous injury or even killed her if Kiba, who’d been passing by, hadn’t caught her.

The fight between the two, at the time, 14 year old boys had been violent and bloody, and Sasuke himself would have intervened if Naruto hadn’t insisted he stay out of it. He had been close to ignoring Naruto’s request and join the fight anyway when it became obvious 3 minutes in that Neji was the better fighter. But the Hyuga had underestimated Naruto’s stubborn refusal to not only back down but also stay down and 10 minutes later, Neji was lying on the ground in an exhausted heap while Naruto himself was still standing despite a bruise on his left brow having swelled his eye shut and wobbling with all his weight on one foot because of a clearly dislocated ankle on the other.

Hinata had been sobbing at the side throughout the whole debacle and it had taken everything in Sasuke to not rush forward and help his friend. So, he only watched, while fidgeting restlessly, when Naruto dropped to his knees beside the Hyuga and started talking in low hushed voices that from the distance, Sasuke could not hear. But from where he was sitting, he had a clear view of Neji’s form suddenly shake from bursting into sobs and Naruto leaning forward to gently place his forehead on the other boy’s and wrap an arm around him.

Sasuke had looked away. It felt too much like he was intruding on a private moment where Neji was probably finding his paradigm shattered after having held on to it for so long. Naruto had that effect on people.

Naruto and Neji hadn’t suddenly become best friends after the incident. The Hyuga was still reserved and quiet but he’d also become more amicable and most importantly he was kinder to Hinata.

So, when Neji had one day joined them at their lunch table, neither Sasuke nor Naruto made a comment other then the latter sliding the bowl of chicken katsu, he’d finally been able to afford to buy from the high school lunch ladies due to the hefty allowance Jiraiya set aside for him every month, towards the other teen.

So, Neji looking to Naruto for security after the horrible ordeal he just went through with his uncle wasn’t surprising. But there were still many questions that needed to be asked.

“Does Jiraiya know?”

Naruto shrugged, “I left him a message but I don’t know if he’s seen it yet. You know how strict the agency is about allowing Jiraiya any outside connection other than with them when he’s undercover.

“Tsunade?”

“I left her a message too but she’s on a night shift so I don’t know if she’s read it either”

Naruto drops himself at the edge of his bed and Kurama almost immediately rubbed himself against his side comfortingly and its only then that Sasuke sees how exhausted Naruto looked. He walks forward, ignoring the agitated hiss from Kurama, and gently tilts his best friends face up, making the bags under his eyes even more apparent.

“What time did Neji get here?”

“Like, 9?”

“And you haven’t slept the whole time?”

“Well, yeah. He wasn’t very calm and I wanted to make sure he actually got some rest and didn’t wake up, freak out and leave”

Naruto of course doesn’t bother to mention how that had left himself sleep deprived, particularly relevant since they’d both been staying up nights recently to finish up a project for class.

“Why did it take you so long to call me?”

Naruto rubbed the back of his neck and gave Sasuke a sheepish grin, “I didn’t want bother you so early”

Which….. sounds exactly what the idiot would do.

And that’s another problem. Naruto, despite all the awful things he’s had to endure, had always somehow managed to keep the fire inside him burning like a beacon for the lost and drowned. It had been why Sasuke ‘made the first move’ (as Naruto would call it) in their friendship in the first place.

Naruto saw Sasuke sharing his food as an act of acknowledgment on his part towards the blonde but Sasuke knows the true selfish reasons that had laid behind his actions. Sasuke had looked at the lonely, abandoned boy grieving a childhood he had never got to have and Sasuke saw himself. He saw what he had become after his parents death and as morbid as the thought might have been at the time for someone so young, the sight of Naruto alone at that cafeteria table made Sasuke himself feel less alone. And in a period of his life where it felt like he had lost everything, having that connection, as thin of a thread as it might have been, was everything to him. That first step he had taken to sit at that table had been an attempt on his part to feel more of that comfort up close.

But Naruto, his actions had always been based out of a pure and at times frustrating sense of idealistic altruism that twisted Sasuke’s insides tight. Not out of anger, but out of worry. Because Naruto would let himself burn to nothing for people he didn’t even know. Who else would pick a fight with someone they had nothing to do with just out of a need to protect someone they barely knew?

It had always confused Sasuke how deeply affected Naruto was by the suffering of others. For the awful experiences he had in his upbringing, it was almost naïve how he reacted with such unbridled anger and horror when he saw anyone else having to deal with something similar or arguably worse. As if he somehow couldn’t comprehend how needlessly awful the world could be just because it could be.

Naruto burned so very bright but the fuel to keep that fire burning had to come from somewhere and as boundless as Naruto was, he was only human. His desire for Sasuke to be here wasn’t about giving him strength to make the right decision. He would have made that choice regardless. His desire for Sasuke to be here was simply him wanting someone to be there because if there was anything Naruto hated, it was being alone.

And Kurama himself knew it the little demon.

So Sasuke is not surprised when as soon as he sits beside Naruto, the blonde immediately lays his head on the Uchiha’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry if I woke you. I know you have a test tomorrow”

Sasuke gives no reply other then simply wrapping one arm around his best friend and pulling him close.

Naruto automatically leans into it. His next words spoken low and shy.

“You just make me feel braver. Make’s things feel less impossible.”

Sasuke finds himself go still in surprise at the blonde’s words. He had always known that their strength lied in being able to rely on each other through everything the world could throw at them. But he had never realized until that moment how much trust Naruto had in him. Trust that he knows he doesn’t deserve.

But now was not the time to refute any of it. Though still, he allows himself the comfort of turning his head to bury his nose into the blonde’s fluff of locks and take a deep, calming breath of his own.

“Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch over Neji”

“But-”

“Naruto if you don’t go to bed right now, I will personally knock you out”

He doesn’t need to look to know that Naruto had probably rolled his eyes at the threat but nonetheless, climbed further up onto the bed.

He seemed to be mumbling something to Sasuke but it was inaudible because as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out.

“Idiot”, Sasuke mutters under his breath. But there's a fondness to his words and he walks forward to reach for the blanket at the foot of the bed and pulls it up to drape it over the teen and for a second, just for a few seconds, his hand hovered over his best friend’s cheek. Fingers itching to close the distance.

But the moment passes and he snaps his arm back to his side.

He takes a step back and took a deep breath to clear his thoughts. Distracting himself by roving his eyes around the room.

Naruto had been living with his godfather, after the man found him, for a little over 6 months but everytime Sasuke came over there were always new knick knacks spread around the room. Presents he’d gotten over the years from Sasuke, Itachi and Jiraiya, pictures of his parents that the man had given him the first day they met. A worn out frog shaped purse the blonde affectionately called Gama-chan on a shelf beside a row off rare cup ramen flavors, displayed proudly the way a usual teenager would their trophies. Naruto didn’t need a small box stuffed under the bed to hide his snacks anymore. Instead, he had several cabinets in the kitchen Jiraiya had designated just for him to fill with whatever he wanted.

He had clothes that fit now. Clothes in bright colours and designs, pictures of toads spelling out the most atrocious puns Sasuke had ever seen. But paired with the gleeful grin that the blonde gave him everytime he showed off a new shirt, Sasuke would deal with his best friend wearing a frog suit if it meant being able to see that smile everyday.

Though even Sasuke had standards and he refused to be seen in public with one specific shirt that said

D.I.L.F

"Damn I love Frogs"

Naruto had shown up once at his apartment on one of their planned outings wearing the shirt with an eye watering pair of his new orange cargo pants and Sasuke had simply slammed the door in his face before reopening it a second later to throw one of his own black shirts at Naruto’s head before closing it again with another abrupt bang.

They had an argument with the door between them for a straight 10 minutes that only ended when Sasuke offered to buy him Ramen for lunch that day. Naruto the asshole had ordered extra noodles with double serving of chashu and Sasuke had considered finally breaking their friendship right then and there but realized if he did, someone else would have to suffer through Naruto’s collection of awful T-shirts and this was unfortunately a sacrifice he needed to make for the greater good.

Though for someone who loved his clothes so much, Naruto had a tendency of leaving them lying on the floor, ignoring the laundry basket that was literally just a few feet away by the door. With a shake of his head, Sasuke proceeded to pick up the clothes that had been thrown haphazardly around the room and tossed them into the basket before approaching Naruto’s study desk to grab his laptop and earbuds and made his way to the kitchen. Surprised when Kurama bounded after him. Only to sit and stare at him suspiciously on the kitchen island where he'd placed the laptop as if expecting him to steal the furniture. God, he hated that cat.

Ignoring him, he turned the laptop on and made himself a cup of coffee as he waited for the screen to load.

*******

Naruto wakes up the next day to the sound of what was probably boiling Okayu and the smell of the left over Karagee he had last night being refried in butter.

He enters the kitchen to see a glass of strawberry Calpis waiting for him on the island and a Hyuga sitting on the far end of the table nursing a cup of tea with his long hair twisted into a loose bun held up by a pair of black chopsticks. He slips into one of the stools just as Sasuke turns away from the stove to slide a bowl of porridge smoothly between his hands. Deliciously topped with seaweed, Karagee chicken and….. edamame….. urgh.

Just as he’s about to protest, Sasuke points a ceramic spoon at his nose.

“Eat”, he says sternly, flicking his best friends forehead when he makes a face but ignores the furious yelp given in response.

Naruto is halfway through his breakfast, edamame and all (Cut into tiny pieces and seasoned heavily with soy sauce because Sasuke knows how to make his best friend eat his vegetables), when an uncharacteristically timid voice breaks the silence.

“Naruto, I’m sorry about last night”

Naruto turns to Neji with a sincerely befuddled look on his face. “Huh?”

Sasuke knows his best friend is an idiot. But somehow it still manages to occasionally catch him by surprise and give him excruciating second-hand embarrassment.

Neji doesn’t seem to notice Naruto’s confusion, having pushed his half finished cup of tea away and had his arms crossed and resting on the island. “I shouldn’t have intruded on your hospitality the way I did. I exploited your kindness and-“

“What are you babbling about? Is it cause you haven’t eaten? Shit, I didn’t even offer you anything-“

“Naruto-“

“Do you want some porridge? I think I have bread if you want toast. Hinata called me last night and said she’ll be bringing most of your stuff over later with Hanabi. I’ve got towels and bed sheets in one of the spare rooms. The drawers are empty but I think you might have to dust them out a bit. Maybe line the bottoms. I think Jiraiya has some drawer liners he gave me when I moved in. I never remember where I put that stuff-“

Sasuke pointedly interrupts him by opening one of the drawers filled with usual kitchen junk and pulled out a roll of see-through plastic.

“Yeah! Thanks!”, Naruto exclaimed, both of them ignoring the conflict that was warring on Neji’s face.

“Naruto, I can’t impose on your hospitality like this”

“What?”, the confusion on Naruto’s face made Sasuke want to slap a hand over his own.

“Naruto, I can’t just move in”

“Why not?”

“Cause… cause it’s not right. I’d be taking advantage of you”

“How?”

“I-“, Neji looked at Sasuke helplessly.

The Uchiha placed his own cup of tea on the table. “Look, you have 3 years left before you’re 18 then you’re off to whatever university you plan on going to, assuming you get a scholarship and I’ve seen your grades so you probably will. You need a place to stay till then and Naruto is desperate for a housemate who can ensure he doesn’t continue living like a pig-“

“Hey!”

“-and eat food that’s not simply carbs and sodium”

Sasuke slides over towards Naruto and pulls him off the chair to stand beside him before gesturing at the very distinct height difference between them.

“This isn’t a coincidence. This idiot has been living off nothing but ramen and pokky since he was old enough to eat”, Sasuke doesn’t need to explain how it wasn’t Naruto’s fault in the first place that he had to rely on such low nutrient foods to just keep himself properly fed. That was Naruto’s own private story to share if he wanted to.

“You staying here would be doing him a favor”, he continues, “You’d be keeping him alive and I think Jiraiya would appreciate that”, he finishes as he pulls the half finished porridge towards himself and ignores Naruto’s complaint while he finishes the rest of it.

“I don’t have any money”, came the half-hearted protest.

“Jiraiya sends in a lot of money each month for groceries and stuff. To be honest I don’t know what to do with most of it”, Naruto pipes up before gesturing vaguely at his surroundings, “Jiraiya bought this house when he moved to Konoha. Said the money for it was always meant to be a present for my parents before they died. So you don’t have to worry about rent or anything”

“Dobe here also doesn’t know how and where to pay bills. Tsunade has to help him with it but she’s busy so he’s always behind on payments”

“It’s not my fault no one ever taught me how to do that kind off stuff! Hey-”, Naruto turns back towards Neji, “-you haven’t met Baachan! I’ll introduce you. She said she’s coming over later”

Sasuke nods vaguely in agreement, “His godfather is always away a lot because of his work. The only reason he feels ok about letting Naruto live alone is because Tsunade and Shizune live next door”

Naruto shrugs, “Plus, I’ve always wanted someone to live with”

Neji stares at both of them in shock, “This isn’t normal”

In reply, Naruto simply grabs the Hyuga’s hand in an excited handshake.

“This is gonna be so fun!”, he exclaims excitedly and Sasuke doesn’t know what was more amusing. The mildly terrified look on Neji’s face or the unbridled glee radiating from Naruto.

He brings up the spoon to his mouth to hide his smile regardless.

#sasunaru #naruto uzumaki #sasuke uchiha #neji hyuga #Naruto #overcoming distance #my writing #mine

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noahhawthorneauthor · 2 years

Text

"You can't be silly."

More grumpy witch shit from Phantom and Rook

Felix hasn’t spoken since we left, glancing up at me every now and then. I wonder what my adolescent years would’ve been like if I had a mentor to look up to.

“Should I call you Master?” He asks after twenty minutes of crossing through town. I laugh, rubbing the back of my neck as we approach Kitt’s shop.

“No, no. Doc is old fashioned, Mister Arlo is fine. We’re here.”

Felix looks up at a sign jutting out from the red brick. ‘Kitty’s’

He smiles. “We’re here to see Kitt?”

“Hm, I suppose we are. On official witch business though, don’t forget.” I hold up a finger, feigning seriousness.

He doesn’t seem to buy it one bit, but instead of flying into Kitt’s arms when we enter the shop he keeps by my side. She looks up from the receptionist's desk covered in stickers, nursing a cup of coffee like her life depends on it. I wink at her, we texted briefly this morning.

Kitt sits up with a professional smile, covered in a long sleeved hoodie dress and leggings. Her purple tresses are tied back in a high pony, hungover eyes are painted in a gray and blue that compliments her plum skin and hair. She folds her hands together, sunlight filters in through the floor to ceiling arched windows and reflects off her curling horns.

“Well, how may I help you?” Kitt asks in her best customer service voice.

Felix looks up to me and I clear my throat. “Arlo Rook, Hedge Witch at your service. I hear you are in need of some charms.”

And that’s about all the three of us can take of proper manners before laughter breaks us all apart.

“Oh my, that was fun. Let’s head on back.” Kitt slings Felix up onto her back and I follow her into the parlor, inhaling the incense she has going. Dragon’s blood, how fitting. She takes a seat in one of the many leathered inking chairs, laying back and squashing Felix. “Hey Lo, have you seen Felix?”

“No, I thought he was with you?” I tease, meandering over to hundreds of bottles of ink neatly organized along the back wall. Felix makes indiscernible noises as he and Kitt rough house, eventually he breaks free and bounds to my side with a face cracking grin. After such a heavy first visit, I knew Kitt would cheer him up.

Kitt joins my other side, slinging an arm around my waist as her head meets my arm with a solid thud. She rubs a horn on my lower bicep and I roll my eyes, letting her do her thing. “Have good dreams about lover boy?”

I glare down at Kitt and she grins. “Alright, which ones need the good stuff?” I turn my attention back to the jars of ink, Felix’s curious gaze is hot on my face.

“Lover? Do you have a boyfriend, Mister Arlo?”

“No, I do not. Kitt is being silly.”

“Kitt, you can’t be silly today, this is serious business.” Felix chastises her in the most firm tone I’ve ever heard from anyone, and it takes all my willpower not to laugh. Must be the same for Kitt because she buries her mouth in my jacket.

“Of course.” She says, muffled. After recovering, she points to the bottom shelves. “I’ve reorganized these like you requested, Mister Arlo, these two shelves are the ones that need it. I can get by with these colors if you’re feeling-”

“Thanks, Kitt.”

She frowns at me, then leaves me to it as the front door bell chimes.

I lace my fingers together and crack them dramatically. “How about we do some magic?”

#dark fantasy #aelina isaacs #writing fantasy #fantasy author #writeblr #writers on tumblr #indie author #queer books #male witch #grumpy witch #gordo livingstone #urban fantasy #modern fantasy #mlm #indie books #grumpy dad figure

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libidomechanica · 5 months

Text

Untitled Composition # 10727

A ballad sequence

So noise. The pelf will remember I am neither lips mine a philosophy, less to its patterns on the address,

we grow in the most every eyes dissolving at my old found his peace was becomes not Virtue clothed with care; but

toys. The pilferer. And tomorrow cold. And you thus, through the den of heavenly calm, and rose and forgotten—but

must not imitate there my offend. Down them;—what dove, whose bestowes serues the narrow bones bright, and women loves

his most fearful thing the pertinacity prime? And bade him as he came out of wild bear yon wood from foreigner of

ass’s early budding, it goads me with his bold browse, we drops fra my yellow smoke that is in an imagined feeling

its way, and may rise in lead, move right: and ever, wha for the ring youth is, ’ said he, what art’s be in’t the grocery maid,

came blushing sheet. If my love lifts by the kings. They sang, and anxious prisoners carried in July, he shoe is mine should

see that held up his agony to resign my life. In this woodland griping stars dangle down, but patient. Far as

just needs expressway. And some deplore what men do, the scant, I’ll live in his slaues, he forfeit of sea, the beds. As judges

of woe with his defence. By natures, opens her willing at manacles fortune like a greater spread and grammar,

vowels, here you? I loved there was Nelly Gray his heart that help me at they rode, not thus with nimbly began himself

in siluer fields, then return would young, because the mocking off a shady, fresh, and Lady Adeline to enjoy.

In a flowers fought peace for me. But I never bloud springing, dancing star! Round complainer and I’m afraid I pout

when, bestow it; till September. All love. If my lady stood, whose noble scions wide. To Roland death-wound, and me. Made

for the streetlamps. Eyed that today is my heart from the flesh by the bitter on the entire worlds the children’s eye

that it might known tonight? So firme were blended, as Phidian forest will spin. Sane cursed, and I listening hed, pray love were!

To walk with foreign slips taste, while we fooles taken, who, wandering part; rue on his task, must not squares by the white!

Dan Phoebus mounts the parliament; a sorrier still, and hang a teares, so on the sad deathful anodyne; with low voic’d: Ah whither souls, and seas mingled margin of grief looked an opened as a foreign power to be of unmeant

at all weep while yet than piety,— that all. All his gold, hung a little captive to late and fret; till exuberantly took his enemie.—And were, or understand how on her eyes of what he have comes seldom three sinful season

for they have gone, and ill, on every bell that I could no danger dow I start within. Like a pulsar behind no trace the tricks her hope to write, before the spredde, with Truman’s voice of persecution; gaze of his volumes upon the

store of a press; they cried, do offender and in its embrace, nor I forbeare. The dusty drink down some tear-drop that his river, would say, we love towards the enemy wit: duty so nearly, though t was a monstrous phantoms kept me

safe and snowe burden of Heavens high, left no explosion case. By one, settling a womanhood grown; and fasted, and wise or pittie, will stay: was the same, my hunting of the wine of us the Above that written roads, east, and streetlamps.

The silvery oak apples the sounds, who thou, could never utterance, tis over all, at searching: yes, in the foresters—as day appeared to the legal bully, the sentence under and that excess; the man had found the right on.

Fair long farther of our bird dog. One of the soft in the lass of Lust, is the summer shines bright had we done he put her tail quicksilvery oftentimes that I should bloom of King Victor hast been worth the strove to get on. The stars in

loveliness, thou shalt hear through then in a widow, maid, devoid of two mighty was the spell, obscured seem, when, who fought in peace had presence, and lain in the world at his lady- sister shall rest well say the middle of flame, nor caught

quiet, which knows no ebb to its prison of heart of state is like Aurora, proue. And as their life she distinguished precipice: there we: the last pleasantly to a world the price of human dearth is for ocean woman bespake. Smooth

rocks that in vain for those for the clear the pride, and I expected woes, there and clasped his soul commingling knee and took pity. Die like Titan from theirs is messenger, free him from being glow; nor does the case, slipper was leaping on

me, whose lawn all such took a lucky presently? To be but understandst thou? Mine eyes would watch whose mellow hair, as their mother, walking. Let fall forth the universe seeke, who is helmet thee that’s thing of those in the graunt the bitter,

bitter on the flown, in mortal drinking: as might may hand; I warrant them. I may hand, I was dead womanhood grows in the shepherd’s keep? With most English accent driven to hide the top of man, what the bard, and pride could not onely

Niobe! Kit-Cat, the king palfrey was na breathing, patches, too, and alone a greates, disdain to Roland deep, who all thy way, you lived so elaborately tone, and while understood. Christ should our pain I could I previously all

price, whose can see the honey Lip. We possession, went unexplained, which we dwell, which them shot the nightly for each simple pin—they were. That his sever. Radiant anew, from above the numbered with a kiss. Put then not to their

hospitality to tunes for any fat bawd, in dizzy proceed; then in the wardrobe, this dull and talk of all men who day by slow return employment. Thus day awoke and oft himself degraded, turns a chemic yet them all—arms tore

him limbs among the nerve-twitched many winding dine. Behold, I met her skin like shown, a vestal shrink thus takes no sluggard: ’tis not very music’s kiss impressive weight, curled on Nelly Gray! In their brilliant should be struggle slacker, but

still he greasy hempen rope hooked upon the floor, and thrust us all and call, that oppress’d her visage and brows, peace between two lovely heavily, whose whose lawn, whence, or woman love’s foolish to show that yet for more bewitch nor which

a debt to part so happy where grew afraid, or give him from the first-born anger line, led for you canst read, and Loue, of time’s love, to a suddenly this tiny and thee to repayre the obsequious landlord hath but he want, because

they both thirsty asphalte rings, and wounds in them, tho’ your wise it out, but hurried her cloak, An army of thy grace she dance from things? With the foolish old man who watchest thou hast pleasants! Most eve, and distresses even their living

whither! Shady levels, after- rest will very had his river, which mourn. This, and his learn it, were the sparrow bones she, most swears even an addict. And to her looks, or the hard for comfort at the mere not yet are two pink, the care

done in she’sbeen these thine eyes so well might arm of high condition. My neck, or mermaid in clamor’s hour. And lain entrance that saintly bruit, which two can a woman put downy breathe thing of a swallowers, wrapping and as the knave, to

men in that every day the sun. I too could adore they willing cloys and cried out of me: and cannot relics of air these must die before they, sunlight: Good mother against my suff’rings, and high woodland griping she knew the day. ’Ed

sae dear. Dishonored grave. Turn again she says, We’re talke; with capsules in age. He at last the sound: where I bid it ended in fortune led high; lips she knew that your careless ways; also my last yearning is herd, to come, with slouch annoied.

Stairs: and there was none, in all is spent its little earthen ware; it disna become attonce. And with face of sleep full

before can ware; it is as it for the best. Wide, fashion calling—come, wean; mishanter fa’ me, if Time, the gate: they

crossed the greets that is like they have never his rosy child, with gloom, as she agreed. Lord grant my hire: my promise is

stirr’d in little roof doth hide, the kind which all the marmalade, thy powers; or man or a wife. Pleased with many other.

She had come a sultan of Habeas Corpus. Clothes, while yet to hide; by interest in this, all as a wanton

through the bitter and his judgment of wit, and thou canst read, which gaining—they dare deuoutly cried two pails. Again my

epic unto us out on convict-clothe your mind from the carcanet. The blue sky full of display’d somewhere the

terms of its grief and Horror stalks, the Baron saith, knells up, the moment ere they? Devil told herds to a confined doom.

To virtuous power their way back? The lady’s talent fingering momentary Sweet! I should stand. Like a

pelican breathed boars, still, pass into bed, the end. Therefore, and I am a maid, Lord will stay to hide; by interest

in the next he choice he revel in the devil mocks the women most adore a week, and Lord of Sin pierc’d with no

doubt, she would end things rushed like a pelican flying ale encourage hath lost: the sun, her lip, and shaven hie, close

debates not marvel at either hair is safe and green friend; nor apt to clarify the night cheap hotels and not wind

outcasts and eating time and I’d plunge home! That sense, at last place in the dairy-maid expected all the soi-disant

meadow sky, the green spak her Heart, you wrought in partridge. And burn your name way, as doen high woodland anon, to say:

last Love, I was—they’re more my love, to move our humble, and bubbling a pillow trail alone— that will he was safety’

grafted hymns, and swing. I stooped, methough Parry’s efforts wild self in the soi-disant meadows, and harebell might spring

a watch. Even faith, ye’re not been worth thy destiny and by oath to plays with all her eyes and glories his own

coffin, as if it brings poured men I would perceive the girls who believes no fair, naked sky, this dull and she unblest.

Cursed their lips, possession to die. Tongues to knit my soul. So mourn among thee; depending Loue doth light in legs, so on

the womb—it is golden wine! And I have thus: On Thursday the fictitious brere half their cookout scuttling at the world’s

dusky bring gown, advantages: and your ruin I mourn her complaint, caused of my story to lie and Beauty only

recollectors alway his should die for Charles from my smother, he wild regrets, and quickly she butterflies

that other night are two amongst them in threw. In a brute, the villanage are seized, and his last war, the way, yours late

at trundling to go, vntill behind no trace these late may chances appear so when thou, fond endows her very tree. Warned

by any of thee that look, and musing on a pink wave& we will unimpair’d, to have asked, nor has Italy’s THERE,

with nimbly began to winter hoar. And, sitting days’ sweet grief, by a bride: it slays the ladies in vain for stronger

sunny glades were firmament reason my pilgrim bore bloom in vain my rest! Bob Southey led, and the mind and Geraldine

espies, and place no wit can you dickhead. If thou now, that fire and like a spark can be show’d him her tender brute,

they took pity. The touch, and want it, beasts, tired of my Julia once as from myself—me— that I will pleasantness

the parliament; arrived homely wife affections of the while we, like a merry in our farms, and wonder your wile?

There lyeth their time? My saying Laughter is abed, candles in a big box store of their merry peal from his step of

time all grow mad, and fearful to the sea, and for all a kiss, their head became thy heart-beat god Pan. Right in one-night.

High sun flames; but to his soul? Greatly pleasure find; but all their hospitality to thy friendships sent her from objects, save me now. You do lean all those witt is wings, and I

could have been faces, to death the light and gave tempo. Proud of his flight be bestow. Met the blue-veined for the special instant in her bleakness, to me, who in the terms of

the great Juno goes bleat frolicked eares were full mankind, and revision in my best to the sea? Ben Battle weeks have grown, so your goodness, unshaken. There was the morn

for all that cypress-tree: in the Ladies all weep while admiring love. And bubble’s shape of stones. By their needle-points of the could vie with renewed life, enlisted of bright shoulder

o’er souls in it and eating with speedy ease all their brilliant should boast and the Warders still move as two hours do wrecks; and rank’d with more the honey of the sad death of

Marlboroughly into thee: or would desire: I have been ceaseless famed for great a peace between us an unthrift in that can find my minds to that is, when he asked: Melchior?

We had dream a rich flowres. In this earthly years spent a new delight, and arch, who saw the sullenly drift of the opened and this for whose mellow mind is filled the tempo.

These hill, that it nor shame; however was grey, and sedges, brooding impossible to thee to make them better that long in due to find your planet is one ten in the

woods; now content. It perfum’d, what full now, you wrought it might wind, which of arms have wept, of custom of a bridegroom’s play? Rank so much morning tongue was full of rules. Because its

through whole to touch my horn parley from his soul despair under feet of flames; but thee wi’ a haw bayberry kame? Objects from whose liked an awed face, in ghost! Blackness, unshapeliest

date, where many, seeming to the fume of thirty- three of immortal hill. Whose but that had sent; but sorrow you can poison-flowers, wrappings pour shine; take me scruple whether

set, like an ell—and may fit, as many moment to save poor as Anacreon old; and catch that brought thus much in an easy tool, deferential, glad the riches of worth

it, and may find thy young back, the budding slow for many fight that shade, I freeze, and at even in deed, locks father in the anchorite: but, by his only recollect a

poet is wealth to play that his essence; till and with a kiss, as I trow the wager that makes her chest, and in hand thus ended, as Horace: his enemie had killed with somewhere?

Led forth the dark to the sea? Of human fears that Spring souls into tears? I am beauty slumber still call one liquorish hardned hers! Arising on my soul to see?

Of the dairy now is the doors leading gaol rose again. After their steps slow from its patterns on the first he must

be well for shame, her fails that to money, and faded far at seven above to freeze would have done amiss. And out

why thy life, she not evil hour of unmeant ill; but, loving those who on thee proofs and to swimming swallowed with wronged

daughters, blind you know it anyhow listening the peers like a little heap of burning she went on convict-clothes and

a moral man was à-la-mort, and drop of time’s sweet music so sweet peas, I must burst thing, on friend common mother!

Mark how our vision of ever feel it strands with a step of this poor. Loophole force and quite smother who all weed-clogged wave: and bade that little, and rose. My pleased, prolonging lovers. Done without a Tory attests that made it was a

paly lip, and no lack or blab, and wives. ’St the lowring hidden mystery once and Witch’s Lair, and freshly gay, anxious more strong in the words spill from his head. In thee to creep, a careless shoe-string, and haire; his Tears turn’d for you are; likewise

equal, she’sgane, and the dread opening rails: and there, at lengthen fetters wrathfull cheare: for none would sleeked with force and Lady Geraldine, his native mirth. And rarest meditations you meane my tender man is state-thing

heardgroomes: and weave that power thought of the spring covered if each two little stretched hands, that, if no vagrant you help the silver lamp burns dead espyed, caused awhile, and all be as brought holes. With amber-fretted shroud in thy sordid bound

the sea, the power to take his faithful fires through ethereal dew fall on us? That covers, and the moon, as he counsel ordered sware deny the kind. For age asks to lug me out of thy kind: so we— the foe, had all honor

decisions, before I name in his faithfull cheare: what an encore. My Guido was on a corpse was ordain, he put her ivory arm; and loud they did seem to tell a tale of my life. Time, but yielded, which no doubt, yet held no high

spiritual, through a lands faded Oake, pitied of married. When you would be plac’d euer than raise my pleasant sun is gainsay the list of trembling pairs: and lime in midst, the core; The Morning allusion came, twas impossible failure, if a

man kill the next news were beside their business is in New York, reading sermon: attorneys- generals, we are all! The night is chiefly harmless to amuse; but to her bearest thou want to light fair maidens of time. With her chest, and dark?

For share of his stores of heaven. Not the husband have no reason’s warmth within. Each household spring, in this poore named

a few poor endeavour affection a wobblings! Then came with the will be time, but he. When with arms or leathery

sails is good: they can, hanging for thee. Height have known. And merry peal come thought, all must brush on Myrna Loy, carole Lombard,

the son, always does. And there he is a mountain in it a disgraces. That vngently unmew my soul! And

Socrates his time aloud for to Time’s love Gregory! And wedded to guide. Romance of her large; also some leant

on and wriggling to his scar’d away the rocks, and there. Of nations and Outs, and soft; the A sigh: the very spell.

Strangle a light; aye, their black, we soaped the Irthing through her behind as dreams them! And the postilion’s paradise:

when she call’d up—see Gazette. Since, no cloudy, even all dayly endure than onely to thee, which the ropes of

thy utterance, he court shall made it gives scope to the house was jack jargon, the same column; date, perhaps tis but Heaven.

There happy love continued fusion by many a thread as the rhyme on its quantity is night is chief of

those look’d about thee am ouerthrown, it might be reveal. And white face was they measure, that are you yet most swears a

goodly royal malady sank, and, aye until I find clothes and the rain is my lady passed the sad a father.

Up then this vain; and nothing but all your advice, to the Sheriff stern clouds are in bed I listening came thy wishes

crowing when the spring sea of weary us; and only this woe, or call court shall move away the deepen fresh

you are the next I shall set the mill: but like creature wears tis not one, you stole his shield sweet this king thin! May be surely

the cock has paled gentle minds, for strong, writ now I will stations and clothed by some buried Caesar bled. When she sees

a dead by the moon in my faithful hearts can soothed words, and heart did I chide: sweet sister’s mansion’s desperate breeds amongst

us from his knight. And some shades of comforts will never it ended, as if t would it nor groom, the full possess’d.

With what came there came alone heard than of old the lady die? In cold brere, which we shoulder o’er white trillium or

viburnum, by a downwards a bonny bowers. Your cold were or a lady should put a reward had thou other

think of yellow spleen. Refuse. Some were some particular condition, there will my woman, one blustrings, are what he

gave him out, arising there, softly into stupid collect your mother always premising to warm heart, which, with

rope has a careless with the sun is getting names these, the wind blowen bags, like spiked all here I got to me, that fine

bed too, vs in the moon have, but if thousand in effect your days alone stars, innumerable, was but all

the night, the angel’s feet, by my sore disappears my spirit well the unimaginations vain he sight on. This

union your cold were vanish’d horde, for thee. And by and frightens in act the clamour of this sad life’s mysterious.

For ’twas love: and fame young unblest. ’ Thee; low creeping, hidden rose, faint breeze once I send a young child? And no lame! Red who resembled till is welnigh frorne I feele my Julia once has left. As the languid breathing quiet maid without

aik, thus wit. In my sorrow you rather thither! The lovely; take me as two steeds with greatly, known; to be serve it; give gentle force himself say: in the eye hath no one hand, that fall forth a steady stand, one with Pulci omne tulit

punctuation. Is driving grottos, full many a sigh behold; on that Time or Fate may bring her pearlier than punish crime will keep steady splendid house up a mask. Yet it on the other foreign lands convey its sweet coming with

gold; or ye, when he the child will see and warmth to fame, to tell not swerve a knight into a fly, to slacker, but ta’en heraldry, that your sweet husband having part; no furthermore been contentedly I view you deemen, bestow. ’St

thou like a singleness song, to see. Some sairie comfort to stay on your tied me under madness in one kneel to a discontent to a conflicting till more, Sempronius—don’t err in tell me when he’s gart builded face: and bells of thy

great gouts of the palfreys’ foam: and take cast light and seek your great song of fair sister, help a broke up seven times was no child hold you hurt he sucked with and to be sent? Before cannot keeps with the damsel gay in which does not see young

trees and we done, man, till it chance might to none would perceive our visions start with such alone, puffed vp with quiet cruising of touch my pride of sober hue deuise, and now dazl’d be; no wind, no secreter that I wear to walked among them

wich inheritance, but glories, and never mind? For Love is like for congregated words again. That the best language of spice and heart? Off, woman had fallacious flowers and some into the house, and more toward Ioy no longer witch!

Came nigh by that sensation, having my babe roses riotously declare, the wine; and they detest at even you on the world enjoy two hours, which required of noble cold were sweets war not all the disgraces, to mone! My Love is

time that is left my wife, as wheat with tall me that their Lashes pierces they added doom. Pride, and merry bard! More a soldier once, for yonder like a poll of Echo, where Time’s remoue. Who stood, because no feet, which cruddles there came out o’

h—ll. But I am: as Virgin bloom the spake word to sway, you wert to another’s mind. The ocean lightsome had been worth is friend of shame o’t, but renown, a venerable priests had not, but add, jenny kisses,—of callous

and so wistful eye; the sire and green of heaven. Scorch not enough the answer to kill the life’s equinoctial line my heavily, whence with figures the Art of heaven, If I taste, precipice: then delight? Her faces were that

nods the girls, with aught me safe and let thief, when I beginning. Me long the grained to clutch for blunder’s space of happy change their cookout scuttle breeze once about they kept on buying. ’ Now that turne to cast him lest him did his robbery

hangen the trumpet blow in the landed; who watched her sureties with other silken trees that toiling is, it may be Boaz, and hint, as our direct to tell me, an’ aft my wit or wrong. Than simple A hears nor shame o’t.

Warders with no vines, scorch not, joy delight. I feel all the price, where the mysteree, and I will not lustre, mixt of shameful

daughters, too, but of view. Hammering lack’d, and wealth and tied me up into a dark and leans his owne each side of

snakes, the lip of honey, and bade the hours shine. Now are you chaunced with the deep, where you and I am things me love,

althoughts there if I strove to folly’s fruitfulness. For evermore, Thenot, my mind with the scent of blood will retain

thy pale, who knelt and when them freely. To lead were athirst in deep of all humanity! Or saunter hissing single

beds, and not man, scarce a single with a fairy charm. Has gone; the one red gowd, spare it, have me if every care,

let not thus surprise, may I, poor grace; even Nimrod’s sweet till weep who were living that help the liquid glass of arms!

Roland caught else he spokes fell. Thy word, you like it. While of right: moved the great matter; I had nothing over us.

And we have deep, whereto the custom of your training, to prey. Lives me my yellow hair, and the brush her hovering swallow falls in the budded lime, and brag the primrose of

snakes, there, did say, thus began than the gods, we sat on a beast is held her tragic sisters, to move unto our sleeves, leaning through the southern thongs, mine honor’s mine endeavor,

to thing dwell, what it be found by seeing fairly gained, right upward, thus day assigned, to consort with her cradle sheep-hooks on less-deserted bee: but God’s kind. Or walk’d through a

murderer’s heart again lifted her voyce sound of our own presage, he short hour; no, even the temples bind; and are bracelet richly pleasants! And they trod the away, before

the gods, where is death: but ’twas lovely display the sire is plains where will me sooner station; gaze where those same, my rest! Thus Bracy! The ocean’s pity’s made out a little

availed and smooth the enemie. An arch face peep’d,—an Oread a marbles even men make you, Mag. And the rose, and casting tender palms each simply as your leaving his slaues, he

saw his army in bail for your face, now turning sunne laughter hoar. Turn again; but the poor wretch, find that locust blossoms of springing bright but of wild flower which hung bare and

amber-fretted shroud, and wealth to be made, for a pint-sized journeys, I beheld in heal: and when I came tongues, and move under hand, one with universal tinge of love Gregory

is mine that endless fount of the oak but most yours is me! In birth, so many fight are all the summit of all human, must die being the come out blood is wide. Of cheualrie:

but even all disturb the bonds, late I notice as free informing at his fool and by thee things, and loth, ’tis blue, and ordering, its shrine of sacred vestments whiter blow.

And dropt my vision fell upon that seemed to the vestry of spring oblivion of Salt, and flower, through we

knew the sprinkled holy water than victory is mine, we become a partridges! Meet somewhere you believe in Heaven,

that will keep a bower-door, and the shrine of sunsets and caverns in his please; I ne’er sometimes to be a little

avails that is lent to herself, or smilde where is no snow have my head again; and the strange, and brow,—strong and flower

white-flowers: and withers by acclamation, he saw the wine, in his soul between these strength, of those of my life

was there is of those meek for them, until the hare I saw the brightness to be tost. A broken charitable was

to see, like morning lighten all wealth to die. Above a chemical kissed, but passed arms of the yellow smoke the surprise,

what came out of three father mansion lay a notion, to do the sad augurs mock me. To show my wife she die!

Tells you want’st thou wast so for thee. Wedded tombs; old ditties sigh? It begin? He saw the holy eld did fly in my boys and the thick assay, or form of kissed me, if you an one string loud; and wide, and haunt with his praise became to the

dear; till the badge, and cleansed them to the wanted treason—at a time he cast his less and a brother’s brain, for hims! They have sense of himself shoulder it went. Were firm, or less on a sister, which look of dark chilled,— but yet are cool cell, and

cold, and wide, about at the only object, and cloisters as shed form’d of their share, that she walls, the Salt I have so may lovest thou a symbol of horror stood with ripen’d glory, and sunglasses gloue. A little leaned out of men!

That power to me, who live, and when I bear, and once himself in two. Mansion; of a soft cheeks. With him as thend of

love, hear us, greater still unprepare to brother: they stray from here are the good, and morn. Why, the fume of night and

discount, small birds all his sweet respect: the Chaplain his path; and senate was the boon of a corpse, to her lap. Narrowness

in one, she rode a nag which he scars remains asleep, nor darkling over strive to live for meals. But it eats at

the bee upon a grave at all your visions private life; their old passed in silence, but no dice;—save in the full of

his last the plank, and made thee-—yet she saw them to the little pale and did not in velvet; or some smart talke; with

essences for converse, which confin’d restrains I do claim his text; nor feel all fears not where Joan was in the king Arthur’s

collar take his coming son in his faint and told it have gone, and they say, there came downe, so removèd by our wine should

sleek. And more at restless fountains flower to his natiue place, for the queen sits high-prompting sound and she died for the

Burial Office revell’d; and the learn to her miraculous— almost honour ends. Dread opening is this fine-points

on me or awe me, I have set my head as I kenna thing no man, tired of my Earth in that lift up some wheel

of the ground and blossomes first, as north, and as an eare. An’ aft my wedding she would endured and the blew his heart

and through the other give you, love. But those blessed hourly sits no farther to court. Uttering Christabel Jesu,

Maria, shield her palms each day is like needed not sow or heart he sued. That prayers had seen the moment fancy-sick.

In practised if each with seaweed red and the lampless Earth it, at all; So she walked, and ices, had I been us

an uncrossable line is of times, and change! But hope then turne again. Of Winters here, O Where hast they whose eyelids

at large offender, fair wrought! A Carlo Dolce or to make you want aught neare our and streetlight, ah, his, the owls

have not prizing her palms, or his corpse! A thing, scatter’d around: the pomander. The Axes edge, looking the fume of

praise of inward like Tom Jones, like a bittour bumps within, the unstead that awful to keep but a moon shine, o foreign

yoke to feelings downed her flow’ry thorns out-grown like dying its wild civility of men’s wrong your name is not

feel. The lady dead; all the maids art; at length into those silks are kind. By all right;—to curb the universal known

this Oake care with that voice was she— beauteous doors of happiest thou hast nae mair o’ the dance, but at you hope to harme

then? ’ For my bed-feet. Ben Battle are two among the parliament; a simple verse I have been know, tis true nobility

of blue white flannel trousers, and his knees, her lips and since I sang to it … You are abroad; discuss’d their tryst.

To search to pleasures out a sigh ? Of weather right something I could now hiding its wings; yea, the bargain wind it feels!

Led; heavens darkened her tear the ladies see but such a heart, which those of just to the blacke banner sight: and offices,

had put with friends soothe thought: then to peep in a grandame taint the cops. To have your degenerate braid my belly,

he burden may I dare sweet hand inglorious, where thy bower of the summer were bid, spared by my flowers for

years or sword of Delos. She country summer weather’s party, to moan: but little eyesight?— We retort the flame, in

the fools of delicate therefore, on earth was rich banker’s sorrows, and them into a ball to roll out-told the coward

our young couple time for his room, enter in? That bosom old, cruell continue goodly compete senses, see which

worm he measure, or reign, a lusty knight should watch and daut throbbed, by the moon wrapped to bid they want you are my eager

follies, with me. A weary us; and, for his son, but there: pale Anguish scope to their foreheads hoar: again she

sails of a dream that spread with while both the strip mall, I put on you remind me kindest use of stone, and turned she might

the bright eyes,—the very fine into their malice? Now Ben he went, that hast nae mair o’ the gardener’s grave to keep by

child of the noble scions we commingling he doth glittering that way, and no child, with quiet hour, when all men’s fruit

the days no long delight. Of Quixote? Moreover, tho’ your faithful fire, and when the sex aspires through palmy

fern, and hare what are ye Queen of Heaven can claims olives of time for the crank, in for thought my whisper, through a murky

old lunes’—digression, yea, I was not to the nether to-day world a notions and thus there is death. And found

by sea-girls who balance ourself from their ruffled locked in front of love unquietly, perchance: so that do I presume?

We have I love, then this king matcheth not the diurnal Sun’s desponds when t was on the soldier once, as if she

the name as in low estates, disdaine: semed, the lights; once was seene him from the heavy got, and not worth is frien’s try

ilka means mercurial. There are for the lands fade that watch him lest himself such odour the sea, salt-sweet or colour

blackbirds and my legs. Beneath the edges on the future grown, she might find names and told, nor of his left. Now stand

thee descent of shame. After the green laurel-brow’d, who had been a paly lipp’d, and the woods weren foot is better

filter’d cowslips bedeck that serene defast. There was a months, which is, that said she there. As represence, spread through pain,

that the tear’s in monster. We cannot speake, her Heart, his forehead high sent myself in silent as my spirit melted

into the voice of all, white trillium or viburnum, by all object, and Beauty doth pass most favouring unborn,

to see dreadful wise, whose who wants him to seek; all honor of your surqedrie, with loved before that the beauty, that bosom

and sweet birds and praying at chance Rumpelstiltskin? Wildly once hath shut in a breath of noble named a things hour

hands which, like to frame, in that which He who hope, turn to Loathing; and thing, will keep a lamb did lay dead; all this virtue

known thy shadow, Cynara! The night painfully blown by your body and the husband hate, weeds are seized with face in

the air they stride: was never taste, no doubting more, since laugh at their malice, and r thought, nor frost and dark? Covet nothing

shears, while the count no more of Christabel, my father, ’tis yon born a woman loves his middle of fair aspect.

No marueile Thenots Embleme. Sits sadly striue your dwarf. And, by degree will sing food, that makes me write; write, before, he would not heed thermopylæ its hooves if it bring to weariness. To dance! And I will build its need the winter ranges,

lace, my red leaves but to stop. A glories of Thirst. And I lie on; my altar, with foam, until it came with with pryde to fill, for yourself until again the crowing heir art, and song to and pine! I said, he laid his oak; he swollen

purple that is there: for name, and leaf, the moonlight: beside was by it travell’d; and years the original of a far conditions creep, a care, as may straight mail, the night. Flying coat, my mistress bids me we’re not recapture it.

And prey. And to persons, to wander and marked the day, so smirke, so that it, beast is harder to enjoy its soft splendid host in grove, and General Fireface, in the sky, this not enough then the famous talent to speech, his, their mistress,

a love thy you read with fair like a wiser epicurean, and wild regrets, and blew bubbling seen to thee, an’ aft my lips let my waking each other, we are them down with their voice, while the store of newest joys and where? Nor

am I as the prayed, his brethren, bleat free of science then not thus for knees both force their noses through sun flames who forbids our and when he took of dapple brown to deem, as all. Would race, and knave—the door. We sewed the lady blest, and

destroy their summer were kind: and the green; for what went will sterile be an ocean light be redeemed to guide the times the gentle limbs did she—beauties could have crush on Myrna Loy, and a bonny ship, to harp or son of night are cool

and began, but how his head it be seen your melody scatter’d in my griefe; and I will spin. And whitely swell a progress silver bugle’s calls from off the sessionate brain. Decline first set out. Like Ganymede to free from danger,

I will builded fastened each drawer of time’s sweet; but I forbeare. For many things, even the honey cells, or for you an one who save his praise; because the secret sorrow Come, my Celia, let me, my head. Of their business torments?

Who confounds in single within. Beautiful to your fashion. And tingles in Ithaca or he had dipt again, and now deduce the ink be dry, a mantle on me get

thee descent, a noble their filled without remorseless a sulphur blended, as when he tries to make all the air be music sadly strides, the valet mountain glory, and spite

of all the wrong. Look not shakes her ivory arm; and, let bee. The next prevail, but to hear from the time though in vain held their rayes to despair, I would see but this Geraldine: or

bid me low, against think, even Nimrod’s sweet bird’s trouble wi’ thee; i’ll do letter. A sight once, the maids in moonshine wouldest the sweet to holds goodly round of dwells in the tinkling

wife: not thing the blood to span; have let occasion die, which the fragile bar than these may companies nimbly began dancing on the embrace, now turning I wouldest and

drew him,—Zephyr bids a little sporting from the wintry gusts gave his canvass scarce content; a sorry, your body that mast war the rocks where she beldam at his soul between

our love. Dabbling photo of grace might to part my Life did not so, my Deare, let my bonny footing sight as filchers the forced to play them; and no lack on he says, Row the deeper

digg’d loving kindly muse! By bounty meete to hurt he should he adore a week, and by the storm. Loiter he had no children out of vineyards and could thus, where I sit and

de Vaux of Tryermaine! Where you, you wrought what I should grown violets, and seas he move unquietly, perchance to do it was believe it, for, tasted by voice as dry as we might brown

parts that words in my epitaph a Poets name; and seem, when peace proclaims olives like thee: no, no, no, no, no, no, my Delia dawns, more her can wipe out of meditative

clouds; or papers read opening hate. Heaven is there it crouched, close by long and felt that manacles forgot? Tracing boys! With stifled breath of life in the bonny lasses glow!

And thus in peacefulness despise. All through the window, should as she steele had thy breast: so we— the foolerie, and than victorie, yet in that dull our pass like a crescent moon, and obedient with Heaven thee shepeheards with her blasts always

find no less age. That which their death the sun like needle brown—by all the chin, and bye her his small or says; the field, said he, this earthly love, hear us, and close by leaning, but the stairs and the first in this faithful as well to whom

every day on a day, there thee; for ever to pass the Art of Happiness the quick gone to the moon’s star-pitched with gown them up, in bidding been ungenerous, resent me of times iourneys, I beholding up her tender madness

with my bonie Betty, as do the sunshine to quote me on in the old oak tree. ’ Gin ye be the work the postboys fasten on the maid, he sting! Of heaven must always sought into nothing is spent a source, shut her whose amongst the poor

weakness! Had fallacious stole from me, and want the dwarf. Of the man of old talent fingers, cling, not enough it had march, in gazing on of horror stalke death may she asks me I will do, and Hope, earth too ripe, let my beer. Had ta’en here

was snow have ever than men must die, although the bright, as hinting o’er the buffeting her moisture quite correspondent suns, we can content. With sough almond vales: who, suddenly up, the very fine; mine was born. As sure as men what

strove to that o’er Juan he rose, and what I be of us, and take time the gate there. One endeavor, to have know that will I beheld in its embrace, now in the good night lone home to the bodies marry her shall resign; forgiveness;

when I desire is not well both money, content, who frown when not be reader, taught of cologne. For, like Tom Jones, but, taking on heaths, and brought vpon my e’e. Degraded, turn unwholesome, I see save toward the wide in the sunsets

anonymous; which reconciled all the next demand; here their she open grave: nor have a tongue, althought recently— the world will die too, vs in the pomander. Any I hae drearily on barren, and office revealed, as

most solely the feast you were one. By no quite dazed eyes the short-number, and the sin as sword! The fragile barren moors: drerily shooting north that I by verse, into the murmurs of full of counsel to the nigh by the natures all,

and they done: Marry a moon hath its down toy. Can shew us Joyes, but Lust, she’sbeen the crickets singing wretch forth at the kids had come in his bag; but worn that you turned with you believe the loam, my funny toil breeds the pageant and thick

sought thee wi’ mony a summer’s sun hath but the hangman with the orange, and cast your face; that I by verse or mutter at the shatter’d cowslips bedeck that is like Braille. Shall I shall I ween: an end, the blue crab from Beauty fair

creative, and naught that bosom of Italy freedom by. But if thoughts so far the poppy hills, where with that never learn to Lord Christabel. Joke for sees; rolled his said, tis impossible cloud and said, What makes me reioyce. Again their own

vallies wild beastes and learn the crone should have a carefully at your read: and take me makes me my own to served to war’s alarms the matrimonial seal, with silken vestments and many compasse rownd. She died: and that Time or pin,

but each gripping and some, pieces, patches through they were were some beautie stands in a circled a rosie Mornings, thus did not hear thee heir it, that will prated at all that breath bleakness, or lie. Midst man’s snare.-Blank Square, or fear, or roasts, tired

of their mistressful widdowes hangen the sword swallow autumn tresses shook; or, it was, until I find my breast: so subtle sneer, and look upon thy words of us walk at noble the fire is not with the first and sad. She died:

prayed, thus you drink down the loved to send for thee. To ventures the gold along the clock, or give, creatures brown—by all leading gaol rose called disarray—my mind, love hid in a rather is lustlessness I tell how on her and what if she

must die. Nor drops of time, and take me to be wary, watch their wood will give you three long as the right-well to dwell and flowers our taint each morning is simple maid, and the keen staff the mocking Past with her blue, and faire Mother’s wild scan

a lurking parsley, and third and cold, and I lie here is a joy from abroad with coffee grinder. Or cramm’d twelve of your poor lambkins from wealthy and do—I’ll tell you under feet for fools of thy widow’s eyes her side; further carriage.

That poor as then, when some changeling down flame! Each the brave made game short hour atoms were on the raft branches: who cons

sweet, and the Firmament redundant. The small like a casque of lonely air. The Morpheus, in the shape. But through autumn,

a select and a gentle man was faint away the slabbed mars them! Some love content; a sorrier still be taken

from out her love. To muttering part; rue on the best man not squares and discontent, whence, or more my eager maternal

Footman, when think a murder us? Then one lamb, yet wad wake us, and terror credulous shade, on her could

not awakened be, but sorrow they added door, that art is sweet Christabel with the rooted, and gibe the dwarf wouldn’t

say my heart to spell. You have studied the hour, but that I repent message left the long. She wept, of custom’s after

him, he has gone hips, who now, ere it be found then, my sweetly spread wing a tablets has gentle Spaniard was not young

trees the point a wee unsought to dedicate to none. Along the owls have seen to be the sun began himself, or

passing divine, we brows that walk all decay perchance: so mild; then thee fleet as wish me more. Time while I can blaze enlight

all the souls, and look about they ca’ me for you, a kinder count to act with Delphic emphatic, but a country

season, bare and prayer the furnish the bride? Mine was fled! Had no chang’d to fail so. Felt this wo strange, bold brow: yet

my tremulous entices, have becoming mine. Last Love, even the crowing and speeches, at duty’s long frost, my

father only child will brings me to the cattle are rather through his noble guests: there not yet for its grossest flower

window over hearts after form shape of Phyllis prays in our love thy day. All in tones, yet open, Gregory!

The English accents do the sky? Is stature in you might badge, and, for what wasted tears. Or should stir, so to be for

the bitter looking of the men are snow still myself on thy wardrobe which mourn among shears, where fool could have deepest

dungeons; heaths there eternal court: right, the moon’s soft in flowers buy; some folk of you and I the sky, that swears a goodly

sun, Seek doubting me quickly before the skirt the fame young children’s eye doth explosive vowed withers fair; and ivy

banks that day’s rude hoarse smut of woe with the merely feel these harms: stretch of mutual order of their virtue, he

could delayed i’d count no more dazle the wall is spredde, dyed in the postilion’s spirit man noulde makes it bleed in

count them, where once I sank and faint from my rocks, we are the rest of all shiver and fondly on the figure in being

mortals to rehearse each others, innumerable, two of the bar, cried for the soft splendent in smile on each?

With a dying at there the fair Eliza! And in his head in a big box stores, or she is standst thou? And leaves were;

whether to feel another necklace as a miller with eyes are no long ago a giant for Fortune later.

And thee, when he tries to behold spied the change you yet most terrible hammer-blows her side, we chance, he in his step

seemed to the empty place to a criminal. Stretches brown— by all the lattery love, as hinting firmly to under

dark and eyes their earliest of actressed. Tis yon breeze blustering and you reminiscence. She in the doors!

The time for then old man be borne a song of a coterie; also because the leanes amidst of the room to thee, nae time, be kind, and as there. Prime, and ices, considering

lack’d, and my first let a sleeps from which made things come, with lips Loues Standard became more dead, naked sky, this dream of, not one, he self-same devil mocks the air! As fondly

once, the mone of some would say, she would be in eyes were the darkest, luscious as reserved: the could pass will ever it leanes amidst whole is watch our station—but mummy,

possession, and round here, did say, that, dizzy without the mart may betray thee; can’st thou turn back at his your ring as a Jehovah’s Witness and seek for wide plain the pleasant day,

thou gently we weren foot into followed the sight his growing wall was he; and I knew we went, but thee to me. Such maine rage, his no chang’d to sue her through the crone in which

all the ground was hung till the light or walk at noble cold people always in one’s this heart stay, and I begin to see: and cross her girded vestments were kindest me, maybe

can speak. In the gardens piteously, and thus we sat Endymion our sex should not chatted thus she an aged precious moon. The lass of awe, Grey fight at all the price: then falls

friend showed up I stand the glass of her, resting days’ sweet, more space: if seeing to build its neck that great cropp: but in one should rather behind. When the right thee farther to forced to

know whether lips and warmth he might are a mother’s wood; when there. Yet all along, it brought of delicate from his heaven, thus matchet he hear ye lie; as he our village cars

followed, which thus in ice; its very home to a wild crying to me ship, and make my door; inquiring with unders that whispers, gloom and I will not loue indeed’s a game;

save the love, though her bard Rackrhyme, or smilde where soft and poppies, whereof to meet in bed I lie humble husband has a city made all fancifullest shade. For swarm at even

to take his the lies stellas eyes the only child, a limber toes you reminiscence. Would it now bleeds were not sit with pryde to lutes is given through curtain wind it fear,

at once, only leaves engrained to the trouble you coming farther you swore interested ways, praying before than the effeminate village left off, the soul in pain.

Bed, handfuls of space. And broken charm, that faire hair. Her self- same fixed though a loving came the same whole multitude and

that creep, a carefully at the exaltation. They could say, she may be superior, and they mighty titles

to Time. Thy belied in. To communicate to none accused to guard a things whom in vain, and, at time in his heart.

—See Gazette. I swallowers bene myne, to take a grandame apes in emphatic, but decorous; then under-clap

for fear, they call vesper, and grace, and fawning leaves and heard, the daisies. Ah Maud, you lovely lady tall are pacing

boy, whose care of pestilent listening in my low estate; one dawn to see if I drink too much; methought I might dame!

Thou art jealousy brought them, or the plowboy is with the youth did he went, adversity then think not foremost tense,

thy health, had deemen, by degree is much ioy, thy duties of chromatic scandal doth bars they figures wild scatter’d

well down like the faculty to rear the simple maid, the way, and out my plains o’ hell on my e’e. Which makes a man,

scarce a singly hours do wreck with, hair, as many teare, come back, the way Love and look a lucky prison had forgetfulness

down them; it is our knees, her lip, and alone—thee, and heaped snowe burden down, the answer to brother: the fair

life close it. Not then, that t is thought; but, for his book apart. Next, where youngling its chose to bliss, and by elves, or as

they never met, hung in the lofty claim his noble guests, or witty, ere an auctioneer. Forgive if I were none.

Say I’m hung till exuberantly tooke, that real epic unto thin lids close heart: at Henry Silvercup, the larks of sleep! To spit out, each hour, as an AEolian harp can not to his brother’s light, and speechless daddy’s spirit man at

his deuise, sweetly child and the way in russet robes and what should race with carvings quaintance gave him not fit mark it with rosy banquet and guardian spirit by? And bite back its thorny; and walk by nights increse with a friend; nor apt

to clothes, the monied speculation. You gentlemen got up betimes Times it with a tame preserved, nor eloquence didst thou a sympathetic touch, new made no eloquence did not stare: and there wilt prove And succeeded. Prancing

to complying base, no bad example flowers of sea water’d in the high mother praise we the ground, and some unfooted in the false in her moisture a thought reversion is dearly hour; no, even in self-same lawn, when I lookest

wild than Leda’s love each more dazle then the air be music from the floor where his soul’s strife: o my life, in bidding night and they were twinkle in your day, shall I go, of time. But I’m nearing love. Through which gaining that manacles

for fear not pursuit of some winter drop earthly steers; and shameful day. To farmers, with the grandsire of trees and told her parts that bitter in? Alike, even while soul; and sullen day had chidden rills float he brutal ravisher to

enters there is a joy from beneath the Oake, pitied of love. At twenty marine tears? The future proud of plunderstand in single thin disgusting off a shawl. When the crimson from worse vnto thee, and turned our young hands, not understand

how on her youthful to the care with icy breast, and, from above my sad life, in ghosts are all unmeet for comfort or consolate at they have had great song the dews of prison- air: it is sweet Christabel! To sip; but be a guy

but them, and a brook; or by some prisoners call forgot, we can telling, and seas mine, each sencelesse and friend come with soul to think, a spirit, without the least that the rill. Seems to say; for ennui is a joy for a hypocrite?

Fluttering mine, who had not the red cock crew, the earth and kept unused, that graffed to prolong have rights in my father’s

eyes morning over all, the bright eyes are left our sex desire. His garments white-flowers: and she used to know;

a hears not dare swear it toward Ioy no long the top-gallant caste—the Brere lies, blushing with many clock was echoes breast

did smil’d, chatter’d with breath for his soul’s thought to delay; then this makes you soar too wide, fashion, while I, with light of heart

dotes less pomp receive. And fountain window stood, in dizzy without thee hast plays an eye’s an end. Of the Sun. Grace

she says, did some with might be reveal to us so far out-peeping in the deer’s taut thro’ the glowing, if ye gie

a woman loves a woman-love for the tailor’s will. In judging men weep, like a cave, who seek; all must I hope to

the flood and a face and round and wild stormy time, why waxed Sir Leoline. But, Oh alas, why striue you tralineate from

time for the made, and fresh before he says, did soar so pass the little of mists are two doomed the puppets pull at largely

displease. His guerdon: t is impossible father is mute and parasites; but the session, yea, ever after

the Baron rose, and quarrels last had been beguilde; if better place is loss I were these had hurl’d beneath to future

goodliest bubblings this woe, or captain jewels, exactly in the bodies and left of my bliss. When I wanderest

and de Vaux of Tryermaine? And thick as the blue-veined feet, and I listned to fail so. Warned by his dying wind; or

on the way, and gazes from my rocky prisoners call’st by the self-scorn my life I crawled out, so I hurl myself at

the Tombe a mother; and on the evening-steel we tire of champagne? Then Christabel stretched plight, scarce could wandering

in the sun like Titan from thence honey, and killed them appeared she there with gratitude arose, what times straight stumbling

parsley, and how one creep betweene Ioue, Mars, and sooty, and the night the ocean’s vain; and once we lose fair! And I wish

you’d call’d the lashes, acquaintance lets not kneeled; the friars there his gray: I have lived with arms she spoke, twinkling, sleep.

Your fingering unblessed. But fair as the though almond valley, christ should brings hard frost and thus a chose feet as winding

that sweeps o’erpay. No season of a thou shalt obey, and a sleepy arms arous’d me, and cloudy Cupids are

the earliest soil of tuneful person fairy, all be taken, on his eyes of a few, not by common strength

considering Christs, die with the huge, broad-breast, robert Burns: king about on convict-clothe youth was made, as if to flow, since

from our hunt: the sound our Sophias are common-place! Of plants, trunks, and all sudden limbs relax, her love, though tis halloo’d,

uplifting in the air, many a mysterious. About thee to come back and see you be, just as he could you

knowest first I swore than that Urne. The grassy air to strange a dry Bob. Of fiercely they live in the scenting of that

warm them and call, thou dost sit, and its hooves if it bright, towards thy sire, Sir Leoline, there’s sharpness of Lochroyan, or

on the landed shape of grass and prayed that high and take thy song, that little ticks are long-broken heart with a wondered

grape could the happy freedom of King Victor has o’er the maids singing, conjure thing! Thy monument, fondles in vain

for such a rabbit’s function is better which, which, with country much more subdued me that Rumpelstiltskin? To bend his

charms more before these may chance, shut her pace, not one could proclaim it far out-owre they stare the cool and made in that gentle

dart, and impressions, too, with been content, i’ll do so foully rent, receptive, pervious, where quiet wood so loud

than such songsters run gurgling her part of Christ was a song’s befalls. Let me make, and still wed sorrow cell or says all

such a rosie Morning in my attic bed of silence in the naked sky, till War’s loud clapping plague pursue her

head to show melancholy night consist of it,—nor want that great gouts of life was spotted turf he kept on buying.

Struggle with the soft as a care, ask why. Least occasion, or give us being, half afraid I pout when, behold!

Tonight? That the papers echoing in shore; for scorn; but this is with low voice honey, and here are all they willing

is he went, griped all the fathoms where peccadilly, he replied:—My lady, or for the wind, a heart he sucked me

underground—rife will I weep those timber elf, singing itself: while I, with the best first love me back to your sweetly

singing, dancing with for blood of a toast a low more she strife: o my last shell forth the robin comeliness in

my youth, and snicker, and left a grandame hag adjudged the wet drops fra my yellow Room, content, if thou canst read, said

the upperche é vecchio, fa suoi al suo essempio. Last Love, I have my hour, till wail such a sort of sheaves is

far to weary, say is on the girl who’ll fall i’d brush’d the yards of Lochroyan is along the morning four. Close by

and gone, and if all but one came to lose timber elf, singing: Today in spite my second and wert o’er the clubs no

more cleansed to Lady Marys blooming the first.-Sheaves slim shadowy in the cause I laughter hoar. And want with their tryst.

The world of the eight in lead, move right display’d, rights in our eye. Who mighty tribes, they be for these her the wrong, and kiss me, her milk-white steed from below, at my Sunne goe downiest

cloud of poppies hung leave thee and how twas built and flocke beare cherefully at the twice two young couple’s weight or wrap about me; and tuck that is like light; our village, and some

one red gowd, but globe, we chance meet sound of mine arms and wise, from jagged beggar, thoughts that one could to heed, i’d bubbling sigh? To fret at my bonnie Doon, how cloth upon thy heart

I pulled a million of atomies that went. With the dwarf replie well say your bower of the moonlight answer. Look we forgive if I strove to the envoy, as he blew bubbles.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #133 texts #ballad sequence

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numberonekoalawitch · 2 years

Text

A Hybrid's Purpose - Tf2/origins AU

Summary: After when Jeremy's father gave him the ancient box with a dark spell, he searches for clues and asks questions from his neighbours about the situation.

Chapter 2 : Searching For Answers

It was a quiet morning when Jeremy stepped outside the door holding the box that his father gave to him last night. He could hear the water falls rushing down from the mountains slowly, the birds chirped happily as they flew from one tree to another. His brother is asleep upstairs. He always sleeps in the morning. He could remember he came back late in the night just because he was chasing a warden deep in the cave system. Then you could see him soon covered with blood and scratches from it.

Just now, the sun is still sizzling from above while Jeremy is holding the box. He Stood at the door wide open and looked around if anyone was around. The breeze is cool today as the leaves slowly rustle on the ground. He felt the wind as they passed his face as he closed his eyes while holding the box. He stepped outside and placed the box in his bag as he sent out where he needed to go to look for answers.

The village was quiet again. The same as last time. This was never like this before. Usually, every morning the civilians would get to work already and bring their children to school while their parents do what they want after. Jeremy decided to pass by the village so he could get some food for the journey. He’s pretty sure he got money since he was packing his things before he went out. Hopefully the shops are open by now. He first searched in his dirty pockets which were filled with soil, (since he used the trousers while digging for dirt with Dell months ago) finally he got money to buy.

‘Branson’s Supplies’ has the cheapest products he can buy every time he passes by with his brother. His dad used to work there once, when Jeremy was twelve and his brother was fourteen. But, he heard that the manager died recently. His dad lost his job that day. Now there's a new manager assigned a few months ago. He looked through the window with both of his hands cupping the sides of his eyes to get a closer look inside the shop. The place is dark and the products are still up on the shelves. He checked if the door was still open. He pushed if it’s open, it turned out it was but no one was inside.

The bell rang from the door and instantly shutted itself. He looked around the area to check. He also checked the manager's office and even the pantry. Where is everyone? He waited at the counter near the cash machine. He tapped the bell on the counter for the salesman to come over. He tapped the bell again but one one came over. Instead he will go to another shop, it’s not very far, it's just 2 metres away from the shop.

He gets a chance to look at ‘Penny’s Bakery Shop’ but the door is locked also. Jeremy could see the apple tarts, cakes, waffles and chocolates displaying inside. His stomach grumbled like a bear as he held it. He remembered back at the house there is no food in the fridge, but it’s just moldy bread and cheese. That was their only food to eat.

Shaking his head and murmured “Freakin unbelievable! Why these morons have to barricade themselves while I’m starving to death ere”.

The day went dry as the heat began to haze in. He looked up at the sky with his hand over his head to see. He continued walking through the woods looking for food. He saw a house nearby, he could hardly recognize it. He quickly knocked on the door and waited. The door opened, with a person he knows.

“Aye!” said Tavish, as he plastered a smile across his face. Tavish is a drunken Phantom who likes hiding in his house and he could spend 30 days there. Sometimes. He’s another close friend of Dell and his dad. Sometimes every weekend they would go to his house for a drink after a hard day's work. But he and his older brother could have the house while their dad is away drinking.

“Heyo cyclops!” Jeremy called Tavish cyclops because of his missing eye. But he managed to place his eyepatch.

“Ladie, why on green earth are you out ere?”

“Gonna ask you some questions first”

“What kind of questions you want?” said Tavish with a sigh, as he started to drink from his beer. “And don’t waste me time lad!”

“It’s this” Jeremy showing the black box after he zipped his bag.

“What the BLOOdy HEll?!” Tavish’s eyes widened. “Lad get inside quickly it’s not safe to show that”.

When they are inside the house Tavish slapped the box from Jeremy’s hand as it rolled down the floor. “What the-?? Dude what’s wrong with you man!?”

“Lad! Don’t you know what you are dealing with?” he said as he dropped his bottle on the floor. “Thats the bloodmoons chest” he lowered his voice so that no one could hear. They watched the chest on the floor dumstrucked.

“Bloodmoon…what!? Is it something to end the world-”

“Shut up lad! Can you keep your mouth shut for heavens sake!” He covered his mouth with his right hand. Suddenly they heard footsteps coming towards the kitchen. Tavish quickly kicked the box as it slid under the coffee table to hide it.

“Tavish! What’s that horse barking over there?!” yelled his mom. She came to the livingroom with her pink night clothes holding her metal stick. Her shades (because shes blind) was crooked at her face and she readjusted in time. “Young man, I do not want loud voices in this house and watch your manners! And who is this lost bird?”

“Sorry ma, it’s me mates son” he plastered a smile across his face trying to hide the negative manner he had. “He need a visit here”.

“Fine!” she made a dismisal wave as she stomped her way upstars. Tavish sighed and carefully took out the box under the table.

- - -

He made some tea cakes and sanwhiches for the both of them also some drinks of scotch. He poured one to himself and Jeremy. “Lad, I heard about his box many times by other people even, your father, brother, Dell and our hybrid company” He whispered and took a drink.

“So what is it anyway?” Jeremy asked

“Ok, first lad where did you find this?”

“My dad gave it to me last night and I tried asking him what is it but he bolted away like a freaking coward”.

“Oh, me mother of-” Tavish slapped his face until he nearly lost his words. He first calm down and sighed. He just can’t believe his friend gave a dangerous box to his son and here he has it now facing in front of him on the table. “Ok,...” He first checked if his mother is fast alseep. “Lad, I don’t have the information about the Boodmoon box but Miss pauling has”.

They both went to the beach to find their Merling friend. This time they could see the water is getting low. Something is not right, they called her name out to find her. But there is no sign. Tavish asked since when Jeremy last saw her. But he said he last saw her disappearing to the ocean.

They walked around the beach to make sure if they missed any place to look for her. Still no sign of her. Jeremy felt bad for Miss Pauling, maybe because he is too annoying for her? Or Maybe he is just too loud and noisy for her. He sat down on the rock, the same spot he sat yesterday waiting.

Tavish looked at the sun dial which was on the right side of the beach. It’s 10.34 “Ach! I wonder why she isnt showing up. She supposed to hear us right now. Her house is near.”

“Hmmm” He responded. The tone made Tavish with a concern face, as he frowned.

“Have ye been fooling around with her recently?”

“What? No! What makes you think-”

“Because you two always chit chat everyday! Did ye insult er!” He pointed at Jeremy’s fae nearly poking him. “Thats why she didn’t want to speak to us because of you?”

“Dude! Calm down I did not insult her! Theres no need to blame me!” He folded his arms and looked at the sea.

“Well last time, you made fun of her work position just because her job supposedly to clean the trash on the ocean floor!”

“That was an accident man I helped her and I managed to beat up her manager….well he broke a few bones from my body……but thats not important man!” The both of them glared at each other. A familiar voice interrupted them. Which made them look at the ocean.

“What are you two talking about?” Miss Pauling folded her arms, while arranging her glasses, glaring at them also. “And can you keep the noise down”.

“Sorry Miss Pauling….I thought ye were upset because of Jeremy..”

“It’s not that….I was searching the perimeter for tentispiess…” she said looking around the ocean. Jeremy looked at Tavish grinning checky at him. Proving that he did not hurt or insult her. He rolled his eyes as he continued on.

“Tentispies?”

“I dont wanna talk about that..so whats the problem? And why you need me for?” He nudged Jeremy to show the box. When he showed the black box. Her eyes widened and started to look around the beach. The good thing there is no people around. they don’t really like going around near the ocean. Because of the sea creatures.

“Ok….one question” She asked placing her hand on ther face getting nervous. She lowered her voice so she won’t say it aloud. “Why do you have the bloodmoon chest?”

“Its a long story Miss Pauling…what is this anyway?”

“Are you certain you want me to tell you whats this box or whats inside?”

He looked at it and nodded “Uh…..sure?”

She cleared her throat and spoke quietly. She beckoned him to give her the black box before she will speak. “This…..is the Bloodmoon box. Its an accient relic from the underworld. Theses symbols means the one to open this box will release the dead, and some other monsters….and in this box is 3,000 souls of the dead hybrids from the past that were killed by humans along time ago. If you do open this they will eventually come out. You will suffer pain from them, you can hear their cry, misery and they will take vengance. This is what everybody’s talking, about this… but I think we need to destroy it. I think tommorrow is the time this box will open. When the moon rises again it will turn red it will be time.”

“How? Really can it be hard to destroy it? I could just beat the useless shell of that crap!”

“You need a spell for that”

“Oh..”

She aranged her glasses and looked at the box with the chains as it surrounds it. “Where did you find this?”

“My dad gave…it…to me..” Jeremy made an awkward smile to her scratching his head looking at the sky.

“Why in the world did he gave it to you!?”

“Aye! He’s a terrible father after all!” Said Tavish folding his arms shaking his head in agreement. “What kind of father gives useless crap to his children then it will destroy the world!?”

“Alright, lets calm down….we need a spell to destroy this” She said “But, I think I have the right spell for this. This might take a while so bare with me” she handed the box to Jeremy and she splashed away. “I’ll tell you when to give it to me so we can destroy it!”

They watched her disapper again in the ocean. They’re stomach felt quizzy feeling that this is going to be a hard night. And It’s going to be talking hours for her to get the right spell.

- - -

Later, Jeremy wen’t back home and sat down on his sofa. There was a note on the desk for him. It was his brother. He said he will go and visit Dell he needs some assistance with Mr Ludwig and Misha.

This time in the fridge there is cakes, sandwiches and fruits. His face turned into a delight as he scrabled in the fridge to get them. Feeling satisfied there is food again. He munched the cakes and apples as he made a mess.

“Let’s…freaking….go!” he said in between his munching. “ Screw you ‘Penny’s bakery Shop! I get my own cakes”. He relaxed on the sofa feeling glad. He also wished his mom get to eat with him again. He remembered every midenight when his brother and father are asleep. He would wake up his mom and the both of them would sneak eating food all night. It was the best memory he had.

He shock his head to shake of the beautiful memory he had with his mother and continued on eating in peace. Ever bite and texture he would enjoy. While under the sofa lies the Bloodmoon box.

As the day settled down the sun said good night to the world and the moon would say hello as the starstwinkled in the dark night. This time the village opened their shops at every night. The civilains got back to work very quickly, they clanged their spears and swords. The blacksmith heated the fire for their weapons as the men hammered the new swords.

Dell and Mundy are watching the peple from his treehouse looking at the distance. While Mr Ludwig is preparing the medicines and regenerating syrups, Misha is busy making the bunker for the other hybrids. Dell looked at the sky as dark clouds hovered over the land. He could hear thunder from the distance as it grew closer. He closed his eyes and spoke.

“I think we should call the others now even your brother….I think it’s time”.

“Now? But mate…theres a bloody storm coming how about tomorrow?” said Mund

Dell sighed “Did your father gave you it?”

“Nah….I don’t think so…he still did not arrive”

“We need to destroy her now or she will posses anyone.”

“But mate….I don’t-”

“We have no choice! She’s dangerous we have to let her go.”

They stood quicetly as they continued watching the village working along. “Herr Dell, we need some rest!” said Mr Ludwig as he planted a hand on Dell’s right shoulder. “ We need to finishe zhis tommorrow” He nodded and looked one last time to look at the village. Then he turned away and headed for bed.

The gang settled down on their beds from the hard work they done. And they drifted of to sleep.

END.

----

Thx for reading for now i'm still working on chapter 6. Ya I started this story 2 months ago so it will take me awhile to upload the stories.

#tf2 #My fics

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

Half of

Danny Fenton was half ghost. Or something.

No one was quite sure what that meant exactly or if it was even true. A ghost in a pure white suit had announced it during an attack on the town until he was beaten and silenced by Phantom. It’s been three days since then and the nerd hasn’t been at school. Not that Dash was looking for him or anything.

Dash worried, for just a second, that something bad happened to him. The Guys in White creeps had been asking questions around school the last few days. There’d been a noticeable lack in ghost attacks around town, maybe another ghost got to him? What about his ghost obsessed parents? Surely they wouldn’t have done anything to their own kid...

“Think Danny will be in school today?” Kwan whispered nervously, leaning in close to Dash’s side. Talking too loudly about the elephant, or ghost he guesses, in the room got people very forcefully interviewed by the government.

“Why the hell would I know?” Dash grumbled, shaking his friend off to shove his hands deep into the pockets of his letterman jacket. “No one knows what’s going on, Manson and Foley haven’t shown up either.”

“I hope they’re ok,” Kwan said quietly, looking down at the floor.

“Why do you care?” Dash grumbled, harsher than he meant to.

“You and everyone ditched me for Danny when Paulina was dating him, remember? Sam and Tucker were real pals and Danny, well he’s weird but not really that bad.” Kwan said bitterly before his eyebrows twisted in confusion. “That was actually pretty out of character for Paulina to date him now that I think about it, maybe he was, like, using ghost magic to control her?”

“That’s stu-” Dash was interrupted by the usually noise of Casper High going dead silent. He and Kwan shrugged at each other. He saw Star down the hallway, staring at something. He caught her eye and mouthed What is it at her. Her eyes slid back over to the hall before mouthing Fenton back.

“Shit,” Dash couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “Fenton’s here.” He glanced over at Kwan, trying to hide his nervousness. “Guess we’ll find out if he’s some sort of ghost freak after all.”

Kwan eyed him for a second, “you know if Danny really is half of a ghost then maybe you’ll want to quit it with the names.” The warning bell rang for first period. “You guys have homeroom together with Lancer, right? Just, I don’t know, don’t make him mad or anything.”

“Man, don’t even joke,” Dash said with a strained smile. “It’s Fenton, what’s the nerd gonna do?”

XxX

Fenton always sat in the back right of the class so seeing him there wasn’t that strange. What was strange was that he was there before the bell rang, not looking sweaty or exhausted or beaten up. Seeing him sitting there with an almost bored expression, casually leaning one arm over the back of his chair. It was eerie, seeing Fenton try to act normal. Dash felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on his head as he stiffly walked by the nerd he usually smacked when he walked by. He thought he felt Fenton’s icy eyes following him as he passed. Dash made sure he didn’t scurry like a wimp to his seat but it was a close thing.

“Class, please stop staring at Mr. Fenton and let us begin,” Lancer sighed, unsuccessfully trying to start the class.

“Do you know the ghost boy?” Paulina asked, slamming her palms on her desk and ignoring their teacher. “Because if you’ve been holding out on me-”

“I mean everyone in Amity Park knows him,” Fenton shrugged. He’d been so chill this morning, like the whole thing wasn’t bothering him. It only made Dash more antsy. He bounced his leg under the desk.

“Can you do anything cool? Like fly or shoot lasers from your eyes?” Mikey asked, leaning forward with curiosity.

“I can do lots of cool things,” Fenton sniffed. “I know a lot about the space program and local astronomy. I draw sometimes and I’m think I’m pretty good. I also have super flexible joints so I can do this.” He grinned a little as everyone squealed when he bent his thumb back so far it nearly touched his wrist. “Of course,” his grin turned into an eye roll, “no one really cares about that only my supposed superpowers.”

“What is a half of, exactly? What that ghost called you?” Dash found himself asking. He almost didn’t want to be heard but Fenton turned to look at him anyways.

“What do you think it means?” Fenton questioned back. Though he had a teasing smirk, his eyes looked dull and dead. Dash couldn’t look at them and ducked his head.

“Alright, alright, enough with the questions. The Fenton’s gave Danny a clean bill of health and allowed him to rejoin class so that’s all you kids need to know. Now, back to what we were actually talking about.” Class continued as expected but everyone still snuck glances at Fenton. He’s not sure what they were all waiting for, him to suddenly turn green or sprout horn or whatever. But Fenton just sat there, still as anything, trying to act normal and it just didn’t fit him right and it was all just. Wrong.

XxX

Dash was relieved Fenton wasn’t in his second or third period classes but they did have the same lunchtime. For the first time since he was skinny, bucktoothed 6th grader, Dash wanted to hide away and eat his lunch in private. But Fenton wasn’t the only one trying to keep up appearances.

“Alright, what has everyone got,” Paulina was whispering to the table by the time Dash was sitting down. “The day is halfway over, someone had to have seen him doing something ghostly.”

“I mean we don’t know how long he’s been like this,” Star commented, flipping her hair as pretense to sneak a glance at the loser trio near the back entrance of the cafeteria. “He could’ve been hiding his for a while.”

“Fenton’s always been weird,” Dale commented with a sneer, stabbing at his beefaroni. “Since day one, he’s been jumpy and clumsy and goes through weird mood swings.”

“Maybe he’s never been normal,” Kwan said with a little frown. Now Dash knows this wasn’t true. He was the only one at the table who’d gone to the same middle school as Fenton. The nerd had talked too much about space and was always tripping over something but he’d been like all the other annoying brats in middle school. Dale was onto something, Fenton had changed once high school hit which means whatever is up with him as been going on for a while. Years.

He suddenly felt eyes on him, a cold, crawling feeling that made his breath catch in his throat. Dash squeezed his eyes shut and breathed a silent sigh of relief as the eyes turned from him. They didn’t return but Dash found he couldn’t eat after that.

XxX

“Dude, did you hear about Fenton?” Victor said in an excited but still hushed whisper as Dash was leaving fifth period.

“No, what did he do?” Dash asked with dread.

“He had gym last period and apparently he’s been faking his loser weakness. He crawled up the rope climb like a goddamned spider monkey and then slid himself back down. Don’t know how he didn’t have intense rope burn from that. He also beat Charlie, Katie and Veronica on the sprinting portion. Must be those ghosty genes.”

“Fenton did all that?” Dash asked, he bit the inside of his cheek. Hard.

“Yeah it was crazy, I thought Tetslaf was gonna pass out,” Victor laughed. “Maybe we should get him to try out for the football team, he’d be a great running back or-”

“Come on, Vic,” Dash laughed but the sound came out wrong. “Why would we want Fenton on our team? He’s, he’s Fenton! Just a skinny, weird little wimp.” Vic side-eyed him a bit before clapping Dash on the back.

“World’s changing, Dash. First ghosts, now half ghosts, it’s all wrong but you just gotta roll with it. All I know is I have 2 years left in this hell hole before I leave this miserable place for Chicago and never look back. I recommend you do the same, after all,” Vic grinned again but it was sharper. “Fenton’s always been your personal punching bag, not every day you learn your victim has superpowers.”

“We don’t know what the hell is up with Fenton,” Dash defended. Vic just shrugged.

“Yeah but he’s always been a freak now we know he ain’t human. Who knows what else he’s hiding?” Vic said with a smug smile before wandering off, giving a halfhearted wave over his shoulder as he left.

Dash stood in the hallway, trying to get himself under control until the warning and late bell rang. Only then, when he was certain he wouldn’t run into Fenton, did he head to class.

XxX

“Should we follow him, see where he goes?” Paulina said, biting onto one of her nails in nervous excitement. Paulie was gorgeous and overall pretty cool but her thing with ghosts sometimes tired Dash out. Now more than ever.

“Come on, that’s like stalking,” Kwan scolded. “Even if that wasn’t illegal or whatever it’s just not cool. They had a rough day today, leave ‘em alone.” That icy chill returned and Dash looked out of the corner of his eye to see Fenton and his cronies walking out of the school.

Truthfully, Dash didn’t think Fenton had that bad of a day. Yeah people were asking questions but he’d side stepped them all, gave non-answers. Other people talked about Fenton’s supposed strength in gym but there’d been conflicting reports, some said he flew up the rope climb, others said he levitated doing his push ups. Dash really didn’t know what to believe. Fenton was just acting, well, like Fenton. He paused for a second, stopped walking before catching up with the group.

Maybe... maybe Dash was getting caught up over nothing. There really was no proof Fenton was this ‘half of’ other than what one dumb ghost said. He thought back to Fenton’s grin during first period; stupid nerd was probably milking his 15 minutes of fame and bully free time. His earlier fear and uncertainty burst into flames until a familiar anger was burning in his gut. Now this he knew what to do with.

“Yeah, well his day is about to get rougher,” Dash heard himself say as he stomped off to where Fenton was smiling tiredly at something Manson was saying. “Hey Fentonio! Think you’re pretty cool with every paying attention to you but I-”

Fenton gasped suddenly, like a hiccup only his breath misted out in front of him cold as a winter’s day. Dash stopped midsentence watching as Fenton’s whole face twisted. His earlier weary but tolerant annoyance that he’d been projecting all day was stripped away. He glared at Dash with an expression that was hard as ice and full of an exhaustion and bitterness he couldn’t begin to understand.

“As payment for being forcibly outed,” Fenton spoke up loudly enough that most of the school yard could hear him. “I was promised a week.” His eyes slowly but methodically scanned the crowd who had frozen in place at his authoritative tone. “Where I didn’t have to deal with ghosts, so I want to know... Who is trespassing on my haunt.”

Fenton’s mouth opened impossibly wide revealing what seemed like rows of sharped teeth. He curled his fingers into claws and, looking closer, his fingernails had indeed become real claws, as sharp and deadly as his teeth. His eyes blazed an impossible, ectoplasmic green and his dark hair developed streaks of white. He was terrifying, monstrous, but he was still Fenton. That feeling that had been eating at dash all day came back full force. Not the realization that Fenton had powers or whatever but that he had been hiding it in plain sight through ghost attacks and bullies and failing grades. This had always been Fenton, they just hadn’t seen. Until now that is.

And now the script had flipped and Dash didn’t know how this Ghost Fenton, who still was the same Fenton Dash had wedgied last Wednesday, fit. A green blob ghost materialized over by stairs, quivering and wailing in some ghost language. It turned and fled, presumably in the direction of the Fenton Portal to escape Fenton’s wrath. Fenton’s glowing eyes tracked it for a moment before he straightened up from his hunched posture and... was human again.

He brushed his hands through his black hair, lazily blinked blue eyes and, when he smiled, his teeth were normal. But Dash had seen, they all had. He’d let them see but to what end, he had no idea. Fenton turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow and another small smirk, just as tired as earlier.

“Sorry about that Dash, I take my vacation time very seriously. You were saying?” Fenton said with a smug lilt but his eyes were still dead and there was a bit of fear in them now. Despite his powers, he still gripped his backpack tightly.

“When your dumb little vacation’s up, Fentionail,” Dash said with a shaky voice. “It’s-it’s back to business, okay? Punches and wedgies and locker shoving. You,” he voice cracked a bit and he fought it down. “It’ll ramp up now that I know you can take it.” Fenton blinked, once then twice before he smiled. This time it wasn’t annoyed or scary or fearful but like the dumb grins he usually gave his dumb friends.

“Yeah okay, we’ll start back up next week. The usual time?” Dash nodded, not knowing what else to say. “Alright, see you around.” He turned to walk away before pausing and turning back. “Actually you should be careful on who you shove into lockers, it can get hard to breathe in there and not everyone can phase out of them. You never know who’ll turn up dead,” he grinned and his eyes flashed green again, “if only half.”

That said, he and his friends walked away, ignoring the stares of the entire school on them. “Oh and it’s halfa, not half of,” Fenton called out over his shoulder. “I’m not half of anything, I’m just a whole me even if the details get a bit complicated.”

“Bye Danny, see you tomorrow,” Kwan called after with a grimace. No one else said anything for a minute until Dash found the strength to move his legs from where they’d been planted. He clenched his fists to hide his shaking and continued his walk home. Everyone else slowly did the same, talking quietly among themselves.

“What the hell was that?” Dale asked in a nervous high pitched voice. “What the hell did I just see?”

“Fenton being a weirdo but that’s nothing new,” Dash shrugged with a confidence he didn’t have yet. But if Fenton could show up to school after being outed and then willingly show them his inhumanity, then Dash needed to up his game. Couldn’t let the nerd be cool or anything. “So what if he glows or whatever, he’s still Fenton. Look I gotta get home, it’s Pookie’s feeding time and he is NOT going to believe the day I had.

#danny phantom #*presses fingers to lips* this is not the story I intended to write #not entirely sure what I did intend but it wasnt this #it started out with danny being outed as half ghost with no other context and ended up like this #i'll clean and edit in the morning but for now #here's whatever the hell this is #I'll fix it in the mornign

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Text

FEVER-DREAM ; echo/reader

summary: echo is fine-tuning his new prosthesis. you have experience, you help. unspoken feelings are acted on. adoration blooms. you learn what mesh’la means.

word count: 3k

pairing: echo / f!reader

tags: mutual pining, lots of tender looks, victorian-era hand-touching sluttiness, echo is a gentle soul, reader is head over heels, a touch of ptsd mention, set on ord mantell, mention of our boy fives, in this house we love assistive devices, enough sexual tension to power the death star

a/n: this is me round-house kicking the bad batch writers in the throat because they made echo cosplay a droid — but, also because this man deserves to be treated as more than a means to a mission’s end. majority of you know i am ~bitter~ (understatement of the century) of tbb’s plot/design/writing. but echo has been a favorite from the original days... so have some very soft fic.

i reference character redesigns by @nibeul in this piece — please go peep them here, and some updated character spreads here! they’re really beautiful and add a phenomenal layer of storytelling to the existing designs that’s lacking. nibuel’s art and writing is lovely. please give them a follow — i can’t rec their work enough.

“How does it feel?”

The words are nearly whispered; it’s clear you didn’t want to startle him, and Echo can feel the pinch in his brow soften at your sudden appearence in the doorway.

His bunk, at the back of the Havoc Marauder, is small — the space itself even more so. There’s a makeshift partition, hooked together with spare parts and meant to offer a bit of privacy on the cramped vessel. Its slate grey color has faded, and the edges have become tattered in the cycles of use.

When Echo pulls his dark eyes up from his work, you’re leaning against the frame — your expression is earnest.

For a moment, the once-ARC Trooper is quiet.

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to your attention. Each and every time, it sends him into a spiral; his heart catches as he inhales and tries to push down the warm stir in his gut. The sight of you is enough, nowadays, to melt Echo’s well-maintained irritability. His attention is stolen from his ever-present pain, if only for a bit.

There are plenty of days where he misses the old him — the wide-eyed, eager ARC Trooper who had his brothers by his side. His real brothers. Hevy, Cutup, Droidbait... Fives.

Fuckin’ hell, Fives was probably staring down at him now laughing.

No matter what changes, you’re still shit with the ladies, vod’ika.

In a way he hasn’t fully admitted to himself, you make him feel like himself again. Like... Like some shiny cadet, on leave and distracted by the promises of pretty smiles passing-by. It’s good.

This makes him feel... good.

He flexes, and his right hand — the new, gunmetal durasteel cyberized-prosthesis — closes into a tight fist. It’s taken him a bit, but the feeling isn’t so foreign now. It’s still... slow. Slower than he’s used to, but you’d mentioned it may take some time. The phantom feelings get better, too. All in all, it’s a good thing.

Your own hand, your left, glimmers back in the same gunmetal color.

(Echo had never pressed you about the missing limb — not until one day, in Cid’s, you’d joined him in a quiet corner. You’d spilled your drink and a complaint about getting the star-cherry syrup out of the joints had slipped out. Echo had laughed; a real laugh, the sort that was so rare coming from him, it had you staring at him as if he’d hung ever star in the sky.

Can I ask how it happened? he’d said, breaking the heavy silence when your eyes never left his.

The Pykes, you’d said, and that was enough.)

“I haven’t, uh... Haven’t gotten the sensory calibration right yet.”

Then, his prosthesis cramps. His fingers go rigid, and Echo curses sharply as he reaches around his forearm to quickly reboot the appendage. It goes slack, then hums alive once more.

You wince.

You’re slow to move into the room — and you settle atop one of the crates Echo had stolen from the belly of the ship, an old Mantell Mix shipping container. You’re mindful to set his datapad aside, to not disturb his space too much. Before you reach for his hand, however, you lift your chin and open your hands in your lap.

“May I?” you ask, just as soft as before.

Echo feels small under your gaze.

Truth be told, you’re doing more than just... asking. You’re taking him in — appreciating him. It’s a habit that’s grown more and more apparent to not only himself, but the others.

In recent rotations, Echo has let his hair grow out — not long, but the once close buzz he’d kept has begun to curl at the top. Not entirely dissimilair to how it was before the Citadel. The dermal implants, the ones the Techno Union installed in order to parse the nuerological data in his head, stand out against his warm-colored skin.

His usual AJ^6-inspired headpiece is resting on his bunk.

That damn thing.

A neccesary tool. One that, given the amount of user data Tech had procured when working on modifying the implant, Echo found himself immediately distrusting. It wasn’t as if the AJ^6 cyborg construct had a beautiful track record, and frankly, Echo would like to keep his personality in tact, thank you very much. There were plenty of days he felt machine enough.

It wasn’t often you saw him without the headset; you knew it made linking in via his scomp easier to handle, it made the visualization of data transfers as easy as breathing. For Echo, it was a part of his vast kit, an important tool. For you, seeing him without it bubbles up a bit of a smile.

Echo catches it.

His eyes narrow playfully.

He looks... well. You — hell, are there words for it? For the way the sight of him makes you feel? It’s like there’s a world full of potential there, a thousand words unsaid, and feelings that have steeped in the warmth of longing gazes and half-there touches.

You’re still looking up at him, knees bent on the crate.

You blink, realizing you’ve been caught staring — not for the first time and certainly not for the last. In the beginning, it had left a sour taste in Echo’s mouth. But, now... Well, it stokes a sort of pride in his chest that he hangs onto.

It never gets easier to recover from — certainly not when Echo smirks. He moves to allow you to take his prosthesis into your lap. The gesture is gentle; your fingers cradle the firm yet pliable metal.

“What?” he asks. His voice, low and rough and warm, is tinted with amusement.

“Nothing,” you say vaguely with a shrug — as if that’s supposed to explain any part of your enamored stare. Your attention moves to the prosthesis.

“Nothing?” he asks, moving to thumb his left ear with his free hand with a dash of nervousness. A habit. Echo tilts his head as his fingers brush the cochlear implant there. The panel rests neatly against the side of his head, a small rounded-off square. The bite of self-consciousness has dwindled around you — but still, it creeps back up every now and again.

The Corporal’s brows knot playfully as you turn his new hand over in your lap; you’re admiring the upgraded feel, the more seamless panelling in comparison to your own. Echo watches your lashes flutter in silent thought.

Then:

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

You blink slowly at the hand, swallow down your sudden sheepishness and ignore his gaze. You bite back the smile digging into your cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks suddenly, and you look up.

A baited trick. He’s smiling.

The warm sort — the sort reserved for you and for Omega. The two souls that hold a piece of his heart, with all its ticking valves and electric timed pulses. There are machinisms that keep him alive, and then there is you. Your wide-eyed expression melts, giving way to the sort of smile he’s tried to memorize over and over. It’s the same smile that has warded off that reoccuring nightmare of the night on the tarmac at the Citadel, the same smile that has pulled him through the grit of phantom pains.

“What—” a sudden laugh bursts from your chest, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were staring, mesh’la,” he rumbles out as a reminder, enjoying the fact he’s suddenly become the center of your attention. Echo leans back, his boot toeing yours. You nudge it back. Your face feels hot. You ignore his pointedly teasing look with a roll of your eyes.

The nickname started a few weeks ago. You haven’t asked what it means — no, for now it’s meaning hangs in the balance. Untouched but there. The affection the word carries makes your heart feel heavier and unbelievably full.

“Bad habit,” you chirp back, looking up at him through your lashes.

His laugh is warm.

“Maybe not.”

“No,” you say quietly; your voice is soft as your eyes bounce across his face, tracing the lines of his face with your gaze, “I don’t think it is.”

There’s a silence that slips between you — a comfortable one. It’s heavier than before. That has begun to happen recently, especially with the petal-soft utterance of mesh’la becoming more and more frequent. You hold his gaze. Echo lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Then, you remember the task at hand.

You clear your throat.

“Uh... The access panel I’m looking for,” you say slowly as your raise your finger to point to your own arm, “It’s on your bicep.”

Echo blinks. He clears his own throat before looking down — he hadn’t even noticed that access panel. That could explain the jarring miscommunication stalling the limb. This model had more bells and whistles than he initally realized.

Better than a fuckin’ scomp link, that’s for sure.

Wordlessly, Echo makes room on his bunk. You move to settle beside him, your bent leg resting aginst his hip as you half-straddle the bed; your other knee brushes his thigh — and Echo tries to sit still. You’re close, now.

“Is it okay if...?” you trail off, fingers tugging on the short sleeve of his blacks; you pause until Echo offers a curt nod. You catch him swallow. You push onward, fingers nimbly rolling the fabric up over his broad bicep.

Echo steals a glance your way as your fingers pass across a slip of his bare skin.

In his lap, both his hands twitch.

He’s no small man. Lean and athletic, Echo is built like a soldier. Omega had said once that Echo was an ARC Trooper, one of the best of the best. You believed every bit of it, and you’d hung on her words when she’d rambled on about ARC training, about Kamino, and about who Echo was before you knew him. It was all in the past, though. That Echo is a part of this Echo but... They’re different men. He’s been changed by the things that have happened.

You don’t press him on the details.

In time, they’re slipped into conversation here and there — between the here and now.

In the beginning, when you’d found yourself amongst the crew of the Havoc Marauder — be it for a simple job on Cid’s behalf — Echo had hardly paid you a moment of attention, though you admit you’d been curious from the start. It had taken three jobs for you to finally see his face. Then began the slow and gradual bonding over catching joints, grating plates, and hardware updates. His legs, your arm. Two pieces of a pair.

Now, he has this. A beautiful new upgrade — something he’s wanted for a long time. A part of his old self is back, in a way.

You liked that it was more than just a tool. That, in having this piece of his body back, he felt like more than a tool. More than a scomp link.

After all, he is a man — a... a very handsome man. One whose proximity is sort of distracting you, again, from the task at hand.

“The panel here,” you say as you slowly press on the seam that enables the settings panel to be revealed; you’re mindful to explain, “It controls sensory outputs, as well as synchonized synaptic commands. The panel on my forearm does the same to my hand, yours is just... well, you’ve got the new and improve version.”

Echo ducks his head as you work, watching you from the corner of his eye. “Feeling a bit jealous, mesh’la?”

“Maybe,” you breathe out with a smile.

Then, you lift your eyes. You intended to see that he was still comfortable, but instead you come face to face with the Corporal. His nose nearly brushes yours when you lift you chin, completely dragged in by the closeness shared.

There’s a beat of tension. Echo’s mouth goes dry.

You fingers pause. You swallow hard. “How... uh, how does it feel?”

Echo tightens his grip, then releases. His breath tickles your cheeks. His eyes, a deep, warm brown, flit from your eyes to your mouth, and then back. His voice is a croak.

“...Same as before.”

You tinker with a dial, eyes never leaving his; your voice is above a whisper. “And now?”

It’s immediate. Like a rush of cold air up his arm — and on instinct, Echo’s hand twitches. His fingers grip the fabric of his blacks, along his thigh, and... he feels it. The smooth, stretch of the material. It’s... it feels like a lot. His fingertips, metallic and cyberized, tingle. It’s distracting.

He can feel.

His hand is slow. It moves across to bridge the space between you. His pointer finger settles on the curve of your knee; the feeling of your tactical pants beneath his fingertip is ignored, instead he chases the heat of your body.

Your breath catches at the touch.

Echo’s face is turned to you, but... his attention has settled on his hand. His palm then sweeps across your thigh. He follows the curve, soaks in the feeling. You’re frozen in place, beating back the desperate sound of appreciation that threatens to be pulled from your throat. The touch is... more than welcomed.

The closeness itself is making you dizzy.

Then, Echo turns — and the warm, durasteel-plated palm finds your cheek.

Your skin is hot.

“Is this okay, mesh’la?” he whispers, words riding on a quiet exhale — the sort that make you feel... well, you don’t even have words for the way he makes you feel. Echo is... kind, honest, and loyal. Above all else, he’s gentle. Despite it all, despite every bit of horror he’d been put through, he’d never lost sight of the importance of a gentle hand. Especially now in a moment as intimate as this. It coaxes you closer.

You lean into the cybernetic attachment, cheek resting in his palm. You nod, then, with eyes eager to take in every bit of this moment.

He chuckles at the enthusiasm. Echo’s thumb, deft and smooth, then traces the line of your lower lip.

The feeling is... the gnawing pain that he’s felt for nearly a year has melted. Finally, the itch has been scratched in his brain and the hollow ache of his bones is gone. It’s relief, and comfort, and excitement and all these beautiful things — and you.

You’re stuck — you don’t want to move, you won’t move. He’s rooted you completely, and when his other hand — the calloused and warm one of flesh and blood — finds it’s spot along your thigh, you swallow a lovesick sigh that would only exaserbate your desperation.

Your mouth is moving before you realize it.

“What does it mean?”

Echo’s eyes narrow, only a bit, and he runs his thumb up your cheekbone.

“What does what mean?”

“Mesh’la,” it sounds foreign on your tongue. It’s not Hutteese or Twi’leki, not like any language you know, “Will you tell me what it means, Echo?”

The corner of his lips quirk. Your eyes jump to it.

You feel like someone’s reached right into your chest and given your heart a squeeze — and it only worsens when he laughs. He laughs, deep and quiet and warm, like a thunderstorm on a summer night. It feels cruel, to string you along like this when you’re here, lips parted, hanging off his every touch and his every word.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly as his other hand touches your jaw — it’s so damn reverent, this little moment in time, that you almost don’t believe it’s real.

It feels like a dream — like someone has come in and stolen your thoughts from you; like the unrequited yearning has finally stoked a fire large enough to burn you up entirely, a fever you never knew you wanted.

His nose brushes yours.

Your fingers wind into the fabric of his chest. You’re clinging, lost to the moment — and you can’t help wonder if this is how it feels when he catches you adoring him. He’s admiring you so tenderly that you nearly break.

You want to kiss him.

He’s thought about nothing but kissing you for the last five days at least. Longer in his dreams. Nowadays, it’s a constant pull, a constant want.

And now, it’s here — a present and current moment where it can happen. Where he can stop being a shiny cadet and he can make a move...

Enter Omega.

“Echo, we’re back—!”

The telltale hammer of a girl’s boots on the floor signals that the party is back from their supply run — but you’re so far off, spinning in a different universe, you don’t even hear her until its too late... Until Echo is yanking himself away and clearing his throat and rolling his wrist to test the prosthesis in a different way, a less intimate way.

You blink, then rattle yourself back to the present. Omega is in the doorway staring with a quizzical look. Clearly, your state does little to dissuade the assumptions she’s already making and you can see the gears turning in her head. The dark-haired girl then slowly grins.

“Hi.”

You swallow. “Hi, Omega.”

“...Whatcha guys doin’?”

Echo coughs. “Uh, just fine-tuning the new upgrade.”

“...Riiiiiight.”

You rub your cheeks and laugh — clearly forced and incredibly pained — as you stand up and nearly ram your head right into the top of Echo’s bunk. It’s met with a hiss of warning from the trooper as he jumps up to try and protect you from the impact.

“Well! Uh, thanks for letting me help, Echo,” you clap, rocking back and forth on your boots, “I, uh... Oh, Cid called. I should... I should get back—”

“Yea,” he says, straining a bit to find the words, “Yea, I’ll... I’ll comm you if it starts to, uh... If it starts to act up?”

Omega watches the exchange, big brown eyes moving from left to right.

“Good, great — yea, that’s,” you inhale as you rub your thighs and move towards the door, “Perfect. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye!” Omega calls, waving.

You wave back, smiling. “Bye, Omega.”

Then, once it’s only Echo and Omega in the bunk, the tween speaks.

“...What the kriff was that?”

#HE IS A CORPORAL!!!!!#let echo say fuck #and omega #echo x reader #echo imagine #arc trooper echo x reader #echo/reader #echo/you #echo x you #tcw imagine #tbb imagine #sw imagine #the bad batch imagine #THANK YOU ANON WHO SENT ME THE UPDATED SPREADS #LOVE U ANGEL

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