#my fan fiction

[e-vay]

Savor Every Second

A scene from my Sonamy one-shot. You can read it here.

#my art #sonamy #sonic the hedgehog #sth #amy rose #savor every second #my fanfiction #my fan fiction #sonic trash

[zombie-rott]

Survival Is A Talent: 1

Pairing: Gen. None.

Rating: Mature for difficult themes throughout.

Word Count: 6,733

Summary:

"Weakness was not something Phantom had ever been permitted to show back beneath the ground. His father, a tyrant leader of their pack, came down harshly on anyone who dared to show an ounce of discomfort or disdain. Male or female, grown or child; he was a brutal man with brutal ideals. But despite Phantom’s inept ability to hide his pain, he’d never felt quite like this before. Nor had he trembled quite as much as he had done since coming to the surface."

Or

Phantom, the new quintessence ghoul, is struggling to adapt to live on the surface. What started as surface sickness has quickly developed into quintessence burn out. And with a reluctance to ask for help, Phantom finds himself down a dark path. It's up to Papa, Aether and the pack to drag him back; kicking, screaming but alive.

In full on A03.

Sometimes Phantom couldn’t quite catch his breath. At first, he was convinced this was just what life was like on the surface. Despite being full of fresh air, life was lived through a series of heart-thumping, gut-wrenching moments of simply not being able to breathe. No one else complained, they just carried on, and Phantom, being new to this world, didn’t know any better. 

Weakness was not something Phantom had ever been permitted to show back beneath the ground. His father, a tyrant leader of their pack, came down harshly on anyone who dared to show an ounce of discomfort or disdain. Male or female, grown or child; he was a brutal man with brutal ideals. But despite Phantom’s inept ability to hide his pain, he’d never been breathless before. Nor had he trembled quite as much as he had done since coming to the surface. 

He learned to take bigger breaths and count to ten because he’d watched Rain do something similar during an exercise called ‘yoga.’ It helped once, and so he adopted it as his silent remedy for this strange ailment he’d stumbled upon. From then on, life at the ministry became a blur of practice, chores and learning about the world around him. And through it all he bit back the breathlessness, shying away in corners to count the stars from his vision and pick himself back up again, ready for whatever he was to do next.

But touring? Touring was a different ball game. While he was pleased to have a small, comfortable space to shy away from the world, he was not so pleased about the vastness of it all. Everything was so big and open and unprotected. The world outside the ministry walls was, for lack of a better term, exposed . Where Phantom and his fellow ghouls were from, that meant danger or the potential for it. Yet at the same time, everything felt constricting, including his own body.  

His glamour, while protecting him from the prying eyes of humanity, felt more like a vice holding him in place. None of his other ghoul-kin complained or even seemed phased by the constraining magick. They told him it was a feeling he would become used to, that he was still young regarding his time on the surface. Comfort and acceptance would come with age. Like a child looking to his parents for answers, Phantom accepted their word as gospel and did his best not to complain or show signs of discomfort. 

Over the first few weeks of touring Phantom spent hours in his bunk, desperately willing sleep to come. But it barely did. Instead, the void would become filled with the pain of his stomach twisting, his heart hammering and the most intrusive thoughts he’d ever experienced.  He shifted and turned, his body much too tight and the air much too hard to hold onto, all the while struggling to keep his tears from flowing.

But it was fine, because this was all part of the mortal experience, right? This was being human and while they were outside the ministry walls, that’s exactly the part they were playing. No negotiations accepted. 

It didn’t become apparent to Phantom that what he was feeling wasn’t normal until a conversation held during one of their free evenings. 

After another successful gig held in Milwaukee, the group frequented one of their favourite little bars hidden in the depths of the old city. They’d a full day of travel planned starting the following morning, and it couldn’t have come at a better time for the ghouls and their Papa. Phantom especially was eager to spend some time decompressing and bonding with his newfound pack, something they hadn’t had much time for. 

Copia treated them to a round of drinks, anything they’d wanted, and proclaimed it was all on the ministry. 

“We have done so well for them. It is the least they can do to treat us to a night out, si ?” He said, chuckling at the thought. 

Some of the ghouls broke off into pairs or, like Mountain, chose to sit outside in the warm night air and smoke his ‘funny-smelling’ cigarettes. Phantom, however, stayed close to his favourite pack members and their Papa.

“Do you wanna try my gin and ginger ale, Bug?” Aurora asked, pushing the deep glass towards him. 

Phantom was already three beers deep but this was their first proper evening off the bus, and he wanted to feel like part of the group. What harm could trying something different do?

He sipped cautiously at the end of her straw and shuttered at the sudden taste of the spirit. But then came the explosion of ginger ale, and the syrupy sweetness of the added honeycomb. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, next only in line to cheeseburgers and watermelon! 

“That’s sooooo good, ‘Roara. Very sweet.” He grinned back at her. 

“I’ll order us two!” 

Before anyone could protest, Aurora bounced up towards the bar to order her and the younger ghoul a gin each. 

Phantom felt the familiar tendrils of nervousness leave him for the first time since coming off stage a few hours ago. Slowly his knee stopped shaking beneath the table and he felt able to release his grip on his beer bottle. Yes, everything was very loud, the air was smokey, and his head was beginning to feel a little fuzzy, but Papa was talking in his sultry Italian accent. And Cumulus was giggling alongside him while Rain played a game of cards with Cirrus. It was all so wholesome and natural, with no vastness between them. 

When Aurora set the gin glass in front of him and grinned, Phantom felt safe, like part of the gang. He joined in the conversation and listened intently as Cirrus talked to them all about how the Summer sun was one of her favourite things about being on the surface. This was closely followed by Rain insisting that the lack of water was his biggest pet peeve. There simply weren’t enough places for him to swim while they were on tour, and he tended to get a little antsy without a decent soak. 

“How are you finding the surface, little Quin?” Papa asked, moving the conversation towards Phantom. 

“I-oh. Well. It’s good. Y’know?” The ghoul slurred. When had it gotten this hard to talk? “I could do without that – y’know – breathless thing.” 

Copia arched an eyebrow in confusion. The other ghouls appeared to be equally as stunned by his response. 

“Breathless thing?” Aurora repeated. 

“Yeah! Like, sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe. And – and I can’t stop shaking. And my stomach just won’t stop hurting, and then -” 

“Dude – “ Rain interrupted, “That’s not normal. You’ve been feeling like this all the time?”

“I-well– I mean not all the time. Just sometimes. Especially at night, or before a show. B-but I just count to ten over and over until it goes away.”

“And does it? Go away I mean.” Cumulus squeaked, a look of concern painted on her face, closely matched by Papa’s. 

“Y-yeah, eventually. Sometimes it takes a while though. I-I just thought it was a mortal thing. Y’know? Like a side effect of being here.” Phantom’s voice became significantly lower, barely audible over the din of the bar. Embarrassment was bubbling in his stomach, and the feeling of breathlessness was creeping into his lungs again. 

“That sounds pretty awful, bug. Maybe we should get him checked over, Papa?” Rain suggested. 

Phantom hadn’t realised there was something wrong with him. And to just outwardly confess it like that not only to his new pack mates but his new Papa? He was practically organising his banishing ritual. 

“Don’t be sad, little bug.”

“Yeah – look – it’s nothing.” 

“Forget we said anything, okay?”

Phantom swallowed back tears, his hands fidgeting with his glass and shaking. He felt the gentle hand of Copia on his arm, and it took all he had not to whimper an apology. 

Sorry for being defective, Papa.

“No, I do not think there is any need for that.” Copia waved the water ghoul off, “Why not take a walk with me, Quin? Si ? We can take our time going back to the hotel and maybe talk a little, hm?” 

Phantom nodded softly, the movement barely noticeable. The ghoul took another sip of his drink before Copia pulled it away, and pushed him from the booth.  

“C’mon now, I think you’ve had quite enough! Okie dokie? Let’s get out of this haze of sweat and cheap wine, eh ?” The Clergyman said as he slipped an arm around Phantom’s shoulders and guided him gently to the doorway. He waved to several of his ghouls on the way out, including a suspiciously drunk Swiss sitting on the sidewalk. 

“Good night, Swiss! Behave yourself, si ? I don’t want to have to go searching through the city for you tomorrow.” Papa warned, eyeing the three open buttons on the multi-ghouls shirt, just ever so slightly showing off the inked skin beneath. 

The multi-ghoul waved him on as he lit up a cigarette and stretched out his long legs across the street. 

“He’s either in need of a fuck or a fight, and going by his shirt buttons ‘Lus will be in for a good time.” Copia chuckled. 

Phantom, shaking, his eyes brimmed with tears, pulled his jacket closer to him. He nodded in agreement, barely hearing the words. 

“My little Quin, please do not let those other diavoli get to you, eh? They are not good at understanding their own feelings, never mind someone else’s. Emotions are hard little devils to grasp and your pack mates are very bad at empathy. The worst, si ?” 

“I-I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Phantom whispered, tears slowly moving down his cheeks, “I thought everyone felt like this.” 

“Most mortals do, si. ” Copia admitted.

“But I’m not mortal. W-why is this happening?”  

Copia pulled him closer. Phantom trembled against the clergyman’s side, his bones becoming tense and stomach-turning.

“Maybe we will take a seat somewhere, si? Until you feel better? We can talk in peace.” 

Copia guided them both to a bench beneath a caged tree, away from the bustle of the bars and nightlife. Phantom didn’t say a word, he just sobbed as quietly as possible beside the clergyman. The young ghoul’s heart was pounding, his ears were ringing. He just wanted the earth to split open and swallow him up. 

“I can’t believe I-I’ve just been thinking this is normal, and it’s not. I’m a fucking idiot!” He cried, his face buried down into his hands, 

“Oh no. No, mio amico , you’re not an idiot.” Copia reached for Phantom’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, “You’re anxious , that’s what this feeling is. It’s very common among humans and sadly it can be quite difficult to manage. But you understand this, si ? You’ve been fighting so hard and doing so well with your deep breathing and counting down.”

Phantom’s breath hitched in his throat as he contemplated Papa’s words. Anxiety? He’d heard Copia talk about feeling anxious, usually before a show or during rehearsal, and sometimes when things were feeling tense on the bus. Was this the same feeling? 

“Y-you know this f-feeling?” The ghoul asked, his sobs subsiding and his hands now lowered, fidgeting in his lap. 

“ Si . Quite well actually. I’m, as you say, ‘ neurotic ’ at times, and it’s caused me great pain and heartache. I know just how difficult this has been for you Quin, and to be all alone?” Copia shook his head, “Oh, my little ghoul. You’re not to keep this to yourself anymore, si ? Promise you’ll come to me when you’re feeling like this, no matter the time?” 

Copia searched his coat before producing a clean handkerchief from inside his pocket. He gestured for the young ghoul to take it but Phantom shook his head. 

“I-I can’t accept that. It’s yours Pa-”

“Copia, mio diavolo . Please call me Copia. And please accept this so you can dry your tears.” 

Hesitantly Phantom took the handkerchief from the clergyman and proceeded to wipe his eyes. He flattened the damp cloth out in his hand to see Papa IVs emblem embroidered on one of the corners. 

“T-thank you Pa-Copia. Really. This means a lot.” The ghoul sniffed, feeling the prick of more tears at the corners of his eyes.  

Wordlessly Copia stumbled to his feet, careful not to topple into the stream of oncoming traffic. He reached out a hand and Phantom, without prompting, took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. The clergyman threw an arm around the young ghoul’s shoulders and began walking them in the direction of their hotel. They talked together about many things on that walk home, none of which involved Phantom’s breathlessness.

~ ~ ~

All the ghouls were present and accounted for before Copia had even made it to the foyer the following morning. There was no need to spend hours searching for a wayward Swiss as he was already sitting, desperately hungover and miserable between Dew and Cumulus. Rain was rather green and leaning against a pillar outside in a desperate attempt to draw more air into his lungs, while the remainder were pleasantly bright-eyed, sans any ill effects of their endeavours the prior evening.

As Copia approached them with his suitcase in hand and dark sunglasses shading his eyes, Phantom moved gingerly towards him. 

“ Buongiorno, mio diavolo ! Did you sleep well?” The clergyman smiled graciously, his voice with only a hint of morning grit. 

“Y-yeah, it was good.” Phantom lied. He’d barely slept a wink, having instead spent his time curled around the toilet bowl. 

“ Bene ! The first night in a real bed after weeks on the road is always a special feeling.” 

Phantom made a small noise of agreement before reaching into the pocket of his trousers for Papa's handkerchief. 

“Thank you for this. Don’t worry. I washed it in the sink last night and let it dry out this morning.” Phantom brought it to his nose and inhaled as if trying to convince Copia of his attempts to sanitise it. “Smells like the Irish Spring soap they have in the little bottles.” 

“But this is yours, Quin. I gave this to you to hold onto and remind you that you’re not alone.” Copia smiled and waved his efforts away, “It’s a gift. You’ve had a gift before, si ?” 

Phantom hadn’t. Not in his short time on the surface had one ghoul or human alike given him a gift. Or anything, in fact, without expecting something in return. The last time he’d received anything similar to a gift was when his mother was alive. 

“Oh – ah – thank you!” The little ghoul squeaked in response. 

Copia simply smiled, patted him gently on the shoulder and guided him forward towards the cobbled streets of the city around them. 

They climbed onto the bus with Gary, their faithful driver, counting them on as they filed past. The clergyman was under no circumstances reliving the time they left Dew behind in Oslo, nor spending upwards of three hours looking for their resident multi-ghoul after a night of passion with the locals. 

“All present and accounted for!” Gary boomed as he climbed onto the bus.

“ Fantastica . Let’s hit the road.” Copia called from his seat in the lounge. 

He was already perched in his usual spot, his legs outstretched and resting on the small coffee table. His laptop was on and he was no doubt already scrolling though his emails and schedule for the coming days. Despite a late night and a miniscule break from singing, there was no rest for their wicked leader. 

The rest of the ghouls went about settling themselves into their respective locations. Swiss was occupied in their small bathroom, his back being rubbed softly by Cumulus as he suffered the consequences of the previous night’s indulgences. Dew watched from his bunk, eyes narrowed and arms folded in displeasure. 

The ghoulettes and Rain had decided to crowd around Papa while he worked. Each had their respective hobby be it reading, sketching or something akin to needlecraft. And then there was Mountain, tucked away in his open bunk, a pair of wired headphones rendering him deaf to the world as he flicked through one of his many dog-eared books. 

Phantom hadn’t been around long enough to discover what settled his dark soul. He didn’t know what brought him comfort or reduced the feeling of anxiety, as their Papa had called it. Reading was much too boring, he couldn’t hold a pencil correctly and needlepoint required too much precision and stillness. The only thing that even remotely brought him peace in the last five months of life on earth had been the soft embrace and kindness of Copia as they sat along the street. 

Violent retching from Swiss brought the young ghoul stumbling back to the present. He climbed up into his bunk and watched as Cumulus rubbed circles into the multi- ghoul’s back. 

“I told you, Swissroll! Six drinks and you’re out!” Dew stated matter-of-factly from the darkness of his bed. 

The other ghoul raised a shaking hand and extended his middle finger in a crude gesture. 

Even with this hostile display, every ghoul had a place with each other. Even Aurora who had joined not long before him held her own among the other devils. 

But Phantom? Phantom had been a last resort to fill the emptiness left behind by Aether. Phantom was little more than an infant among the pack and every step he took reminded him of it. Phantom was their deadwood, their weakest link; their liability. 

As the thoughts mounted in his head, Phantom felt the breathlessness smother him like an anvil atop his chest. He reminisced on his drunken display from the night prior and cringed. He recalled the faces of his peers as he admitted to them what, he assumed, was a normal effect of the surface, only to be proven wrong. His gut twisted and he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to dispel the feeling, but with no luck. 

“It must be the hangover.” He thought as he worried at his bottom lip, “This feels worse than before.” 

Swallowing back his growing nauseousness, he reached forward to draw across the curtains of his bunk, lest the other ghouls see him. The young quint contorted himself into the smallest space he could manage, his body curled inward.

~ ~ ~

Over the following days everything became a flurry of cities and venues. The screams of their adoring fans fueled Phantom and his ghoul kin night after night. But even through all the excitement and admiration, the young ghoul felt anxiety nipping at the back of his heels. 

Each night he stumbled from the stage, gulping for air as if it were his dying breath, and thought about Copia’s words. He wanted desperately to reach out for help when his thoughts boomed and his hands shook, but he couldn’t remove himself from the embarrassment of that cold night in Milwaukee. The looks of pity pierced his stomach like a knife and it was one that he didn’t want to be twisted any further.

Phantom did the only thing he could think of that wouldn’t cause a fuss; he shut down. He pushed those feelings back and faced them in the privacy of his bunk every night. He bit down on his pillow to silence the sobs, bore his talons into the palms of his hands and dragged them across his skin in an effort to feel anything but the anxiety drowning him. All the while everything else continued as normal. Despite feeling the constant buzzing of impending doom throughout his body, Phantom laughed like he always had done, he ate like he was accustomed to and joined in with the others as much as he could. Even his rituals remained the same despite the constant feeling of anxiety swelling beyond the levees of his soul. 

From Phantom’s point of view despite the discourse growing within him, he was perfectly fine from the outside looking in. But, little did the young ghoul know that his glass wasn’t stained. In fact, it was entirely transparent, especially for Papa. 

They were in Bridgeport when Phantom first missed a queue on stage. And not just one. Of course the crowd were too busy watching the theatrics of the other ghouls and their beloved anti-Pope to notice. But Copia watched as Phantom physically struggled with his chaotic inner voice. By the end of the show, he was visibly shaken. He interacted with the crowd, sure, but not as the labrador puppy he usually portrayed. Instead, he listlessly wandered the stage, throwing out guitar picks and taking offerings from their adoring fans with timid little waves of ‘thanks’ . Swiss had to practically grab his hand and force it into the air for their final bow, and when it came time to exit, he marched ahead of everyone else, his feet dragging the ground and his shoulders hunched forward as if he were ready to fold in on himself.  

The other ghouls tried reassuring him that it was okay to mess up sometimes. They’d all done it! But Phantom wouldn’t so much as pull back his bunk curtain. From within he cried into his pillow, claws buried deep into his shoulders, and his stage gear discarded in a pile at his feet. 

“Papa, what do we do?” 

Phantom heard Copia sigh from somewhere beyond the curtain. In a muted whisper the clergyman informed the other ghouls to get cleaned up and disperse to the lounge. And then, so silent that the young ghoul nearly missed it, he heard a knock against the wall of his bunk. 

“Quin?” 

Phantom’s breath caught in his throat at the use of his nickname. He whimpered, his claws digging deeper and his eyes squeezing shut. But he couldn’t find the words to send Copia away. 

“You know I’m here, si ? Is this about the ritual?” 

The ghoul could do nothing but emit soft whimpers and desperately try to silence his sniffling. His hands came up to cover his mouth as sobs threatened to wreck through him. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten. 

One….two….three…

Another sign from the clergyman and the shuffling of feet. 

Four…five…six…

“Alright, mio amico . Please text me if you need anything. Acqua, cibo o per parlare, si ?”

Phantom was shaking now, his head throbbing from crying and his fingers sore from how hard he held himself. He wanted to reply, he wanted to reach through the curtain and beg Papa for his help, but he didn’t; His shame wouldn’t allow it. 

The clergyman eventually left, his boots scraping along the floor and the far-off sound of whispers greeting him in the lounge. Phantom knew if he strained himself he could pick up on what the other ghouls were saying, but he decided against it, convinced they’d be tearing him to pieces. Instead, he squeezed his eyes tight and covered his ears with the palms of his hands, the fingertips stained with blood.  

He lay like that, hunched in a half-moon of despair for what felt like days. Decades even. When he finally sat upright and sighed into the silence around him, he discovered it was the middle of the night, some hours after their ritual had ended. His throat was dry and his mouth felt like cotton. He needed water, minty toothpaste and something for his headache. But it all meant leaving the safety of his nest. 

Several deep breaths later, and an inner monologue laced with self-loathing, Phantom carefully pulled on his discarded capris and under armour before beginning his descent from his bunk.  His bare feet barely made a sound as he tiptoed towards the kitchen. Fortunately no one was awake because Phantom couldn’t deal with facing any of them. Not yet. Not with the evidence of his disgrace displayed in the empty valleys of his black face paint. But what Phantom failed to note was the figure sitting in the front lounge, their presence unnoticed until he heard the sound of pages turning. The young ghoul stopped dead, his hand frozen reaching for a glass from the cupboard. But it was too late. Whoever it was had already gotten to their feet and was walking towards him.

“Quin,” Copia’s voice sounded in no more than a whisper, ” How are you feeling?”

The little ghoul stared up at him, his mouth agape and eyes wide. Copia’s features softened as he took in the evidence of Phantom’s distress. His tear-streaked face was enough to tell the clergyman that the ghoul had spent hours consumed by his tears. 

“Why don’t you join me in the lounge and I’ll make us some hot drinks, si ?” The clergyman gestured.  

The ghoul swallowed back a whimper as his bottom lip began to shake, “It’s-it’s fine. R-really.” 

Copia’s brows furrowed and a frown pulled at the corners of his lips. 

“Phantom, per favore . You need to let me help you. Even if it’s just for tonight, si ? What sort of Papa would I be if I let you go back to bed like this?” Copia slowly reached forward in an attempt to guide the ghoul into the lounge, but Phantom flinched back, his body hitting the counter behind him.

“Y-you don’t need to. I-I’m okay.” The little ghoul was breathless again, his chest rising and falling in quick succession, and panic evident in his eyes, “I-I j-just need to –“ Phantom gasped for air like a starving man, his arms coming up to pull at the fabric on his arms and his legs buckling beneath him, “I-I just need to b-breathe.”

Copia was quick to action. He moved forward and caught the ghoul as his knees gave way. 

“You’ll come and sit with me for a while. Even if it’s in silence.” The anti-pope instructed, “I won’t force you to talk with me but you will at least accept a hot drink to calm your nerves, si ? I won’t take no for an answer this time, mio amico. ” 

Phantom fought back but it was nothing against his protective Papa. He chewed on his bottom lip as he relented, giving into the arm around his slight shoulders and the closeness of Copia as he walked him quietly to the small lounge. He couldn’t remember anything that the clergyman said to him in that short period, only that tea was necessary and that Phantom was to remain here, be it lying down on the couch or standing in the corner; but he wasn’t to leave. That much he knew.

The little ghoul pulled his knees up to meet his chin and buried his face in his hands as Copia went about making both of them some herbal remedy of his. Camomile or something akin to it. Something that, no doubt, wouldn’t help at all and would only serve to heat the ghoul’s insides.

Phantom hated this. All of it. The breathlessness, the fear, the constant feeling of dread and mistake around every corner. And, most of all, he hated letting their Papa see him like this. He was part of the clergy. He had power and influence. What’s to say that he’d keep him here after this? Who wants a ghoul who can’t hold it together on stage or off?  

“Please don’t cry,” Copia whispered as he sat gently next to Phantom.

Phantom hadn’t even realised he’d been crying, practically shaking with the force of his tears. He hadn’t even heard Papa enter the room over the pounding of his own heart. 

“I-I don’t know if-if I can.” he sniffed, pulling his sleeves down over his hands and toying with the hems. 

Copia, simply and silently, nodded. 

Phantom choked back a whimper before pulling his hood over his eyes and hiding back behind his knees.  

“I told you that you could come to me anytime, Quin. And I stand by that, okie dokie ? You don’t have to do this alone.” 

“I-I know, but -” The ghoul couldn’t get the remainder of his words out as his sobs overtook him. 

He had no choice but to allow the tears to have their way. His body shook with the force of them, his chest heaved and his heart thundered in his ears. Why couldn’t he stop crying? Surely he had nothing left to give, not after the hours he’d spent curled up in his bunk. 

Phantom suddenly felt exposed, like he were in the centre of a room and his cries were echoing off every surface. He wrapped his arms around himself as best he could and attempted to pull himself tighter inward. He could feel the nip of his claws as they squeezed into his biceps. 

Copia watched on, the edges of his eyes giving away the concern in his chest. He allowed Phantom the space needed to break down, but drew the line as the young ghoul began to squeeze sharp talons into his own flesh. With a jump, he moved to action. 

“ Ah! Mio diavolo , please don’t do that to yourself!” The clergyman placed a hand over Phantom’s and gently removed it from his arm. It was only then that he realised the tips of the ghoul’s fingers were stained cherry red with blood.

“ Quin , le tue dita?” Copia felt a slight panic start in his chest. He brought the clawed hand up to his face to inspect it, but there were no wounds to be seen, “What’s happened?” 

Phantom’s breath hitched in his throat and he let out a small whine.  

“I-I don’t even remember doing it.” he took several deep, slow breaths in a desperate bid to regain his composure, “It just happened.” 

Copia’s eyes flashed to Phantom’s bicep, to the dark patch of oozing blood staining the tight fabric. He sighed as realisation settled in his chest; Phantom had pierced himself with his own claws. And quite badly, by the looks of things. 

“They will need to be cleaned, mio amico . They are quite deep, si ? Do you mind if I do it?” 

The skin beneath what was left of Phantom’s stage paint reddened, his embarrassment becoming evident. 

“No!” He snapped, recoiling backwards, “J-just leave it!” 

“Okay! Okay!” Copia raised his hands in defence, innards twisting with concern, “But you must clean them, per favoure .”

“I-I will. B-but not now. I just want to sit here now. And breathe.” 

Copia nodded in agreement and gestured for Phantom to move back towards him. The little ghoul did, albeit gingerly. 

He reached out for his mug of tea and held it tightly in his hands. His eyes fluttered closed as he allowed the steam to waft upwards into his face. The heat felt good, grounding almost. The clergyman shifted beside him and Phantom found himself focusing on the sounds around him. 

Three things you can hear.

He could smell the lingering scent of Copia’s cologne and the faraway stink of his ghoul pack.

Two things you can smell.

Feeling his heart become less furious, Phantom allowed himself to drink. The heat of the floral liquid warmed his body, like a hug from the inside out. Finally, his shoulders slowly dropped, the tension dissolving . 

One thing you can taste.

Copia settled back into the couch and Phantom noted the calmness in his scent. He was right there with him, from the peak of distress to the settlement they found themselves in now. The ghoul allowed himself to glance over to find the clergyman watching him intently, a soft smile pulling at the edges of his lips but eyes still worried.  

Sighing, Phantom dropped his legs into a crossed position and allowed his walls to drop further. 

“I’m sorry, Papa.” The ghoul’s voice was so soft that it was almost non-existent. 

Copia reached forward and gently placed a hand on Phantom’s thigh. The ghoul flinched beneath him but didn’t shy away. 

“If I could tell you about all of the people I have found myself apologising to over the years for how I have felt, we would be here all night. Therapists, fellow clergymen huddled away in confessionals, friends; I have found myself on the apology tour more often than most. But you don’t need to tell me that you are sorry for how you feel, Quin. Never! I am always here for you, no matter the time of day or night; I will be here. You understand, si ?

Phantom nodded softly, his eyes fluttering open to look deep into his mug. 

“W-will you help me get cleaned up?” 

“Of course, mio amico . Of course.” 

Copia retrieved the first aid kit, a damp washcloth and some wet wipes to help Phantom get ready for a much-needed night of rest. He offered to help clean the ghoul’s wounds and the remainder of his face paints, but he was adamant about cleaning himself for the most part. All he wanted was Copia to retrieve his night clothes from his bunk, a simple black t-shirt and matching sweatpants. 

“Is there anything else you need?” Copia asked as he disposed of the used wipes and first aid supplies. 

“No, I’m okay now. But thank you, Papa.” 

Copia’s eyebrows were knitted together in thought. Phantom watched from the corner of his eye as the clergyman hummed to himself as the cogs whirred in his bustling brain. 

“W-would you – I mean – I am not sure if this is appropriate – but would you feel better sleeping beside me tonight? In my bunk?” 

Phantom’s ears twitched, his eyebrows coming together as he considered the offer. He didn’t want to be alone, as was natural for pack animals in distress. And there was nothing wrong with wanting comfort, Copia had said it himself. 

“Would you mind?” Phantom questioned the clergyman further, as if confirming what he had heard was correct. 

“Of course not. I offered.” 

The ghoul nodded and followed Copia to his bunk at the back of the bus. Quietly, they moved through the isles of beds framed by one ghoul or another, some of their limbs peeking out from behind the curtains, and others tucked snuggly within. There were one or two empty bunks, and then the small area Copia shared with Mountain and Cirrus, the quieter of the ghoul group. The other devils preferred the closeness and the energy that the remainder of the pack brought. And Phantom had once thought that’s what he wanted too. But not anymore. Now all he wanted was silence and peace meshed with the scents and heat of his ghoul pack. Contradictory, but craved.  

They came to a stop at Copia’s bunk. The clergyman pulled back the curtain and gestured for Phantom to climb inside. The ghoul gingerly moved into the bunk, taking in the heavy scent of Copia from within; comforting if not slightly, just ever so slightly, intimidating. 

“Are you sure you are okay with this, Quin?” Copia asked as he climbed in beside him. 

“It’s just like one of our cuddle piles, Papa. It’s comforting for me.”

With that, Copia allowed himself to lie down and for the ghoul to wrap himself around his body. After a moment or two of adjusting to the closeness of their bodies, they both felt themselves settle into a rhythm, their breaths matching. And just as Copia felt himself drifting off to sleep, he smiled at the soft, gentle purr that began to rumble through Phantom’s chest.

~ Read In Full Here ~

#the band ghost #my fan fiction #my fanfic #ghostband #ghost tumblr #ghost band #ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfiction #papa emeritus iv #papa copia #nameless ghoul #nameless ghouls

[sinkat-arts]

Bokuto as the great horned owl god, Cikap Kamuy.

Our Story Bokuaka / ~9.5k / T / Mythology AU Written for the Haikyuu Mythology Exchange

Akaashi Keiji has found himself lost and alone on a mountain trail in the dead of winter. The sun is setting on him and his hopes for being saved - until he runs into an enigmatic stranger who's just as lost as he is. Who is this man with the warm, open smile and the shining golden eyes? And what kind of unlikely salvation does he bring with him?

Read it on AO3 >

#bokuaka #bkak #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #god!bokuto #human!akaashi #I worked so damn hard on this drawing and those wings #sketchydoo #my fan fiction #haikyuu!! #haikyu!! #hq

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

It's been a month since Sir Pentious ascended to Heaven, and he feels out of place there, not to mention he misses his friends. So he goes to Emily: will she be able to help him?

#Vivziepop #Hazbin Hotel #Sir Pentious #Emily #Hazbin Hotel Emily #Fave Character #Comfort Character #My Fan Fiction #Fan Fic #My Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Personal Rambles

[missanthropicprinciple]

Me, as I commit to working on chapters daily.

#my fanfiction #fanfiction #fan fic #my fan fiction #Newmann #Newton Geiszler #Hermann Gottlieb

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

Excerpt - Convalesce

Young Jinx flees to the safety of Silco’s arms in search of refuge from the cacophony in her head. He obliges. As always. And a small game is played.

.

.

Confirming she possesses no further inclination to retreat, Silco reaches around her to retrieve his cigar, flicking off a generous nub of ash built on the tip. He holds it off to the side as he considers it, mindful of the curling smoke. Silco tilts his head to briefly touch his temple to hers, a silent affirmation.

He holds the next puff of smoke in his mouth until his lungs scream for relief. A hand returns to her back, fingers compelled to draw inane patterns while he resumes watching dust dance in the pale green light.

For some, fear is a sapling to be plucked, grasped and uprooted, giving way with a clod of dirt and a strained tug.

But her fear is not a weed, no. That much is painfully obvious. It is a shadow stitched to heart, a dark mimicry echoing her past mistakes and whispering her shortcomings in her ear, a cacophony silent to all but her. He cannot silence these voices, but he tries to speak over them, drown them out with sense, and for the most part he is at least partially successful. And on the rare occasions when he isn't..

He flicks some ash from his cigar.

The less said about those sleepless nights, the better.

Warm breath wrapped in a giggle settles against his neck, bringing Silco back to the present. ‘Si~ilco, what're you doing, algebra on my back? That's boring.’

The unmarred corner of his lips lifts into a faint smile she cannot see, then parts a sliver's worth to allow the smoke to languidly trickle out from the cavern of his mouth in a thick ribbon-like stream.

Her back transforms into a typewriter in his mind's eye. His fingers switch to skittering and pattering up and down the small expanse with the deftness of a secretary as he taps out a coded message. J-I-N-X-J-I-N-X-J-I-N-X. She giggles again, and the rest of the smoke gusts out from his toothy half-smirk like steam from a grate as he joins her with an amused huff. Such a wonderful sound. He wishes he could bottle it up and distill it into a tonic for occasions like this.

Do you remember the taste of your happiness, child? Drink, and recall.

If only it were that simple. "Or it could very well be nonsense."

Warmth is returning to the youth in his arms, spring swiftly bleeding into summer to leave dreary memories of winter behind. The wires are sparking, filling the air with the scent of sunshine and wax crayons.

She pulls back to grin at him, wiggling like a worm on a hook, or an overly-excited retriever. 'Write something else! Oh, oh, draw something and I'll guess!"

He hums in faux consideration. When she is distraught, her sense of self requires some time to return to form, her whimsical proclivities swinging ungainly between two stark poles, pitifully infantile or soberingly mature for her present age. A broken slot machine with its wheels ever-spinning. He is well aware of the strangeness, but he has never turned away anyone for being odd.

Dustin is oft times unintelligible in his speech, harboring brain damage from inhaling sump fumes in his formative years, yet when given a microphone can sing with the clarity of a lake lark.

Ran has no memory of their life before the age of fourteen--their genesis was upon that of a stained mattress within a rotting room, laces to their breeches untied and their hand trembling around the handle of a shiv sunken into the throat of a naked, disheveled woman looming above them like a gaunt spider—āyí. Auntie.

The Last Drop's bartender Thieram sometimes comes into work as Chella, the heavy-lashed dame with a spine of steel and nails to match; 'she' claims to be a soul residing within Thieram, a psychic fragment formed in childhood of whose existence he still remains starkly unaware.

Zaun as it stood now served as the dumping ground for Piltover's slag and refuse, a rubbish bin into which all things unsightly and ill-reputed were cast off.

Genius often wears the mask of madness, and this child was a prodigy tenfold.

So he honors these innocent, childish requests. Anything to keep her afloat.

He draws a waverider, which she guesses incorrectly as an alligator, then a gecko. 'Wrong genus.'

She groans dramatically. He can practically feel her eyes rolling in her head. Sapphire marbles. 'As if I know what that means!'

'You should,' he teases.

But he hums again, and draws a circle, the basic shape of a Poro. Funny little things, embodying empathy and cat-like curiosity. Thick white or yellowish fur, two curved goat horns, and a comically large panting tongue. Generally as big as an ottoman, though he's heard they can grow to dwarf even men. Their kind are as scarce as sunlight in Zaun given their sensitivity to suffering and conceit. They are fixtures in children's story books as heroes down here in the Lanes just as they are Topside, though a cunning and shrewdness has been allotted to their natures by his fellow Zaunites to afford them more..practicality and believability for the little ones. It did no one any good to fill their heads with naive notions of pure goodness and altruism as unshakeable forces found in nature. The world was not fated to be soft to those born on this side of the Gate.

There is a static-y pause, a taut coil of anticipation. She is waiting for more. He remains still, and when she eventually pulls back, he stifles a chuckle at how her brow furrows and her nose scrunches as if suddenly blinded by floodlight. 'That's it? That's just a circle!’

‘That is the animal's shape.’ He says from behind his cigar. The flaring of her nostrils makes him raise a challenging brow, though he maintains an unaffected air. ‘Anything more than that and it would be too easy. I know you're clever enough to figure it out without a hint.'

It is like a switch is flipped. The mirth buzzing within her stalls, stilts. She tilts her head down as if she is a doll whose neck socket joint has just been rolled by an imaginary hand. Her expression darkens, her mouth twisting tight and bunching up like a ruined seam. She peers up at him from beneath sharply downturned brows. Her eyes are still the same brilliant blue as that cloud of magic that blew his dockside shimmer operations sky-high, but they are no longer illuminated by the equivalent of sunlight reflecting off the oceanic depths of the sea. Instead they are mute, flat as cold stone. Unmerciful as kerosene flame.

Silco watches on in equal parts caution and patience as this quiet anger seeps to the surface. He will never tell her that she is disallowed from feeling as she does, to the degree that she does. However, emotions were energy, and among his scores of lessons was his effort to teach her how to harness that energy. Her ire could be better suited to tinkering or testing her projects than gouging out chunks of her flesh, or his. And energy disconnected from a proper set of conduits and outlets was fated to combust in a multitude of messy ways.

The seconds tick by.

Poke.

The tip of her small finger darts out to stab his lapel, a spiteful peck with enough force behind it for the point of contact to well with transient ache.

Silco’s aloft eyebrow is joined by its painted brother to form a banner of quiet challenge. But as expected, this gesture only further deepens the creases of her mulish pout, reminding him of those pitiful inbred lapdogs adored by Piltovian ladies.

In her grousing, she fails to consider, or forgets, the presence of his hand hovering over her back. Another lesson to impart. Maintaining one's awareness of the world around them even whilst simmering in their own recalcitrance.

With a bored look, he pokes her in the back. Hard. Right between the vertebrae.

Jinx jolts forward, more so in surprise than propulsion, and makes a show of twisting and turning to dart her attention between his face and his hand, her sullenness now resembling that of a runt resentful of its target status by local bullies.

Her fingers curl into fists, fury building..

But she has not yet raked her nails down his cheek nor grabbed him by the ears to scream in his face, or made a lunge for his hair..

And suddenly, the clouds break. She gives him a thousand watt gap-toothed grin and begins to assail him with a series of rapid pokes upon his chest, little pecks with her pointer fingers that he can feel through his waistcoat. She pairs it with small sounds that simulate punching--'pow pow pow pow pow pow!'

It takes all of his self-control not to displace his cigar. His teeth sink into the filter as his lips pull back in a grin wide enough that he feels the familiar sharp numb-ache of his scarred cheek muscles pull and tug to accommodate. Pain she is able to make him relish as a gift.

'Come on, come on,' she chides, 'you gotta give me more than that, ‘wise 't's too hard! Powpowpowpowpowpow!!'

"Fine." She pauses in her assault, expectant. Bright, bright, bright with held breath.

He pokes two dots to serve as eyes, and grins even wider around his cigar when her anticipation crumples into another one of her frustrated groans.

'Is it a pet rock?'

'A what?'

'A pet rock. You know,' she drawls, bobbling her head as if it was obvious, 'a rock you have as a pet?'

Silco turns this absurd explanation in his head, and comes up blank. 'I still do not understand, but no.'

'Well if you don't get it, then it's a freebie! Point for me!'

'Mm. And how is it your point?'

She wiggles in his lap, pride threatening to spill out of her like unfiltered sunlight. Endearingly volatile and pure. 'I know something you don't know!' She sing-songs, lifting a finger from his vest to wave it back and forth in a tiny circling dance.

'That is not the game we're playing.'

'It is always being played.' She rebuts.

.

.

.

Deeply, madly, truly appreciate any comments. I have a whole lot more but the pieces are stuck in between very unsatisfactory paragraphs.

#my writing #fan fiction #silco #jinx #my fan fiction #silco and jinx

[gothdaddyissues]

In The 20s

Prologue available on Ao3

or under the cut (~2000 words)

Thanks to @ramblingoak for the help and encouragement with this one!

SUMMARY: It's the mid-1920's and Prohibition is in full swing. The Emeritus family are the city's biggest gang headed by the aging godfather Papa Nihil. With a successful bootlegging business and a popular speakeasy known as The Church, Nihil's sons Primo, Secondo, and Terzo fight to maintain their spot at the top of the crime ladder. A rival gang has plans to put the old man out of business for good.

RATING: Mature for violence and language

TAGS: Copia, Terzo, Secondo, OC characters, violence, blood, swearing, illegal activities, Google Translate Italiano

⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧

Copia took one last, long drag of his cigarette, the orange tip burning bright in the darkness. He savored the heat in his lungs before exhaling and flicking the butt into the river. It hit the water with a brief sizzle and disappeared into the murky waves below.

The sun would rise soon; the longer they stood here, the greater their chances of being seen. This was the worst part: the waiting. The uncertainty. Would their delivery arrive? Were they being watched? Would today be the day the police stopped them? It hadn’t happened yet, but there was always the chance. He wasn’t too worried - he knew they could handle any scenario. They were flexible. They had backup plans for their backup plans. That’s why they were kings in this town. But any fuck up meant they’d have to answer to Papa Nihil, and he’d rather spend the night in jail than deal with the miserable old bastard.

It was silent on the dock, the only sounds were the water lapping against the shore and the ‘tip-tap-tip-tap’ of Terzo’s shoes as he paced back and forth. Secondo lit another cigarette and sighed. Copia twirled his cane through his fingers in boredom. Their henchmen - their Ghouls - kept back next to the vehicles, Tommy guns at the ready. 

“They’re late,” Terzo grumbled. 

“They’ll be here,” Secondo replied calmly, “Just relax.”

“Are you sure? They’ve never been late before.” Terzo’s patience was wearing thin. He was the most anxious and hot-headed of the three Emeritus brothers, traits that were less than ideal as the heir apparent to his father’s empire. 

“Give them until first light,” Copia suggested. “We’ll be too exposed if we stay past then.”

“Says the guy in the conspicuous white suit,” Terzo scoffed.

Copia rolled his eyes. “And who’s fault is that? You’re the one that dragged me right off stage the second the show ended and didn’t even give me a chance to change.”

“Shut up,” Secondo said, “Both of you.” He put his hand up to his ear. “Listen. They’re coming.”

The faint sound of a boat motor was drifting across the water, slowly getting louder as it steered closer. The engine misfired, chugging and struggling under the weight of its load. A light bobbed along the surface - a flashlight signaling morse code: short-long-long-short, long-short-long, long-long-short. PKG. Their cargo was arriving.

Secondo took out his pocket lamp and signaled back: long-short-long-short, short-short-long. CU. Message received. He laid the torch on the dock as an impromptu guidelight to help the boat across the choppy river water to the meeting spot.

The first rays of morning light we just breaking over the horizon when the tiny fishing boat finally arrived at the dock. One of the two men tossed the tie rope to Secondo so he could anchor them down.

“Sorry about the wait gents,” the other man said, “I think we overloaded ‘er and it slowed us down.”

“Worry not, my friends,” Terzo assured them, a stark contrast to his earlier annoyance. “As long as you’ve got the goods, everything’s peachy.” He motioned behind him for the Ghouls to come forward and help unload.

“We sure do!” the man said. With a crowbar in his hand, he began prying the lids of the wooden crates to show proof of their contents. “Three cases of the finest Canadian Club whisky, as requested. Two cases of English gin, and…” He saved the best for last. “A full case of French Champagne. I should have more of that in a week or two.”

Terzo beamed with delight. “Champagne! At last! I will take as much of it as you can get. You have outdone yourselves this time. Molto apprezzato!” He turned to Copia and held up two fingers. “Fetch the men their payment, won’t you? I think they deserve a little bonus.”

The boatmen lifted the crates up to the Ghouls waiting on the dock, who then carried each one to the truck parked nearby, while Copia went to the car and returned with two plain cloth bags filled with cash. Terzo took one bag and tossed it to the captain of the boat.

“Your fee, as agreed,” he said. “And…” He tossed the second bag to him as well. “Buy yourself a bigger boat. You’ve earned it.”

The man opened the bags and looked at the racks of bills within, stunned. “Jeepers! Thank you… thank you, sir!”

Terzo nonchalantly waved his hand, “Non è niente,” he smiled, “There’s more where that came from if you keep up the good work.”

“You got it, boss!”

The boat was quickly unloaded and Secondo unhooked the rope from its anchor post. “Now get gone, fellas. The sun’s coming up.”

“Yes sir, thank you, sir,” the man said as he started up the little boat’s motor, “See you next week.” He puttered away from the shoreline to start his journey back across the river to Canada.

With delivery complete and the truck loaded with bootleg liquor, Secondo told the Ghouls to head out. “Get this back to the Church. Quick, si?” The Ghoul in the driver’s seat nodded and the rest piled in for the ride.

Terzo watched the truck pull away, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he turned to his companions. “Champagne, Copia! I can’t wait! I’m going to treat Evie to a bottle when we get back.” He sighed, blissful at the thought. “A good haul tonight. Papa will be happy.” 

“Yes,” Copia said sarcastically, “So happy that you’re drinking his product and fucking his girl.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, eh?” 

“The two of you will be in a world of hurt if he ever finds out,” Copia warned. 

Terzo clapped Copia on the shoulder good-naturedly. “You worry too much, compagno. I have that senile old fart wrapped around my little finger. I can do no wrong. I’m his Golden Boy, his Chosen One…”

“You are a stronzo,” Secondo sneered, “C’mon, we need to get out of here. Andiamo.”

“Don’t be jealous, fratello,” Terzo laughed as the three men moved to make their way back to the car parked at the end of the dock. But they stopped in their tracks.

There, in front of their car, was a young police officer - very young - standing alone, his arm outstretched with a gun in his trembling hand. “S… St-st-stop, in the.. name of the law,” he stuttered.

All three men reached inside their coats, hands on the guns they wore concealed beneath.

“STOP!” the officer yelled. “I mean it!”

Terzo slowly pulled his hand out of his jacket and raised both of his hands in the air above him. “Oh no, fratellos! He means it! We’d best give ourselves up,” he mocked, before dissolving into laughter.

“Put the gun down, child,” Secondo said sternly, “You’re shaking like a leaf - you shoot that thing and you’ll hurt yourself more than you’d hurt one of us.”

“You’re just a fledgling, aren’t you? Lost here all by yourself,” Terzo observed, composing himself. He could see the sweat trickling down the young man’s forehead, his chest heaving with panting breath. “Do you even know who we are?”

“You’re… you’re the Emeritus Brothers,” the officer said, swallowing hard, “And I’m arresting you for illegal… um… importation! The illegal importation of alcohol.”

Terzo looked around him. “I don’t see any alcohol here. Do you?” he asked.

“I saw you bring it in on a boat and load it onto a truck.”

“What truck? There’s no truck here. You have no proof of anything. And no fellow officers with you to back you up. I’m afraid there’s not much you can do, pollo.” Terzo was just taunting him now. He slowly approached the officer, unafraid. “I’ll tell you what,” Terzo began softly, “You put your gun down, get back in your car, and drive away from this place. You never saw a thing, right? Here,” Terzo reached into his pocket and pulled out a $50 bill, which he tucked between the buttons of the officer’s coat, “Something for your trouble, yes? Go on… Take it.”

“I suggest you do what he says, boy,” Copia warned. “Leave while you can.”

The young man was shaking violently, almost sobbing. “You are in… violation of… of… The Volstead Act, and I’m… I’m…”

Secondo sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fuck this,” he muttered. He stomped forward and grabbed the officer’s gun hand, his gloved palm covering it completely. In one swift move, Secondo swept in behind him, bringing his other arm around the young man’s neck in a chokehold. The man gasped and whined as he was forced out onto the dock, closer and closer to the water, his toes dangling over the edge of the wooden boards. The only thing keeping him from falling in face first was Secondo’s grip.

“I told you, kid,” Copia said sadly, “Look what happens when you try to be a hero.”

Secondo took the man’s hand, the one holding the gun, and brought the barrel up against the man’s temple. “How did you find this place, huh? This is private property. Emphasis on private.”

“I… I was just driving by…” the officer wheezed, “And I saw…”

“Bullshit!” Secondo tightened his grip on the gun, placing his finger on the trigger. “You don’t just stumble on this place. Who told you? Who sent you?”

The young man squeezed his eyes shut, tears rolling down his cheeks. He shook his head but did not speak.

“Come on, bambino,” Terzo snarled, “Speak up!”

No response.

“How old are you, boy?” Secondo asked.

“Twen… Twenty-two,” the officer choked out.

“You’re just a baby, so much life ahead of you. Is this really how you want to go out? Hmmm? Protecting someone who sent you straight into the lion’s den?”

The officer would not relent. “It’s my duty… my duty to serve and protect. I’m arresting you…”

The two brothers exchanged looks. Terzo nodded tersely and stepped back. Copia knew what was coming - he felt pity for the young man, but there was nothing he could do now. 

“Sorry about your luck, boy,” Secondo said, cold as ice. He pulled the trigger and the sound of the gunshot rang out in the crisp morning air. 

Terzo stepped forward and pulled the bloody $50 bill out of the officer’s coat before Secondo let go of the lifeless body, sending it into the river with a sploosh. He tossed the gun in after it. The three men stood in the pale light, watching as the body sank toward the bottom in a perverse show of respect for the fallen.

“So,” Terzo said, handing a black handkerchief to his brother, “We’re either being spied on, or we have a rat. No way was he just passing by.”

Secondo wiped at the blood splattered across his face, nodding. “Either way, our whole operation is in jeopardy now.” 

“Imperator’s gang?” Copia assumed.

“Has to be,” Terzo agreed. He looked out over the water at the sunrise, his rage simmering. “Papa does not hear about this until we figure out our next move, si? Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

Copia and Terzo began to head back to their waiting vehicle, but Secondo did not move. He stood silently on the dock for a few moments, his eyes closed. He reached up to the band of his hat and pulled out a folded piece of paper he kept there, a small lined sheet that had been torn out of a notebook. He produced a pencil from his inner coat pocket and added another tally mark to the dozens that were already there. One for each life he had taken in service of his father. He counted up the new total, even though he already knew the number. He always knew the number.

Secondo re-folded the paper and placed it back in his hat band as he walked to join the others. He gave Copia the once over as he passed him: “Looks like you’ve got a bit of a mess on you,” he pointed out.

Copia looked down and saw flecks of blood spattered over the front of his white suit jacket. “Ah, shit,” he swore.

Terzo chucked and handed the blood-stained $50 bill to Copia: “This should cover your cleaning bill, Piano Man.” 

#ghost #the band ghost #ghost fan fic #ghost fanfiction #ghost fan fic AU #my fan fic #my fan fiction #copia #terzo #secondo

[sonseulsoleil]

(after all this time) I'm still into you

Fandom: Heartstopper Ship: Nick/Charlie Rating: M (please read AO3 tags for more info!) Summary: Come on holiday with us, they said. We'll rent a beach house, they said. Your ex definitely won't be there, they said.

“Alright, everyone get out of my car,” Tao announced as he pulled up in front of the beach house. 

Charlie slid out of the car, squinting in the bright afternoon sun. The house was just as lovely as it had looked online when he booked it—two stories, overlooking a sparkling blue ocean, and a back door that led out to a serene strip of beach—the perfect way to celebrate the last of them graduating from uni. 

“This is going to be great,” Elle said, slinging an arm around Charlie’s shoulder. “A whole week of paradise.” 

“Hardly.” Charlie snorted. “We’re still in England.” 

Elle laughed. “Spoilsport.”

Continue Reading on AO3

#my fan fiction #Heartstopper #Heartstopper fan fiction #Heartstopper fic #Charlie Spring #Nick Nelson #narlie #sprelson #Nick x Charlie #narlie fan fiction #narlie fic

[conditionaljewel]

Hey! Chapter four is up for About Laudna's Leg!

Laudna has a conversation with Pate about what's been going on, and then has dinner with Imogen where they discuss briefly how she is feeling, and what the future holds. In the midst of all that, Imogen gives Laudna a gift, and they receive a message from a friend that brings them some excitement.

#critical role #laudna #imogen #southern gothic #imogen x laudna #imodna #cr fan fic #critical role fan fic #critical role fan fiction #fan fic #fan fiction #my fan fiction #my ff #text post #link post #ao3 post #i can never remember what other tags i use god dammit

[ashleyfanfic]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley/Steve Harrington, Suzie Bingham/Dustin Henderson, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair Characters: Eddie Munson, Chrissy Cunningham, Laura Cunningham, Phillip Cunningham, Wayne Munson, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Joyce Byers, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Mike Wheeler, Suzie Bingham, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Erica Sinclair, Jonathan Byers, Jason Carver Additional Tags: Regency, Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Gambling, women with no real agency, Historical Inaccuracy, Love at First Sight, Idiots in Love, period typical ideas about stuff, robin is married to Steve but he knows her secret, Loss of Virginity, Explicit Sexual Content, sexual awakening, Character Death, eddie is adopted by Wayne, Duke of hawkins Summary:

Regency Arranged Marriage. Wayne takes drastic measures when he receives bad news. Eddie is left shaken but determined to make his uncle proud.

The Cunninghams deal with poor financial planning by using Chrissy’s hand in marriage as a way out. But big chocolate eyes and and a charming disposition rock Chrissy’s foundation.

She learns quickly that her mother’s advice to “lay back and let him have his pleasure” is the single dumbest thing she’s ever heard.

#hellcheer #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #alternate universe: regency #eddie munson x chrissy cunningham #my fan fic #my fan fiction

[radarsteddybear]

The Baby Grand Piano

Fandom: Singin' in the Rain Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Don Lockwood/Cosmo Brown Additional Tags: pre-canon, fluff

Once Don Lockwood had become a bona-fide, certified movie star, the first thing he had done was buy a baby grand piano.

Ok, maybe not exactly. First, he had bought that big, beautiful mansion of his. Then, he’d walked through that mansion, making a list of all the furniture that he’d need to fill it up.

That’s what Cosmo’d found Don doing, anyway, that morning after Don had closed on the house.

“Hiya, Don,” Cosmo said, strolling through the front door. “You oughta think about locking up once in a while. As soon as they find out where you live, you’re gonna have girls breaking down your door.”

“Yeah, sure,” Don said, more than a little distracted by whatever he was scratching out on his pad of paper.

Cosmo peered over his shoulder to see what it was that Don was writing.

Keep reading

#Singin' in the Rain #fan fiction #my stuff #Cosmo Brown #Don Lockwood #my fan fiction #teddy bear writes #original post

[atthefishhouses]

Kurz bevor uns der Spatort nächsten Sonntag verrät, wie es im Kanon mit Leo, Adam und dem Geld weitergeht, habe ich in meinem AU endlich auch wieder ein Update für euch.

Vielen Dank an alle, die hier mitlesen und mitfiebern. Ich wünsche euch ganz viel Freude mit dem neuen Kapitel! ❤️

#tatort saarbrücken #spatort #adam schürk #leo hölzer #im sog #my fan fiction #wip #undercover au #the slowest of slow burns #not actually unrequited love #read and heed the warnings #and enjoy ❤️

[zombie-rott]

Survival Is A Talent: 2

Part 1.

Pairing: Gen. None.

Rating: Mature for difficult themes throughout.

Word Count: 6,733

Summary:

"Weakness was not something Phantom had ever been permitted to show back beneath the ground. His father, a tyrant leader of their pack, came down harshly on anyone who dared to show an ounce of discomfort or disdain. Male or female, grown or child; he was a brutal man with brutal ideals. But despite Phantom’s inept ability to hide his pain, he’d never felt quite like this before. Nor had he trembled quite as much as he had done since coming to the surface."

Or

Phantom, the new quintessence ghoul, is struggling to adapt to live on the surface. What started as surface sickness has quickly developed into quintessence burn out. And with a reluctance to ask for help, Phantom finds himself down a dark path. It's up to Papa, Aether and the pack to drag him back; kicking, screaming but alive.

In full on A03.

Life back at the ministry was more difficult than Phantom remembered. Between his summoning and tour, his days were filled with band practice and the occasional shift in the laundry room. He’d been so overwhelmed by a new life on the surface that his anxiety never caused anything more than a mild panic attack. He concealed them, hiding in alcoves and counting to ten. But coming off tour felt different. Phantom felt more alive and with this new awareness came a spike in emotions he didn’t understand, much less could control. Being on tour was nerve-racking, yes, but it was nothing to being back within the walls of the ministry. 

They were thrown headfirst into a crowd of excited siblings welcoming them back, followed by no more than a night to settle back in before they were expected to pick up their chores. If anyone else felt overwhelmed, they didn’t show it. But Phantom felt his breathlessness creeping in the second they approached the ministry gates, and it grew steadily until he spent his first night home in ruins. Worst of all, Papa was several staircases away and the little ghoul didn’t much fancy trekking through the dark vastness of the hallways in the dead of night. 

As the days moved on Phantom made several attempts to reach out, none of which were pressing and concerning. He kept his texts light as if testing the waters as to what their new relationship meant now that they were back on unholy soil. They talked intermittently about work and some of the TV shows Copia had introduced to the young ghoul. But it was clear that the clergyman was being pulled from pillar to post and replies became more infrequent and apologetic. The man was trying and Phantom knew it from the way they spoke on the phone or through text. It was even obvious in how Copia tried to approach him in the hallways. But he was almost always pulled away by a sibling or ministry official, seeking him out for some task or service. 

Phantom became aware that if he was to survive and thrive in the ministry he needed to throw up a mask. Metaphorically speaking. Ghouls were not forced to wear their masks in the halls anymore. Not since Papa Terzo’s reform during his reign. And for that Phantom was grateful.

The young ghoul forced himself to join in on organised cuddle piles, nest building and meal times. There were nights when he would curl up next to his ghoul-kin by the grand open fire and watch as they indulged in their various hobbies. But as the darkness crept in he was ultimately alone. Swiss had Cumulus, Mountain preferred his solitude and the remainder happily fleeted between. But his door was always missed by Rain, Dew and the other ghoulettes, none offering to sleep beside him as they did with each other. 

Phantom never had anyone except for Copia in those brief stolen moments on the bus. It was only as he lay alone and cold in his bed that he realised how much better he’d slept in the clergyman’s arms, listening to the rhythmic beat of his human heart and comforted by the heat of his body.  His quarters were a far cry from that small, cosy bunk on the bus. The bed suddenly felt miles wide and the space around him was suffocating. 

There was no one there for him. Not in the quiet of his room. Not in the laundry rooms where the rattling of the dryers was overwhelming and the sweet smell of soap made his head hurt. 

Of course, he could just ask his ghoul-kin for comfort when the tendrils of breathlessness crept in. But he was much too embarrassed. He was a ghoul, a creature of the pit. There was nothing to be scared of and yet, there he was, defected by fear.

The other ghouls fit snuggly back into ministry life like they hadn’t been trapped together for six weeks on a cramped bus. They thought nothing of the vastness between them all, and the ability to simply be out in the open. Where Phantom was from space meant danger, and in the ministry, he felt exposed and alone in a wasteland of it. 

Even with the vast emptiness between them, the silence was by far the worst. Something he had longed for in his worst moments on the bus was not what he had wanted at all. Phantom heard too much within the complete and utter silence. No snoring or the shuffle of other bodies. No purring or smothered moans of ghouls in lust. No. This silence was richer, more empty. This gave way to the eerie clanging of old pipework, the whistle of the wind; the thoughts in his head.  They weren’t pleasant, they never were. They called him names and recounted every little thing he had ever done wrong. Over and over and over again until he was breathless and counting to ten.

~ ~ ~

Phantom had been stuck on laundry duty since his second week of summoning. He had no idea what laundry was but the clergy thought it a good place to put him regardless. Most Quinnissence ghouls ended up in the medical unit taking on various jobs within that role, jobs more suited to their elements.  But Phantom had been such an ‘ emergency hire ’ that they hadn’t had much time to think about his job. They saw an opening and slotted him in hoping he’d fit. 

It’s not that Phantom didn’t like the laundry. He got on with the siblings that worked there and it wasn’t exactly rocket science. But some of the sisters were overly chatty, the machines were too loud and the smells were overwhelming. More often than not he developed a throbbing headache by noon and went home stinking of generic detergent, and a bombardment of floral scents that just added to the pain behind his eyes. 

Four weeks after returning home Phantom woke with a headache that simply wouldn’t budge. His sleep was perpetually broken, he was sore from hauling sheets through the cellar and his mood was dropping more and more as the days went on. Swiss had made a joke about it being his ‘ time of the month ’ over dinner the previous evening, but Phantom had brushed it off. He knew the multi-ghoul hadn’t meant it viciously but it still stung. 

Were his wayward emotions becoming that obvious? 

Worst of all, Phantom thought as he brushed his fangs, was the fact that he was due to go on duty with Sister Samira. He sighed around his toothbrush. 

Sister Samira, a slender woman with a shrill voice and head full of mischief, was the loudest of siblings he worked with. While Phantom was fond of her on a good day there was nothing he wanted more than to run from her when he was feeling at his worst. When the mood struck him he was much better suited to the quiet company of Sister Greta or Brother Roe, neither of which pushed much for conversation. They were happy to work in relative silence, while Sister Samira felt the need to fill every inch of silence with conversation just for the sake of it. 

With a groan of despair, Phantom pulled on his work clothes and went straight to the kitchen for his morning coffee. As he shuffled down the corridor he silently prepped himself for his ghoul kin. He could already hear the strident voice of Dew, followed by the baritone notes of Moutain’s laugh, both creating a mix of contradicting emotions blooming in his chest. 

He loved his pack, he truly did, but with their company came questions and concerns, neither of which he had the energy to engage with. Fortunately for him, the gathering turned out to be small. Mountain manned the stove top, eggs bubbling on the griddle, while Dew and Cirrus crowded the island. 

“Good morning Bug!” Cirrus chirped as Phantom stepped carefully into the tunskin spotlights. 

He nodded in response, a small smile forced to the corners of his lips. Wordlessly he poured himself a cup of fresh coffee and came to stand next to the vivacious air ghoul. Dew continued his crusade, this time complaining about the siblings working alongside him in the kitchens. Phantom tried to listen, tried to make an effort to engage and laugh when appropriate, but his mind kept losing focus. There were glimpses of the conversation that would draw him back but he was largely planted in a far-off land, dreaming of a day when his soul would no longer feel like a shrivelled husk. 

“Bug?” 

The sound of his name brought Phantom crashing back to earth. He blinked several times, orbs dancing behind his eyelids, and shook through the haze. 

Cirrus’ head was bowed, almost touching the table as they struggled to meet his gaze. From their troubled countenance Phantom could only assume he’d missed more than just the one queue. 

“Bug, you in there?” They continued. 

“Y-yeah. Sorry. It’s - um- it’s early.” The young ghoul answered, his voice more cheery than his insides felt. 

Cirrus pursed their lips. Beside them, Dew exchanged interested glances with his earth counterpart. 

“Are you sure little bug?” Mountain slung a dishcloth over his shoulder and leaned heavily on the worktop, “If you’re not feeling good you should head up to Aether.” 

“No offence but I don’t wanna’ get what you’re carrying,” Dew remarked in a tone edging ever-so-slightly on patronising. 

“Dew! Don’t be so nasty.” Cirrus scolded. 

“I’m just sayin.’ If you’re sick, don’t spread it.” The fire ghoul scoffed.

“I can make some tea,” Mountain offered as he moved to his cupboard filled with loose leaves and herbal blends, “What ails you the most? Is it a headache? Brain fog? Maybe -”

“I’m fine, just drop it!!” Phantom snapped, his voice cracking in the middle and his nostrils flaring. With a sharp intake of breath, he struggled to stop his composure from dipping any further. 

He was met with surprise, his ghoul kin’s eyes unblinking and, in the case of Dew, mouth hanging open. The young ghoul didn’t know where his sudden outburst had come from. As a placid beast, anger was never his first emotion. And yet it ripped through him and spewed outwards before he had the opportunity to stop it. 

“Alright then,” Dew growled from behind his mug of coffee, “there’s no need to be so crabby.” 

Phantom swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. He felt hot, heat starting at the tip of his tail and peaking at his scalp. He wanted nothing more than to bite again but the fire ghoul was much too quick and sharp with his comebacks. Instead, he downed the remainder of his coffee, the liquid scalding his tongue and burning as it slid its way down into his stomach. 

“I-I have to go.” He whispered as he sidestepped Mountain who was still frozen by his cupboard of remedies, and dropped his mug into the sink, “S-sorry.”

He didn’t so much as turn to say goodbye, hellbent on leaving the quarters as soon as possible. No words from his ghoul-kin followed, instead left frozen on the tip of forked tongues, and for that Phantom was grateful. What else could possibly be said to take back the vicious way he’d spoken to them? And for what? Expressing concern?

As the door creaked shut behind him Phantom felt the heat of tears brimming in his eyes. He pushed onward, pulling the neck of his jacket up over his nose, and rushed towards the nearest haven. There was no way he could go to the laundry rooms like this, especially not with Sister Samira present. She would mother him too much and he feared he didn’t have the strength to hold his tongue. He made for the only other safe space he could think of; the basement bathrooms. No one else would be there this time of the morning, not even his colleagues in the laundry. 

The walk did nothing for his perverse emotions. Around him, the ministry started to shutter into life and he ramped up his pace, afraid he might run into some of the other ghouls or siblings. The last thing he wanted was to be caught crying in the hallways. 

Finally, he met the stairwell to the lower floors and, taking the steps in twos, he breathed a sigh of relief when he found the corridors silent, save for the static of the overhead lights. Phantom carefully approached the bathroom and listened intently for any sign of life within. Fortunately, the devils were shining upon him. There wasn’t a soul to be found.

He quickly shoved through the door and slid the solid lock in place before coming to rest against it. His heart thundered in his chest, the rhythm rattling against his ribcage causing his breath to catch in his throat. There it was again; the breathlessness. So intense this time that it brought Phantom to the floor, his arms wrapped around himself and body rocking forwards and back, like a pendulum. 

He tried desperately to engage in active breathing. Slow. In and out. But it wasn’t working. If anything the sweat was building across his body, prompting him to tear at his coat until it was discarded on the floor in front of him. 

Get it together!

Phantom bit down hard on his lip, feeling it pop beneath the pressure of his fangs. He didn’t even wince, instead, he brought his fists to card through his hair as he tried to chase the stars from his vision. 

Everything around him flashed in and out of focus. First distorted by tears and then by his wavering breaths. His chest felt like it was trapped within a vice, doing everything it could to wring the oxygen from his blood. 

This is how I die, isn’t it? Alone on the floor of a grubby bathroom drenched in my own tears? 

He pulled his body inwards, claws digging graves into his biceps and knees shaking beneath his chin. Sobs wracked through him.

Phantom didn’t know how long he sat there, wrapped up in his chaos and grievance. Voices came and went along the corridor beyond, footsteps shuffling as siblings and ghouls went about their workday. And he gradually became aware (but only vaguely concerned) that he too should be hauling sheets and mixing detergents. Guilt joined his fluster of blended emotions and he couldn’t help but berate himself for letting his colleagues down. 

Again.

Because this wasn’t the first time he was rendered useless by these feelings. It wasn’t the first time he had crawled into an alcove or hidden in the bathroom as his body was taken over by a sense of impending doom. And, of course, he knew it wouldn’t be the last. 

Eventually, some hours after, his heart began to still. The chains around his chest loosened and all that was left behind was the dull ache of tension throughout his body. Pain bloomed across his skull and his eyes felt like sandpaper. A telltale sign of a morning spent in misery. 

On quivering legs, Phantom rose to his feet and staggered across the floor towards the sink. He glared through the scratches and watermarks at his own sullen face, his cheeks red with valleys of tears and blood spotting his lips. 

Through all the feelings, both physical and mental, most of all Phantom was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into the arms of Papa and sleep for an eternity. A sense of yearning appeared, so strong it broke through to the surface. This was a big enough reason to seek him out, right? It wasn’t just some anxiety and feeling unwell, this had been an honest-to-gods attack. 

He splashed water across his face, rubbing circles beneath his eyes and teasing his fingers through his hair. The coolness brought him further back to solid ground. 

There was no sense in dancing around it anymore. Papa had insisted that he reach out when things were getting tough. The man had made several attempts, as had Phantom, to correspond. Yet each had been interrupted by the clergy’s ever-incessant need to keep Copia busy. Sure it was three o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon, but Phantom needed help. And by Satan, he was done pretending that he didn’t.

~ ~ ~

In the dimly lit hallway leading to the clergy offices, Phantom clutched at his chest as he moved along the walls. His breath felt as if it were catching in his throat, coming in short increments as the weight of anxiety weighed down on him like an anvil. The air around him seemed thinner than it had been in the depths of the basement and every heartbeat echoed loudly in his ears. 

The bravado that had driven Phantom towards Copia’s office was dwindling with each step. But he was desperate for relief and had come too far to allow his guilt and shame to win. Yet, his legs trembled beneath him like jelly and his mind screamed profanities, words he didn’t want to hear but had no strength to stop. 

Finally, he stopped outside an ornate, deep mahogany door. The lettering on its golden plate read ‘Papa Emeritus IV’ . The young ghoul took a deep, shuttering breath, his eyes shutting briefly, before wrapping his knuckles against the wood. There was the shuffling of papers and muttering of voices from within, followed by movement. 

“Un momento per favoure.” Came a melodic voice from within. 

Phantom took a step back, a hand still grasping at his shirt, as the door was pulled inwards. Copia stared back at him, brows rising upwards as their eyes met.  

“Ah, Phantom.” He said before turning his head to address those in the room, “I will be just a moment. I trust you can talk amongst yourselves, si ?”

Without waiting for a response he stepped out into the hallway, clicking the door shut behind him. Phantom, visibly shaking and out of breath, leaned heavily against the window behind him, holding the sill for better support. 

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t m-mean to interrupt you.” The ghoul stuttered, his voice somewhat strangled. 

“Please do not be sorry, Quin.” Copia gently placed a hand on Phantom’s shoulder, “What is going on? You look - I hope you do not mind me saying - terrible!” 

“Y-You’re busy. I-”

“Phantom, mio diavolo , I have a moment for you. Please talk to me.” 

Between ragged breaths, Phantom began recounting the overwhelming wave of panic that had engulfed and left him desperate for solace. The plea for help hung in the air between them as the ghoul slowly lost all momentum, his mind taking over and shutting down word by word. Guilt swirled in his gut, made worse by the knot in Copia’s brow and the remainder of company beyond the door. 

He was a busy Papa for Satan’s sake. What made Phantom think he had time for him? 

“But it’s - it’s fine. I-I s-should go. I really don’t know what brought me here.”

Phantom struggled,”I-I’m alright.” 

“Are you though?” Copia questioned. 

Before Phantom could respond the door to Copia’s office began to open behind him. The clergyman quickly turned on his heel to hinder the interruption. Phantom couldn’t see who he was speaking to, all he could hear was an exchange of Italian between the two, but he knew it was urgent. When Copia finally returned to him, the office securely shut again to give them some level of privacy, his lips were pulled into a tight frown. 

“I am so sorry, Quin. I want to be here for you, believe me, I do, but the clergy are relentless in their tasks,” he explained, his voice filled with genuine regret.

Phantom’s desperation deepened and he fought back tears, feeling a pang of disappointment at the inability to find relief. But he bit at his bottom lip, determined to accept his rejection with at least some resemblance of dignity. 

“Please accept my deepest apologies. I do not intend to do this, believe me, but I need to finish this meeting with Brother Gabriel and Papa Secundo. You understand, si ? I promise I will call you later.”

“O-okay.” Phantom whispered, taking several deep and shaky breaths. 

“We will speak later this evening. In the meantime keep breathing deeply, and practice what we talked about back on tour, si ?” 

Silence stretched thin between them as Phantom fought to find the words to respond. His heart felt heavy in his chest, stomach wrought tight with festering shame and anger. Yet, he understood the obligations life as Papa held. Phantom was not his only priority and he was selfish for ever thinking any different. 

"O-okay, I'll-I’ll try," he finally whispered, taking shaky breaths as he continued to lean against the cool glass. 

“Will you be alright until then? Do you need me to call one of your pack to walk you back to the den?” 

Phantom shook his head, careful to avert his eyes for fear that the clergyman would see his tears. The last thing he wanted was any of his ghoul-kin to see him like this, defeated and rejected outside their Papa’s door. 

“Quin,” Copia reached for Phantom’s hand but the ghoul moved away, his body shuttering backwards. A flash of surprise flooded the clergyman’s countenance but only for a moment, “We will talk this evening. Please be safe until then. Promise me?”  

But the ghoul didn’t respond, he simply nodded over and over until he resembled a novelty ornament. His body continued to back away as Copia stood, hands helplessly in the air as if he wanted nothing more than to reach for him. 

“Phantom…”

The little ghoul turned on his heel and bolted from the hallway. He ignored the shouts from Papa and pushed through the pain blazing in his chest, his thoughts consumed with hiding. He had made a fool of himself and as he ran, brickwork and bodies blurring around him, it was all he could do to keep himself from falling apart.

Not now. Not until you’re safe beyond the door of your nest. The shame he felt was heavy enough. He didn’t need the pack or, Satan forbid, strangers seeing him for the pitiful wretch he truly was. 

Eventually Phantom found himself at the entrance to the ghoul wing and it occurred to him that while his bed was safely beyond, so were his kin. 

The ghoul dragged the rough fabric of his sleeves across his eyes. The skin felt raw and swollen from crying, and he knew without a doubt that his pack would clock it immediately. Sighing he stepped into the den and prayed to Satan that everyone was still working on their chores. 

But he wasn’t so lucky.

Crowded around the open fire of the living area were Swiss, Cumulus, Dew and Cirrus, all cradling mugs of various colours and enjoying each other's company. Their conversation drifted off as Phantom attempted to move past them and into the corridor connecting their rooms.

“Afternoon bug!” Swiss called through a toothy grin, “Want a cup of coffee?” 

Phantom offered a firm shake of his head in response, his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. His heartbeat thundered in his chest and he felt his fingers begin to shake. He thrust them into the pocket of his hooded top in an attempt to conceal them. 

Cumulus placed her mug on the coffee table and swiftly moved towards the little ghoul. 

“Are you alright bug?” She asked, raising her arm in an attempt to pull him into a hug. But he flinched and moved backwards away from her grasp. 

“I-I’m fine,” Phantom replied, his voice high and cracking in protest. 

He gave her a half-hearted smile and attempted to move around her, only to be stopped in his tracks by Dew’s shrill voice.

“What? Did Papa kick you out like a stray dog and now you’re too good to hang out with us?” The fire ghoul said, clearly meant as a joke but not landing as one. 

Phantom, despite his fragile mental state, growled deep within his chest. 

“H-how did -.” He grumbled, his hands closing into fists in his pocket. His mind was swimming; How had they known he’d just been at Papa’s?

Beside him Cumulus hovered close by, her ears pulled downwards and her hands daring to come closer. 

“Dew! That was inappropriate.” Cirrus snarled at the fire-ghoul before focusing on Phantom, “Little bug, Papa sent me a little text to let us know you’d just left his office and you were quite upset - .” 

“W-what?” Phantom whined, embarrassment coiling within him and wrapping around his chest like a viper, “No. I-it’s not like that. I-I-I’m fine. It’s - I - I” He struggled to find the words, his heart was hammering in his ears and his mind hazy. 

“Use your words, Bug. You’re not a kit.” Dew spoke again, his voice softer. But the words still stung in Phantom’s ears. 

A kit. They thought him nothing more than a baby unable to use his words. A helpless child running to Papa when things got tough. How pathetic. 

“Fucking hell, Dewdrop! Read the room, dude!” Cirrus landed a strong punch to Dew’s bicep. He hissed as his coffee spilt over the rug under his feet. 

“What? I was only kidding. He knows that. Right, bug?” 

“It’s not the time. He’s upset. Christ!” Cirrus barked, “You need to learn how to be more sensitive.” 

As the pair squabbled, each nipping at the other's heels, Swiss stood to join his mate in comforting Phantom. The multi-ghoul attempted to cross his arm around the young ghoul’s shoulder only to be shrugged off. 

“Bug if something's worrying you we can talk about it. That’s what we’re here for.” Swiss urged. 

Phantom shook his head. He couldn’t meet their eyes, instead keeping them fixated on the blue opal pendant around Cumulus’ neck. In an attempt to calm his beating heart, Phantom thought back to the day it was bought and how excited Swiss had been to find something that described his mate's eyes so perfectly. He’d dragged Phantom and Dew along with him to a crystal shop in downtown Stockholm just for it. It was one of the only times that Phantom had felt included and not just someone to fill the line-up. Swiss, despite his playboy demeanour, had always tried to make an effort with Phantom because, in the multi-ghoul’s words, everyone was new once. 

Somewhere above him, in the land of the living, Cumulus said his name. He looked up to show acknowledgement.

“Bug, sweetheart, can I take you to your nest? Swiss can make you some hot chocolate and I can get you tucked into bed.” 

She meant well, Phantom knew that, but the more she talked the more he felt like a baby being mollycoddled. 

“What do you need, buddy?” Swiss, once again trying and failing to pull the little ghoul into a loving embrace, “We can’t help you if you don’t let us.”

“I-um-I-I just want t-to be left alone.” Phantom managed, his voice hoarse with tears. 

 Swiss and Cumulus exchanged worried looks. Behind them, Cirrus and Dew were silent, their scuffle having come to a close. Phantom didn’t dare look in their direction for fear of what he might see. More pity? Further judgement from Dew? Maybe even frustration. 

“P-please. Can I just go?” Phantom asked meekly. 

With a heavy sigh and a brief moment of ponderous stillness, Swiss nodded. 

“Okay, bug. But you know where we are, right? Just call for us and we’ll be there.” 

Phantom didn’t wait for further confirmation. He pulled his jacket tightly around himself and all but ran in the direction of his room. Behind him, he could hear the hushed whispers spark between the ghouls, but he did his best not to listen. Already ripe with kindling of his own, he didn’t need any more fuel for his fire.

~ Read In Full Here ~

#the band ghost #my fan fiction #my fanfic #ghostband #ghost tumblr #ghost band #ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfiction #papa emeritus iv #papa copia #nameless ghoul #nameless ghouls

[mrsblackruby]

TOWNIE

Chapter 34 ‘Fever Dream’

Art commissioned by @honestlyhalfweirdo

This is the last and final chapter for Townie. There might be more updates I might make a playlist and some edits but that’s it for Billy and Tonya’s story. enjoyed myself writing it. More Comments in the comments section would make me happy. I hope people like it lolz.

#black writers #young black writers #harringrove #buckleway #billy hargrove #Tonya Sinclair #townie #black tumblr #stranger things #my fan fiction #fan fic rec #click image for better quality

[in-a-slanted-outhouse]

For the THIRD time (without read more because I feel like that’s what’s messing me up) because tumblr is being annoying

May I present to youuuu

Diego secretly asking Five to teach him how to braid hair so he can braid his kid’s hair after they’re born

It’s not much nor is it perfect and I literally wrote it in fifteen minutes but if people are interested I may write more

Enjoy!

—

“Pick a side, grab a bit near the front and divide it into three sections.”

Five tensed as Diego took his hair into his hands, pulling apart the strands and swallowing. Five could see his clueless face in the bathroom mirror, fumbling uselessly with the ends and sighed, pulling his head away.

“That’s the back, Diego,” he muttered, shifting on the stool as Diego’s hands dropped into his lap, “pick a side and stick to it.”

It was a Tuesday- the day which Lila would leave to go to her new mother support group and so Diego, being Diego, had decided that since he was off work early and they didn’t spend much time together, that he wanted to get in some brotherly bonding before she came back. Five would admit that he was more prepared to be having some kind of therapy with the man, whether it be him calming Diego’s fears about being a father or Diego attempting to get him to open up, he didn’t know, but he hadn’t been expecting this.

“Yeah, but Five…” Diego replied, picking up a couple strands from his head and dropping them as Five squirmed. He hated people touching is head. It was a miracle that Diego even managed to persuade him to agree to let Diego go this. “your hair’s… kinda short at the back.”

It was shoulder length.

Five rolled his eyes, reaching up to his left side and separating his hair, “well, asshole, you didn’t think that ten minutes when you asked me to do this,” he took a handful from the front, pulling his bangs out and holding up to Diego, “take this from the front- it’ll be easier to braid.”

Diego glanced between the hair clutched between Five’s fingers and his face in the mirror before reaching out and taking it from him, rubbing the strands between his fingers.

“Aight,” he muttered, looking slightly constipated, “now what?”

Five sighed, eye lashes fluttering, “separate it into three equal sections.”

Diego nodded sliding his fingers between Five’s hair and pulling it apart into three roughly separated sections and holding them loosely.

“Do you know how braid, at all?” Five asked, tilting his head back to glance at the man, immediately met by a blank expression.

“Uh, no?” Diego muttered back, “that’s… why I’m asking you.”

Five sighed, dragging a hand down his face. This was gonna take fucking forever.

“You know this would be a lot easier if Lila was here, right?” he explained, pressing his hands together, “because she actually knows how to braid.”

Diego shifted behind him, “yeah, dipshit but I want it to be a surprise,” and then a little quieter, “and I wanna be able to braid my own kid’s hair.”

Five grumbled. This kid was going to be the death of him and they weren’t even born yet.

“Y’know what? Fuck it,” he muttered, reaching up to grab the right side of his hair and pulling out a section roughly the same size as he had done so for Diego, “copy me. I’ll do this side, you do that side,” he explained, pulling the section into three, “watch closely, or you’ll fuck it up.”

Diego rolled his eyes in the mirror.

“Alright, boomer show us how it’s done.”

#i know we arent getting long haired five in s4 but whatever this is part of my au #i stg why is tumblr being mean >:[ #literally deleted my favourite paragraph like cmon mannnnn #louie says shit #tua #five #diego #my fan fiction #tua s4 spoilers #i feel like some people would say that idk

[missanthropicprinciple]

The Monster of Gendarmenmarkt by by cephalopod_groupie

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

No Archive Warnings Apply

Complete/32 Chapters

Word Count: 30,125

Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb

#Newmann #hermann gottlieb #newton geiszler #my fanfiction #my fanfic #my fan fiction #fan fiction #fanfiction #Pacific Rim #Mako Mori #stacker pentecost #hannibal chau #tendo choi #karla gottlieb #cephalopod_groupie #The Monster of Gendarmenmarkt #my edits #cephalopod groupie