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quiet-compassion · 5 months

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OFMD Fluffvember Day 14: Friends to Lovers

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51779614

“Roach, you’ve really outdone yourself with these, man!”

“Yeah, you’re like some kind of culinary genius!”

Stede hears a chorus of agreement as he painstakingly makes his way down to the mess hall.

“Ah well, I just figured it’s a special occasion. We pulled off our first-ever fuckery! That’s reason to celebrate!” Roach declares to a round of raucous cheers from the crew.

Clutching at his still very much punctured left side, Stede finally lumbers in.

“There you are, Captain!” Frenchie says, mouth half-full. “Glad to see you up and about. We were worried you might have died.”

“Nope, not dead. I was just having a lie-down and must have drifted off,” Stede explains somewhat bashedly.

Ed rises from his spot at the table, crossing to Stede and helping him into a chair. “You lost a lotta blood, mate. I reckon you’re entitled to a good nap. Plus with all that sword fighting, defeating Izzy, you must have been knackered!”

His words wipe away the embarrassment Stede had been feeling. He sits up straighter, only to sag back down when his stitches twinge in protest. “Yes, I suppose so. I have worked up quite an appetite! What’s all this I hear about your culinary genius, Roach?”

The crew exchange somewhat guilty looks.

“Uhh, you missed dinner, Cap,” Oluwande says apologetically.

“Yeah, and we worked up appetites too, with our performance and all.” Black Pete gestures around the table.

“Real hungry,” Frenchie agrees.

Oluwande tips his head towards his empty plate. “We’d already moved onto dessert.”

“Ah.” Stede’s stomach gives a rumble of disappointment. “Well, that’s alright! I could do with a sweet little pick-me-up. What’s for dessert?”

“Roach made these ginger biscuits. But they were shaped like little men,” Wee John explains.

“Ooooh! That’s maudlin, isn’t it?” Stede says appreciatively.

“Yeah, but they’re all gone Captain. Sorry.”

As much as he tries to appear unaffected, Stede’s dismay must be clear. Ed gives a small chuckle and claps him lightly on the shoulder.

“No worries, mate. Here, take mine,” he says picking up his biscuit and handing it to Stede.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Course I am. What are friends for?” Ed assures, shooting him a small smile and a meaningful look. Stede stares back at him, sure that they’re both replaying the same moment from last night in their minds.

“...That’s why I don’t have any friends.”

“Hey, I’m your friend.”

He accepts the proffered cookie from Ed and says, voice small, “Thank you.”

All around them, the chatter of the crew resumes. An hour or so later, as Ed helps Stede back to his cabin, he’s still thinking about it. He sits on the couch as Ed pours them each a brandy, lost in thought and savoring the taste of ginger that lingers on his lips.

“Ed?” he ventures, softly.

“Yeah, mate?”

“Earlier…that is, before…you offered me your dessert and you said ‘What are friends for?’”

“Did, yup,” Ed nods dropping into the chair beside the couch.

“Well, it just occurs to me…I don’t actually know.”

“Know what?”

“What friends are for,” Stede confesses.

Ed looks up at him, mouthing falling open in surprise. Stede forces himself to continue on.

“Last night, I told you I’m your friend—and I am! I want to be. Only, it occurs to me now…I’ve never really had a friend before. So, I’m afraid that in spite of my best efforts and intentions, I may prove a poor one to you.”

He’s flushing, he can feel it. The room is warm and the longer Ed goes without saying anything, it seems to Stede that the temperature is rising. Thankfully, after another moment or two Ed breaks the silence, clearing his throat.

“Well, the first thing you did after calling yourself my friend was forgive me for planning to kill you. Pretty top-tier shit if you ask me. If anything, I’m sorry for you. You deserve better, especially from your first friend.”

“Nonsense!” Stede says immediately. “You’re excellent. You shared your biscuit with me! And you’ve taught me so much about piracy. And you put up with all my idiosyncrasies. No one else ever has.”

Ed scoffs. “I don’t put up with them. They’re one of my favorite parts about you, man! What did I tell you when we met? You’re doing things your way! Fucking fascinating!”

Stede’s blushing again, though this time it isn’t out of embarrassment.

“Well,” he says with a pleased smile, raising his glass, “to friendship.”

“To figuring it out as we go,” Ed says with an answering grin.

…

It takes some persuading but, eventually, the crew agrees to let Ed back aboard the ship for the night.

“Just keep him the fuck away from us!” Jim hisses, one arm around Oluwande’s shoulder, the other around Archie’s waist. Together, they leave to head below deck; the rest of the crew disperses in their wake.

“That went well, all things considered,” Stede says cheerily.

Ed gives a noncommittal hum, looking over Stede’s shoulder to where Lucius is once again flipping him the bird.

“And I’m sure the tension will thaw even more after a good night’s rest. Speaking of, shall we turn in?”

“Yeah, alright,” he agrees with a nod, following Stede through to the captain’s cabin. It’s the first time they’ve been in here together since…everything. Ed feels a tangle of emotions well up inside of him. He is at once abashed by the dismal, derelict state the room has fallen into and childishly glad that Stede is being forced to see just how much destruction he had inspired.

For his part, if Stede is bothered by the loss of all his fine things he doesn’t show it, except to remark, “I’d offer you a brandy, but I don’t seem to have any.”

Ed shrugs.

“Listen, I don’t want to pressure you or anything, but I’d quite like it if you stayed aboard. Beyond just tonight, I mean.” Stede eyes him with that nervous slightly skittish expression he gets when he really wants something he thinks he might be denied.

“Could do, I guess,” Ed says looking down at his boots. “I mean, I don’t have any other plans really.”

Stede beams then struggles to school his face into something more neutral. “Right. Good. But uh, in order for that to work, I think you’ll probably have to address the crew. Clear the air.”

Ed feels as though a bucket of cold seawater has been upended over his head.

“Shit,” he groans running a hand over his face. “What do I—I don’t know what I would even say.”

“Well, I can help you. We can have a think together about it tonight and get something scripted out. That way you feel more prepared when the time comes,” Stede offers kindly.

“You’d do that? Really?”

“Of course!” Stede says at once. “What are friends for?”

Ed’s eyes snap up to Stede’s at the turn of phrase. Stede offers him a shy smile.

“Are we still friends?” he hears himself ask, pathetically.

“We’ll always be friends, Ed.”

And really, what can Ed say in the face of that?

They sit together (on the floor, what with the room’s distinct lack of chairs), scribbling down notes and pitching each other lines, collaborating to craft the best possible apology. In some ways, it feels exactly like it was before. Stede scooches in closer at one point to get a better look at the paper between them and their knees touch. Even though it’s a breezy night, the room suddenly feels warm.

“See? I told you we’d figure it out!” Stede says, reading over their finished draft.

Ed watches him fondly, an ember of hope glowing in his chest. “Yeah, mate. I think we will.”

#ofmd #ofmd fluffvember #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #stuff i write

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lighthousecocaptains · 7 months

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OFMD Week Day 3: Reoccurring themes/symbols

I picked the reoccurring theme (joke) of Stede’s ability to miraculously (accidentally) kill the people who are trying to kill him. As always, the fic is also on ao3.

Stede had been rowing for quite some time, but he hadn’t found a thing. He’d made it to the Republic of Pirates without so much as a glance of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, but he wasn’t giving up hope. He docked his boat and went onto land. Maybe he would find Ed and his crew somewhere here?

He passed many people, stopping to ask each one if they knew where Blackbeard was, if they had seen him. He got many weird looks but ultimately no answers. The last fellow he asked looked confused for a moment before he asked, “are you the Gentleman Pirate?”

Stede brightened. Was Ed looking for him? “Yes! I am.”

The man’s eyes looked him up and down. “Hmm. You don’t look as fancy as he said.”

“Ah, yes,” Stede began. He could see how the man was confused about that. Stede looked down at his own clothes, finding them lacking in his normal style with nothing frilly, colorful, or eye-catching about them. “I uh…well, it’s quite a story. See, I-”

”Don’t care,” the man said. He gestured with his head and started walking that direction. Stede followed behind.

The man led him to a plain warehouse far from anything else and unlocked the door, holding it open for Stede.

”Thank you!” Stede said. “How polite of you.”

The man said nothing for a moment. Stede looked into the warehouse curiously. He could see it was empty.

“And…Blackbeard is going to meet me here?” he asked.

The man nodded. “He’ll be in shortly.”

With that, Stede smiled and walked in, standing in the middle of the room and turning to face the door. The man closed the door after him, and there was a metal click of the lock.

Stede waited, his mind focusing on what he would say to Ed when he came. He would apologize profusely, he thought, explain everything. He’d grovel if he had to, anything to show Ed that he loved him.

“Ed, I’m sorry,” he practiced. No, he thought. Not enough feeling in it. “Ed, I’m sorry.” Yes, that was better.

There was a soft noise in the back corner of the room, as if someone had let out a sigh. Stede straightened as he turned and looked at the dark corner where the noise had come from. “Ed?”

Silence.

“Ed?” He tried again. He could just make out a figure there, if he focused. He took a step closer. The figure moved out of the shadows slightly, and Stede could see that it didn’t look like Ed at all. His face paled.

“You’re pathetic,” the figure said, a deep voice that Stede had never heard before. “Apologizing to the man who wants you dead?” He took another step forward, the silver of his sword catching the light. He chuckled darkly.

Stede’s eyes widened. He ran over to the door and tried to open it, finding that it rattled but wouldn’t open. “Help!” He cried out but no one seemed to hear.

“No one is coming to save you,” the mercenary said, making his way over to Stede. He grabbed the back of his shirt pulled Stede around to face his sword, pressing it against Stede’s throat. “Any last words?”

”Ed ordered this?” Stede asked, voice strained and tight.

The mercenary shrugged. “Blackbeard’s first mate ordered it, and I assume he takes his orders from Blackbeard himself.”

So this was all Izzy. That didn’t make Stede feel much better, although he supposed there was a chance that Ed had no idea. Stede still held onto hope.

Stede backed away and the mercenary slashed just as Stede ducked. The mercenary’s sword got nothing but air.

Stede rushed around the man, looking around desperately for anything he could use to protect himself, but the warehouse was empty. There weren’t even columns he could hide behind. He turned back towards the mercenary.

”You have no idea how to survive in the world of pirates,” the mercenary said, taking a step forward for every step back that Stede took. “I’m surprised it took this long, but you’ll be one with the sea before too long.”

Stede tried to take another step back but found that there was a wall behind him with a pillar that ran up to the mid-beam of the warehouse. He moved to the right as the mercenary swung his sword again, this time getting caught in the wood of the pillar. Stede ran to the other side of the warehouse while the mercenary struggled to get his sword out. He tugged at it hard, propping a foot against it to pry it out with a loud crack of the wood. He turned to grimace at Stede, and the gash in the pillar began to grow.

Stede banged on the door some more, calling out for anyone who could possibly hear. He sagged his shoulders for just a moment, and at that moment, the sword stuck into the door an inch away from his side. Stede gaped at it.

”You ridiculous man!” The mercenary shouted. “You think you can get away from me? You think you-”

There was a deafening crack, and both men turned to look at the gash on the back wall as it climbed up towards the roof. When it reached the mid-beam, the mid-beam shuddered, dripping down an inch before everything stopped and quiet returned.

The mercenary turned back to Stede, stalking forward until he had Stede trapped against the door. He pulled his sword out of the wood, and the wall cracked some more. The mercenary watched it travel up, and the door swung open then. Stede backed out of the warehouse just as the mid-beam fell on the mercenary and collapsed the whole warehouse.

He coughed and fanned the air before his face as a cloud of dust flooded the air. He walked away, then, not bothering to look back.

He had to find Ed. That was all that was on his mind.

#ofmdweek2023 #ofmd #our flag means death #stede bonnet #my fic

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ourflagmeansdeath-kinkmeme · 8 months

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Izzy & Everyone — Self-worth issues, Izzy stops trying, no one notices for a while, depression

Stede's back, the rest of the crew are fine and well, and everything seems to have gone back to the way things were. And for Izzy it would mean back to when Ed would barely listed to him, much less actually look at him, when the crew hated and disrespected his entire being, when his job and companionship no longer meant anything.

Emotionally exhausted and still physically recovering from the Kraken's abuse, Izzy realizes that there's not much use in trying anymore. He doesn't want to leave or kill himself, what if Ed still needs him, at some point? But he realizes no one would really look for him until an emergency comes along. Might as well disappear into the background until then. If ever he'd be needed.

So he slowly stops ordering the crew around to do their jobs, stops hovering over Ed and making sure their raid plans are foolproof, stops lashing out at Stede. And then he stops coming to the galley for food, stops showing up on deck at all. Just the bare minimum of existence as he stays in his room, numbed to everything else.

And Stede/Ed and the crew don't notice for a while. The crew occasionally asks where he is but enjoy the peace and lack of work. Stede and Ed wonder why raids have been messy lately, why the ship isn't at tip-top shape anymore, but think nothing of it.

Until they hit a snag with a raid, or rations cut short now that no one's managing it, or someone makes a mistake on deck that could've been avoided by an overseer, or someone simply realizes "Where's Izzy?"

There's a horrified silence and panic, where everyone's thinking they could've left him behind or that he'd left at some point. When they find him in his room, however, alive but so hollowed out and tired, they realize how much he's been hurting all this time. Ed realizes how much Izzy's been floundering after him for years now.

Lots of comfort and recovery for Izzy as everyone understands that Izzy's self-worth issues span miles and he needed help, that he doesn't know what to do with kindness so he lashes out, that they need and actually do care for him. And Izzy, Izzy's made aware of how much he's wanted, even if they took a stupidly long time to see it.

Bonus for Steddy Hands but Any/Izzy goes as well!

Fill: None

#C: Israel “Izzy” Hands #P: General | No Pairing #T: Self Esteem Issues #T: Caretaking #T: Hurt Comfort #T: Found Family #Fill: None

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avastyetwats · 6 months

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❛ company . (for your Izzy from my Jim)

Nothing was said for the longest time.

Granted, Izzy had just woken up not too long ago, but once his vision cleared he noticed Jim sat across the room, a gun in their hand that Izzy immediately recognized. He looked down at his chest, at his right hand, for confirmation, and when he finds it empty, Izzy drops his head back with a humorless chuckle. His head is fucking pounding from where the bullet grazed him, his right hand raising to touch just under it, surprised that he didn't feel any fresh blood.

Jim.

They really came back to check on him after Ed dismissed them... probably thought Izzy dead for a second or two after finding the gun laying next to him and his head bleeding, but it was a failed attempt. Though, admittedly, not a complete attempt either given the angle he held the gun. He thought about it, thought he wanted to, but he couldn't.

Because the second his finger touched the trigger, he saw their faces.

Frenchie. Jim. Fang. Archie.

And so here he was, awake. Alive. Having been tended to once again by the crew he so badly treated. The crew that was being tormented because of him.

And Jim had come back to check on him. To make sure Blackbeard hadn't hurt him further, hadn't killed him.

"I'm sure you have somewhere better to be." He breaks the silence, his words lacking gratitude for the help he received. The help he didn't feel he deserved. The help he couldn't understand why he received in the first place. It was baffling to the point where he felt angry because of it. To the point of tears welling in his eyes, tearing his gaze away from Jim so they wouldn't be able to see.

He didn't fucking get it. Couldn't fucking understand why they even cared that he lived or died, especially considering they were part of Stede fucking Bonnet's original crew. Their Captain that Izzy tried to kill and have killed. Their Captain that was captured because of him. Their Captain that left Ed and in turn, subjected them, including himself, to abuse. Granted he'd been trying to take the brunt of it in hopes Ed would leave them alone, but that wasn't enough. It shouldn't be enough.

And it was driving him fucking insane.

He had to know.

And so he asked. His voice barely above a whisper, broken. Defeated.

"Why?"

#OKAY SO #i'd like to think there was a moment where Jim or someone went back to check on Izzy after Ed's talk with him #before the storm and the fight on deck #so they found Izzy with the gun at his side and the injury to his head #and whatever conversation happens is what gives izzy strength and determination to put an end to blackbeard and save the crew #because there was some time between ed and izzy's conversation and the last scene #so I hope this is alright!!#tw; suicide attempt #petrifiedcrange; jim #c; izzy hands

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candied-cae · 2 years

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To Ask a Sea Storm's Advice

Chapter 1/1 - - - Read it on AO3

Word Count : 1,907

Summary : Though Ed might act as the Kraken now that Stede's left him, when he is alone at night he is always Edward Teach. Open, vulnerable, and bare, just a boy in his heart, broken and scared. Most nights consist of quiet cries to love and loss, but on the stormy ones, Ed finds himself calling to the lightning and thunder to answer the question he can't let go of.

"He loves me? He loves me not?"

More OMFD Fics

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Ed has picked up a new habit.

It's not something he's ever done before, not something he's sure anyone has ever done before... but it just sort of happened one night.

It was maybe, what, four weeks since he'd cleared the Revenge of most of her old crew? All that was left of Stede's wasted potential were Jim and, for now, Frenchie. Though, he wasn't sure how long he'd allow his stay now that his sewing job was finished. The Kraken can't excuse a mouth to feed without a purpose.

That's how it always was these days. The Kraken this. The Kraken that. The Kraken. The Kraken. The Kraken.

He was tired of thinking about the Kraken and what sort of performance it would demand. Every day he woke up full of dread about who he would have to hurt or what he would have to break to protect himself. Part of the Kraken was because "if Stede didn't love him, then no one ever would, so what's the point of feeling anything but rage?" But the other part of it was simple survival.

Izzy told him, in no complex terms, that if he kept playing at being Ed, he would kill him. And maybe if someone had made him that offer three months ago, he would've taken them up on it. But after the happiness he felt, for the first time in so long, maybe he wanted to live again. Just in case that sort of feeling could come back. The broken organ in his chest told him such an idea was stupid to entertain, but somewhere in the back of his mind held on to it all the same.

Couldn't seem to let it go.

Instead, he was waiting. Waiting for a clue. Waiting for some sort of sign that he had reason to hold on. For something to tell him, it's not foolish to still believe in love.

Or maybe he was just too weak now to face death smiling. Who can really be sure anymore?

Though, all of that is beside the point. The point is that time had passed, and things had changed. And while he could never confide it in anyone, at night he often found himself in the captain's quarters cornered by the ghost of Stede Bonnet. He had nearly all his things removed, but there were scars of his memory covering every inch. And when the sun had set, and he was alone, when he should've been asleep, he would become so aware that he was surrounded in darkness and silence where he once enjoyed so much light and sound. In that emptiness, his mind would pick at the scabs of his wounds. He would mull them over, over and over again.

But on this night, it wasn't just dark, and it wasn't just silent. It was storming. It was a rough one, but not the worst he'd seen in all his years. So, he knew it wasn't any sort of shock or panic from the weather that caused it... but as he was on the bed, sat up and leaned against the wall, all limp in his bones as he let his head lazily gaze out the window... he started following every lightning strike with his eyes.

Each flash was a moment of light in the dark, each boom was a moment of sound in the silence. It almost felt like how Stede's room should be: full, bright, and loud. It broke through the usual pain that nighttime brought. And as he traced the lines of electricity across the clouded sky with his eyes, he counted. He started counting them like they were tallies to total up. Like their measure would mean something.

One... Two... Three...

The way a sea storm breaks is different. To the best of his memory of weather on the mainland, it always felt different on the water. The way you felt completely surrounded in it. It wasn't just above and around you. The way it would rock your boat, thrashing you and everything you own without care. Nothing could compare to its force.

Four... Five... Six...

And a sea storm is a powerful beast. She's killed more men than any pirate. She's killed more men than any army. She's seen everything this word has made. From the best men to the worst, the smallest pieces of driftwood to the most massive ships, sea creatures, birds, and land animals. All of it. She has seen it, and she conquers them all every single time. She'd know of love and hate and what was between it all. What of it was real. What of it was worth anything. She'd know.

Seven... Eight... Nine...

And then, before he even knew what he was thinking, he followed every strike with a thought. An estimation of the truth. Clarity for the questions he couldn't ask Stede himself. Like how children pull on flower petals to decide "she loves me, she loves me not," he used each strike to declare what had happened between them. Like whatever thought followed the last lightning strike would surely be true. Somehow, someway, this would provide the answer he needed. The sea storm and her rousing light and sound could provide council.

A small crack on the horizon. "Stede never loved me." A blinding, shaking flash just overhead. "Stede might've loved me, but I fucked it up." A strike, that seemed to surge toward him. "Stede does love me, and I'm missing something." "Stede ran away because I'm a monster." "Stede is good, and knows I am not." "Stede left me because he never wanted to go with me." "Stede was using me until he didn't need to anymore." "Stede just wanted Blackbeard, not me." "Stede tried to be with me." "Stede was running late, and I should've waited, just a bit longer." "Stede was never going to show." "Stede wants me." "Stede hates me." "Stede went back to his wife." "Stede wanted more than me." "Stede thought he was too good for me." "Stede wanted to join me on the dock." "Stede will find me." "Stede wants nothing to do with me." "Stede just wants to be friends." "Stede saw I was the Kraken and knew better." "Stede decided we couldn't forget I planned to kill him." "Stede betrayed me because he wanted me to hurt." "Stede was just confused and needed time." "Stede was disgusted by me." "Stede was scared." "Stede knew exactly what he was doing, and he didn't care." "Stede doesn't care about me" "Stede will come back for me." "Stede will explain and confess." "Stede will hold me, and it will heal everything." "Stede will never return to the sea again." "Stede doesn't need anything out here." "Stede doesn't want this life, not with me." "Stede would never want me."

He ran through these statements and every variation on them he could come up with. Over and over, he circled through his list, and every time he declared in one way or another that Stede cared, he begged the sky to cease. To pause and assure him he was loved and there was just something gone wrong that they could right. Some apology or bold gesture could be done, and then they could be together. He hoped, beyond all reason, for some random chance to tell him that he would be okay again someday.

But as his eyes grow heavy and his mind begins to fog with the tire, and the restless sky seems to settle, he no longer calls on the complex words surrounding the one answer he really needed.

A streak overhead. "Stede loves me." A flash from the far south. "Stede loves me not." A shock even further. "Stede loves me." A flicker beyond view. "Stede loves me not." A bolt just to the west. "Stede loves me." A slash so close outside his window that he almost flinched. "Stede loves me not..."

And with that line, the rumbling above stopped. The rain falling on the window slowed. His eyes kept searching the sky, but nothing. Here he was, in the dark and silence again. Alone. And he found his answer. At least the sea storm provided an answer. And maybe there should be a relief. Maybe there should've been a calming to having been given this sign to let go. And maybe if he accepted it, and maybe if he moved on... maybe it wouldn't hurt so much anymore?

Because it hurt. All the time, it hurt. It hurt so badly, and the lightning's answer didn't ease the pain. The truth sunk its claws in, deeper and deeper.

"Stede doesn't love me."

It pushed a sharp edge into his very heart. It felt like it was cleaving him in half. His eyes ran over with tears as they so often did late at night, and his eyebrows stitched together as he readied for the sob trying to rip through his chest. And just as he began to gasp in that shaky breath that always precedes his breaking... there was another blitz.

It was tiny and so far away. He might've missed it had he relinquished his eyes to sleep a second earlier. But it was there. It sparked just on the edge of the clouds as they returned to their usual pale color and the heavy gray slipped away. And in the seconds that followed, as the clap of the final strike washed over him, he spoke.

"Stede loves me."

Of course, he knew this game was silly. Childish. Foolhardy. It was devoid of any logic, reason, or sense. But it comforted him all the same. For the first time since the dock, a whisper of hope found its way into him. Maybe, there was reason to believe after all. Maybe, that confidence wasn't him holding onto a rope that would be better let go. Maybe, it wouldn't hurt him further.

So, for the first time since he shared the same boat with Stede Bonnet, when Ed closed his eyes he actually felt like he rested.

And ever since that night, every time they face a sea storm's rage, while the rest of the crew may be managing things on deck or trying to shut it out while they sleep, Ed stays up and plays his game. The words flow through him without a single thought. It's Edward Teach's most gently held secret. Every time the lightning and thunder roll across their patch of water he performs his habit.

The oddest thing about it, though... Despite what anyone might believe and despite the overwhelming odds that would suggest otherwise, it always seemed to assure him. Every time, without fail, the lightning ends on "Stede loves me."

Though it should mean nothing more than wild coincidence, Ed chooses to place some stake in the sea storms' advice. He chooses to hold faith that Stede will confirm its signs. He chooses hope. To believe in the man he loves returning to him.

He trusts that somehow they'll figure everything out and he'll be okay again.

When day breaks, he'll be the Kraken and do his job. He'll play the part, wear the mask. He'll be cruel and effective. He'll be everything he hates about himself to survive. Because he may be the Kraken today, but someday he might get to be Ed again. He misses Ed.

He misses being Stede's Ed more than words could say.

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My Other Works ❤

Feel free to go and leave it a kudo on ao3 too, if you want ❤

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cicadahaze · 3 years

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Here’s my entry to the @pnatsecretsanta for 2020! @quarktrinity, I hope you enjoy! It’ll be crossposted to ao3, link will be in a reblog. Thank you for your patience!

Isabel: hey so

Isabel: when are u going to get here

Max: wat?

Max: its xmas ev

Isabel: you really need to get a new phone

Isabel: and remember? youre supposed to come to my place tonight, wait it out

Isabel: max?

Isabel: if you were spacing out again im going to kill you

Isabel: you WERE doing the face again now that i think about it

Max: u guys ned 2 mak imprtnt info cler. Y i spcd

Isabel: you need to listen! this time mr spender remembered to tell u and everything. youre not allowed to be mad at us this time

Isabel: in short, get ur butt over here before midnight. sneak out if u need to, thats what isaac does

Isabel: in long, if u dont santas gonna kill u

----

“Let me get this straight.” 11:30 P.M. December 24th, 20XX. Max sat in Ed’s room on a chair hastily drawn up, with a jacket pulled hastily over his pajamas and hat still jammed on his head, massaging his temples. “Santa’s real, he’s a spirit, and he hates all spectrals and is coming to kill us?”

“That’s a bit of an oversimplification, but yeah,” Isaac said, and Max shot him a glare. He could hear that smugness. “So like, there’s a lot of spirits that kinda grow from ideas humans have, right? I don’t know what’s up with Scrapdragon, but like, Muse came from the ideas around ancient Greek muses, like his name. They can be really off base but still have the same ideas- like Lucifer, Mr. Spender’s spirit, is just some lightbulb guy, but Lucifer does mean light and stuff, so they can just be along those lines. But like, a LOT of kids believe in Santa and think about him a lot, so there’ve been a few spirits that manifested around the idea of a guy who can get anywhere to deliver presents to good kids and punishments to bad ones, especially with stories like Krampus too.”

“But most spirits can’t interact with humans, so this guy mostly goes around to other spirits and ghosts and stuff,” Isabel said, distracted by her attempts to spin her umbrella like a top. “So he likes spirits a lot. And we kick a lot of spirit butt,” she punctuated this with a particular spirited spin of the umbrella, “so he hates us and comes to try to kill us every year. And because he can teleport, he can get inside the barrier. So gramps makes us all stay with him until sunrise every year so that all the adults can fight off santa and his reindeer so we don’t get put in a sack and teleported somewhere.”

Max groans and tries to fall backwards in his chair, but the chair doesn’t budge. “Your paint really isn’t good for drama,” Max informed Ed.

“Don’t be so dramatic then,” Ed snickered. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Says you, You just stay at home all night. I have to sneak out! My dad’ll kill me if he finds out!”

“I just put a pillow in my blankets and it’s fine,” Isaac says with a shrug. “If your dad looks harder than that, we probably have a tool lying around that can wipe memories or something.”

“I don’t want to mind wipe my dad,” Max grumbled, but resigned himself to slumping grumpily in his chair to watch Ed play some punching game or whatever. Bad enough that his own baseball bat might want to eat him, and he was trapped in this town with no way out- now Christmas hated him too.

Isaac caught his eye and smiled sympathetically. “You get used to it,” he whispered.

“I thought I was used to it a month ago.”

Max jumped as a knock on the door sounded, glaring at Isabel’s laughter. The door opened without waiting for a response. Mr. Spender poked his head in through the door with a goofy grin. “Alright, kids! You all ready for this year’s Christmas night?”

Ed didn’t even look away from his video game, waving lazily. “We could use some snacks. That’d be nice.”

“Yeah, where are the snacks, old man? You want us to starve?” Isabel waved her umbrella at him like a grumpy old woman might a cane.

“You’re well fed enough already. I made sure of that.” It spoke wonders to how used to this existence Max had become that Mr. Spender knocking politely had scared him, but Isabel’s grandpa floating through the wall didn’t. The man’s bulk and imperious gaze still caused him some anxiety, though, and he had to consciously remind himself that he’s a punk, he’s cool, and he doesn’t respect anyone’s authority, even a scary ghost’s. Yeah, totally.

The atmosphere of the room quickly shifted, and Isabel’s eyes dropped. “Yeah, I was just joking. Sorry, Grandpa.”

“Joke or not, this night is too much effort to make light of. My students and I are putting ourselves at risk for you,” Mr. Guerra said, looming over the room, “so only vocalize a need if you need it.”

Isabel glowered at the carpet. “Alright, Grandpa…”

“So. I will ask again. Are you all prepared? Midnight strikes soon.”

“We are, sir,” Isaac said. Max fought not to pull a face at Isaac’s please pay attention to me, authority figure tone, but for once it was helpful, so whatever. He could let it slide.

Mr. Guerra eyed Isaac. “...good. We’ll get you once the sun begins to rise.” And with that, he turned away and slid down through the floor. Max could already hear him barking at the pupils below.

Mr. Spender grimaced. “Well… good! Everything’s all set then.”

Isabel grumbled, picking at the carpet.

“...trust me,” Mr. Spender said, forcing audibly fake cheer into his voice, “This isn’t a hassle at all. You guys getting stuffed into a sack- now, that would be quite the kerfuffle!”

They all stared as Mr. Spender slowly deflated. “...sure,” Max said. “Uh, we’ll be good, stay up here, it’s fine.”

“Great.” Mr. Spender nodded, stared awkwardly for a moment, and stepped out the door. “Well, Merry Christmas, children!” He shut the door behind him. Max listened with the others as his footsteps hurried down the hall to the stairwell.

Silence reigned for a few minutes, a distinctly uncomfortable experience for Max. It was almost impossible not to ramble, and he was reaching his breaking point and about to open the floodgates of inane and overly verbose chatter when Ed, thankfully, took point.

“That sucked,” he said simply, and Isabel groaned and fell back.

“I hate when he does that!” Isabel laid her umbrella by her side and waved her hands in the air exasperatedly. “It’s like he has no in between and I’m always either The Best And He’s So Disappointed In Me For Not Being Perfect or A Helpless Kid He Needs To Do Everything For! He always gets like this tonight!”

Ed paused his game, and reached around to pat her on the knee. “I mean, we could prove him wrong. We beat up spirits all the time, how hard could this be?”

“Okay, hold up, hand on,” Max said. “No? I- this is a terrible idea, you just got finished telling me about how if I wasn’t here I’d be killed by Santa, and now you want to go out there and fight Santa?”

“Well, not Santa,” Ed said. “Duh. He mostly just sends his reindeer to do everything and hangs out on rooftops.”

“And no offence Max, but uh…” Isaac scratched the back of his head.

“You’d totally get killed if you were on your own.” Isabel flipped herself upright. “All you got is that dinky bat, and magnet powers. You can’t even do a spec shot, dude, you’d get thrown in a sack in no time. We’d be fine.”

Max crossed his arms. “Alright, screw you too.”

“But other than that… that sounds like it could be pretty fun.” Isabel grinned. “Show the old man and his big dumb deer who’s boss. Maybe then he’ll stop coming to Mayview every year.”

“That would be pretty nice actually.” Isaac was clearly thinking hard- he had his broody face on. “I would like to stop having to sneak out every year. Sooner or later my parents will notice.”

Max shuddered. “Actually, yeah, Isaac has a point. I don’t want to die to Rudolph or anything, but if we keep having to do this, I’ll die to my dad, which is way worse honestly.”

“Your dad’s a teddy bear,” Isabel said, and rolled her eyes. “Stop complaining.”

“You haven’t seen him when I fail a test!”

“So are we going or what?” Isabel was already pulling her jacket back on, tucking her umbrella firmly under her arm. Ed bounced on the balls of his feet with a grin, already eyeing up the window and painting himself a rope.

Max looked at Isaac, who shrugged and got to his feet. Max sighed, and stood up, regretfully leaving his scooter on the floor. “Yeah, alright. We’re going.”

Well, Max was regretting this. He was regretting this so much. He tromped through the snowy woods, eternally grateful for his boots. “Why in the world do we have to fight the spirits of Christmas in the woods? Why can’t we do it in town, or like, on the road at least? The roads we salted. The roads wouldn’t be as cold.”

“Cuz we’d get caught, dummy,” Isabel snorted. Or maybe it was a sniffle. “Either someone from the dojo would hear us and yell at us and get in the way before we can prove anything, or someone in town would yell at us and call the cops or something.”

“Maybe having people nearby to help isn’t a bad thing? You can’t just say that after saying that I’m the most likely person to die!”

“You came out here anyway,” Isaac pointed out, and looked all too unaffected by Max’s glare.

“I hate you. I hate you with everything in my being you- you chump elf.”

Isabel laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, this place looks pretty good, huh?” She stopped, looking around the snowy clearing they’d come into and turning in place. She nodded, satisfied. “There’s room to fight here, and we could come up with some pretty solid traps. Isaac wouldn’t have to worry too much about blasting a bunch of trees.”

“Looks pretty good!” Ed pulled off a mitten with his teeth and dug his paint brush out of his pocket. “What’re you thinkin, Izzy? Tripwire? Net?”

“Let’s go net,” Isaac said. “They can fly.”

“Plus, last time you tripped Isaac, remember?” Isabel elbowed Ed in the side. “Max and I are pretty fast, but Isaac needs some help.”

“Please. I can jump higher than your house is tall.”

“But you still fell just flat on your face,” she cooed. Isaac grumbled, cursing her just loud enough for Isabel to overhear, but she just batted her eyes and paid him no mind. “Okay, so,” she said, looking up at the sky through the hole in the canopy, “we probably only have a few more minutes before one of the reindeer finds us-”

And that’s when a dark shape, faster than cheetah and twice as forceful, barrelled into Max. And off he went, hanging by the hood of his jacket on a wicked sharp antler prong, into the sky and away to the sound of jingling bells.

----

Things were quiet this year, Richard reflected. It was honestly a relief- maybe the spirit had finally given up. Probably too much to hope for, but, Christmas miracles and all. In any case, there seemed to be plenty of time to get the kids some mugs of hot cocoa and cookies to wait out the night with.

“Need any help balancing those?” Day asked, and Richard felt his mood become momentarily strained.

“Actually, that would be nice, if you think you could.” The tray of mugs and cookies he was balancing was quite the challenge, after all. Day reached up and somehow grabbed the plates of cookies perfectly- Spender could swear he saw her eyes flash for a moment, smart woman- and left him to balance the four mugs. A much easier task now.

“I really thought things would be more eventful, with how much Francisco was fussing over it, but everything’s pretty quiet, isn’t it?” Day smiled and followed Richard’s footsteps to the stairs.

“Well, usually there’s more cause for it, but the spirits seem to be laying low this year. Not an unwelcome reprieve in the slightest, but I do worry about Max… if this isn’t the new status quo, I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

“He’s a- well, he seems like a really smart kid,” Day reassured him. “I think he’ll make sure to be careful next year too!”

“I hope so. He does seem resourceful, but… he can be reckless.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she said, before stopping with a small frown on her face. “They’re being pretty quiet…”

Spender listened for a moment himself. “Hm, they are… mayhaps they went to bed early?”

“That doesn’t sound like them.”

“No,” he said, dread creeping into his heart. “It doesn’t.”

He set the tray of cookies on the floor. He approached Ed’s room. He knocked.

He opened the door.

Richard’s lips thinned into a grim line as he surveyed the dark room. “They’re gone.”

------

Max screamed for his life as he was lifted faster than he could process into the sky. It was a clear, starry night, and they all looked like streaks as his captor circled through the sky, closer and closer to the top of the dome before colliding headfirst into it. Max didn’t have any more air in his lungs to scream as he was jostled loose and began to fall down, down- only to be caught again, this time like a sack of potatoes on the spirit’s back. He was overwhelmed by the sound of silver bells as he caught his breath, eyes screwed tightly shut.

Eventually, his lungs rallied to his call, and he was able to take in an unpleasant few gulps of animal-scented air. Max cracked his eyes open a peek- and immediately shut them again. Too high. He was way, way too high up. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest, and the wind burned his face and the tips of his ears.

Hold on.

“My hat,” he wheezed reaching one hand up to grope the top of his head. “My hat’s gone!”

“Soon that will be of no matter.”

Max screamed- even he was getting fed up with his own screams at this point, but instinct didn’t seem to be on the same page.

“Quiet,” the rumbling voice said, and the spirit turned to look at Max. “Your sounds irritate me.”

The spirit that held Max on its back was by far the biggest deer of any Max had ever seen. It was shaggy and majestic, even as its fur was electric yellow, and its huge rack of knife-like antlers shivered as if they were made of candle flame. Its many eyes blinked, and it beared serrated teeth- a stark contrast to the many silver bells that seemed a part of its pelt. Max looked away, avoiding its cruel gaze, to see three pairs of legs, hooves thundering over empty air. And below him, seven more enormous shapes were blazing their way towards the distant forest clearing, led by an eerie red light. “Oh no, oooooh no, no no no no no no…”

“But yes, child. At last you have been retrieved, and soon your friends will be as well. Then, you can all face your punishment.” The spirit laughed cruelly. “I am Dasher, and I was simply the herald.”

“So you’re just, you’re just Dasher? Like from the poem? One of those things down there is…” Jeez, this was surreal. “...Donner? And, Vixen?”

“Many tremble in fear before those names. It would do you right to show some respect.”

“What? No, nobody does! You guys are like, goofy little stop motion dolls, man, how’d you guys end up looking like this?”

“Our powers are untold by your human poems-”

“Aren’t you guys based on the poems?!”

Dasher snorted and tossed his head in anger. “That is an egregious oversimplification-”

“I thought your name was Dasher, not Dictionary.”

The spirit cried out in frustration, and Max felt something in him settle a bit better. Poking things with words, he could do that. Just don’t look down. “So, uh,” he began, shifting a bit so it was less like he was thrown over Dasher and more like he was riding him, “why am I not in a sack yet?”

“Our pilot is attending to his annual business in Mayview,” Dasher growled. “It is we who have the ability to fight and fly- so it is we who collect naughty children. Once your compatriots have been obtained, then we may return to our stations.”

“Wow,” Max drawled. “I can’t believe Santa needs his reindeer to deal with three preteens.”

“You do have a teenager within your ranks. That does provide some extra challenge.”

“Whoa, wait, really?”

“Yes. He cannot fully be counted as a child by our pilot any longer- he has aged enough to become a teenager. It is not he that we seek.”

“Wow, that’s weirdly arbitrary and nitpicky.” Max was so going to tease Isaac about this later. If he didn’t, well, get thrown into a sack and… baked into a pie? Eaten alive? Thrown into a dungeon? Whatever. Try to be positive.

“If you take issue, you may air your complaints to our pilot.”

“Taking it straight to the manager, alright.” Max stared at his hands, balled in bright yellow fur, and took a deep breath as he relaxed them. He wasn’t going to fall, he was certain Dasher wouldn’t allow him, channel a Karen- and he released the fur, balancing on the spirit’s back with only his legs. Before he could lose his nerve, he swung his backpack off his shoulder and grabbed his bat. Okay, weapon acquired. Just… what to do with it.

Dasher huffed. “Puny weapon. Even with the power of an enslaved spirit, you cannot defeat me. Especially not with a spirit as weak as that one.”

“Ugh, not you too,” Max grumbled. At least this thing wasn’t getting aggressive. “I’m kinda tired of being called the weak one, it’s getting old.”

“It would have been better, then, if you had kept your power to yourself, and not bothered the true denizens of this world, as the other child does.”

“Other child-? You know what, I don’t know what you’re talking about and I do not care. Now let me think.” Max re-gripped Dasher tightly, this time grabbing the reigns, and looked around. Man, of course Max got magnet powers in the place where there’s no tall buildings anywhere- it would be great if they could pass by a skyscraper or two for Max to attach himself to. But alas… then, his eyes caught a gleam, a dark silhouette against the colorful lights of Mayview.

A transmission tower in the woods. And they were heading right for it. Max shrugged his backpack back on to his shoulder and gripped his bat as tight as he could.

“Thinking will get you nowhere, child.”

“Yeah, but it’ll keep me quiet,” Max mumbled.

“True,” Dasher said. And started to turn back towards the clearing.

“No!” Max yelped, holding his bat out desperately- he knew the tower was too distant still, but he put all his will into the bat, trying to extend its power as far as he can-

Dasher lurched beneath him with a confused cry, the bells jangled, and Max’s focus was broken with a shout. Immediately, Dasher steadied beneath him.

“Child, if you do that again I will throw you off into the ground-”

“What- I don’t even know what I did-” Max’s breath caught as he realized what happened. The bells. They were metal, and he had what was definitely a terrible idea. But it was his only idea.

Quickly, before Dasher could retaliate, Max activated his bat. Dasher howled with rage as all the bells in his body strained in the direction of the magnetic center, and Max laughed with panic.

“RELEASE ME AT ONCE-”

“No,” Max said, filled with thrill and panic, and directed Dasher back towards the clearing. The spirit barrelled towards it at supernatural speeds, a furious scream echoing through the night as he crashed into the snow like a comet. Max tumbled off of the spirit’s back, and the bat’s angle changed wildly, forcing Dasher in mad circles.

The other seven deer spirits, crowded in the woods, were as thrown into chaos as Isabel, Ed, and Isaac were, but Ed recovered fastest. “Max!” He crowed, head popping out of the snow. “You’re alive!”

“Somehow!” Max laughed, voice squeaky with panic. “For now!” In the corner of his eye, he noticed another spirit- a large one that was on fucking fire, so must be either Comet or Blitzen- and quickly swung his bat around to point at it. Dasher was forced to charge full speed into the other spirit, which dissolved into a wisp with a cry of shock.

Isabel whooped. “I can’t believe it! Magnet powers are good for something!”

“Serves you right!” He felt about to shake apart, and still dizzy from the crash, but spinning Dasher around like a top was easy enough- and the other jingling spirits were drawn in too. It was a glorious explosion of color, sound, and christmas spirits as one by one they melted each other away into whisps. Finally, only Dasher stood in the snow, puffing furious, cloudy breaths into the air.

“You will pay,” Dasher hissed. “Naughty children. You will not escape your punishment, this I swear to you.”

“Whatever you say, bub,” Ed chirped, and raised his scythe above his head.

“Wait!”

Max and the others turned back to look just in time to watch an arrow streak through the night and imbed itself in Dasher’s forehead. “No, no,” he groaned, watching Isabel’s face light up with glee.

Agent Day and Mr. Spender ran into the clearing, both panting and exhausted. “Thank goodness we found you,” Agent Day breathed, hands on her knees. “We were so worried that you were taken…”

“But I saw Dasher fall from the sky!” Spender’s chest heaved, and he swayed with effort, but he somehow managed to stay upright. “I’m so glad you’re all alright, even Dasher alone is quite the challenge to combat…”

“Nah, we got all of them.” Isabel grinned and punched her palm. “Max was able to yank ‘em around by the bells with his bat, and he got em all to poof each other. It was really easy to hit ‘em when they were all clumped up, too.”

“You- you really beat them all? Where are their tools?!”

“Right here, Mr. Spender!” Isaac called, arms full of a few rocks and sticks. “They’re, uh, not much to look at, but…”

“Amazing! Wonderful job, all of you- these will be great for the club’s stores!”

“But you shouldn’t have snuck out. We were so worried about you, and you’re glad we found you! Your grandfather is worried sick!” Agent Day wrung her hands together, cane stuck in the snow.

“Yes, he’s… not happy,” Spender admitted. “But, surely he’ll be proud when he finds out what you’ve accomplished?”

“Probably not,” Isabel sighed, sticking her hands in her pockets.

“...probably not.” Spender came over to put a hand on her shoulder. “But, for what it’s worth, I am.” Isabel looked up at him, then threw her arms around him. Spender smiled softly and hugged her in return.

“This is great,” Max groaned. “But I’m being crushed by a flippin’ reindeer, so can I get some help?”

Oblivious to Max’s irritation, Dasher continued licking Max’s hair life the reindeer he resembled. “You’re not so bad, I suppose. Resourceful child.”

“It always happens to me.”

“The arrow will at least last the night,” Agent Day said thoughtfully. “It should be safe for you to go home, in that case- you too, I think, Isaac! Since all the others are gone, after all… Maybe Dasher can take you home!”

“Nooooo!”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Ms. Day,” Spender said. “You could perhaps take Isaac and Ed back to the dojo, and I can take Isaac back to his home…?”

“Yes sir!” Day smiled. “Merry Christmas, Max, Isaac,” she said. “I hope you get back undetected.”

“Thank you, Ms. Day,” Isaac said. “You too.”

“You guys suck,” Max grumbled.

----

It took a bit for Max to wrangle Dasher into taking him home, but under Day’s spell, the spirit was a fairly easygoing ride. As Max climbed back in through his window to his undisturbed bed, he heard the spirit settle on the roof to keep watch for the sunrise. And, taking comfort in not being discovered and in the knowledge that next year, when he’s a teen, he won’t have to worry about any of this, Max changed back into his pajamas, settled into bed, and slipped into a deep sleep.

#jakalwrites #paranatural #pnatsecretsanta #pnat #paranatural secret santa 2020

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iamwhelmed · 7 years

Text

For Whom the Bell Tolls: Chapter 2

That’s right! I’m planning to update this every other day! and you can punch me square in the face if that doesn’t work out! Break my nose!

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net!

Summary: When monsters start to invade Mayview, the morality of the connection between a medium and their spirit comes into question. Is killing a spirit any different from taking the life of another human? Relationships between club members become strained, and if Max thought the club was coming apart before, it certainly is now.

Ed was going on about something, had been for the last fifteen minutes. Usually she would have been freaking out about his fight with him, maybe exaggerating his finesse a little to boost his ego, but tonight-- Isabel tightened her grip on her bag. Ed wasn’t her concern; the looming threat of the monsters were. She gazed down at her shirt, which she was sure was covered in dried ectoplasmic mixture. It wasn’t blood. She wasn’t going to let herself think that. Because then Spender had killed somebody, not a spirit, not a ghost--

“And it never saw me coming when I…” Ed trailed off beside her.

--somebody like them, a human, and there was no telling what path thoughts like that would lead her down. “Cool, Ed.”

“Yeah…”

Master Hashimoto looked the same as Spender remembered him. His beard still hung to his chest, grey like the warmest sweater, eyes deep and dark with knowledge Spender had never truly felt he’d inherited, even as well-read as he was. Hashimoto didn’t teach the way Guerra did-- when you failed, he always seemed to know why, but never would he tell you he knew, or what he thought the problem to be. He gave riddles, thoughts, and though learning from him had been mind-bogglingly irritating, it was also greatly satisfying, if Spender was remembering correctly.

Guerra raised a hand and stroked his beard. “BL must already know, right?”

“No,” Hashimoto caressed his beard just as Guerra did, who glanced at Hashimoto and scoffed to himself, letting his hand fall from his chin. “And we would be right not to tell her.”

“What? But, Master, that’s-!”

“We have no way of knowing how she may react.” Spender fell silent and Hashimoto nodded to the students in the yard, blasting spectral shots at each other. Usually Guerra would be out there with them, grunting to himself and yelling obscenities at the older students, but Hashimoto insisted they have the conversation inside. Now, Spender assumed it was to get away from eavesdropping ears. “BL is an unpredictable woman. Should she choose to go to war, I fear for my younger students.”

“Perhaps you fear for yours,” Guerra muttered, and Spender could see the growing grin, smug and malicious. “But my students are more than ready for war.”

“Including your granddaughter?”

Guerra fell silent again, eyes falling to the yard as though he hadn’t heard Hashimoto. Spender frowned and turned to the second floor, eyeing the doors he knew lead to Ed’s room, black paint coating the outside as a small child would use stickers, and the door to Isabel’s room, the more humble of the two. There was a small wooden plaque resting a few inches above the handle, reading “Isabel’s Room” in bolded, rounded font, a lighter red than her aura from years of hanging in the same spot.

“If the monsters have escaped, it’s because an agent set them free. It is her peers under suspicion.”

“BL does not have peers, Guerra, she goes unchecked, which is why we must keep this to ourselves.”

Spender sighed. “I suppose… but if she finds out-?”

“You will leave it to me.”

Guerra laughed and cocked an eyebrow in Hashimoto’s direction. “You think she will let you take all of the responsibility? When she is done with you, she will come for us, as well.”

Hashimoto’s dark eyes narrowed. “I said she is unchecked, not merciless.”

“Enough.” Guerra raised both hands before crossing them under the sleeves of his robe once more. “What did you originally wish to speak with me about? I know it disgusts you to step into my dojo. What is it you want?”

Hashimoto raised an eyebrow, and Spender thought that perhaps he hadn’t been done discussing the monster situation, but he nodded and smiled and said: “Your school is overflowing, Master Guerra. I would like to take a student off your hands.”

“You want an impressive one. You called for a negotiation.”

Spender scrunched his nose and stuck his hands in his pockets, balling them into fists; that was why he had to be there. Hashimoto wasn’t just asking Guerra, he was asking--

Hashimoto stood straight. “Isabel.”

Guerra glanced at Spender from the side. “My granddaughter stays here.” Spender frowned and shook his head from side to side. I swear I didn’t know that’s what he wanted. Still, he was thankful Hashimoto had asked for Isabel. Any other student Guerra may have been willing to part with…

“But I do have another idea…”

Spender froze.

“I just-- I don’t understand!” He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t going to cry. Isaac repeated the mantra in his head because, and he was sure of it, he was walking on the very thin line between sanity and losing himself in grief. “I was-- I was covered in blood! I was looking for help, for-- for something! And they all just turned away!” His hands wrapped around an old, dusty vase, and he could feel the dirt inching underneath his nails, sticking to his hand and coloring his palm black as he was feeling, black as the future he saw for himself, black as a home with no lights on--!

He tossed it across the room.

He wanted to see it shatter, wanted to see it hit the wall and break into thousands of pieces, fall to the floor like snow and sound like bells. Doorman caught it in one hand. “Young Master Isaac, perhaps it would be for the best you” he paused and set the vase to the side, on a table so covered with grime that what might have been wood once then looked like mud. “... you put some distance between yourself and the others for a while.”

Isaac blinked and took those words and juggled them around in his mind. The thought had occurred to him, so why…?

He scoffed and turned to the side, crossing his arms. “What? And be even more alone?”

“You must think, Young Master Isaac, what makes you feel more alone-- being alone, or being alone in a full room?”

Isaac faltered. Maybe…

Home versus School. Being alone versus feeling alone. The difference had always been there, he’d just never wanted to think about it. He always thought he’d look pathetic without the club, but he must have looked equally as pathetic clinging desperately to people he hated just to keep appearances-- just to pretend that he belonged somewhere. What self respecting kid would stick around where he wasn’t wanted?

“I’ll think about it.”

Wednesday

He’d lost track of how many days it had been since Isabel had walked to school with him. She’d intentionally started taking longer in the mornings, at least it sure seemed like it. At the beginning he always ask when she’d be ready to go, and time after time she’d wave him off and tell him to go without her.

Eventually Ed stopped asking.

There had to be a way to get her to talk to him again. They’d been friends since they’d learned to talk-- they couldn’t end over one small mistake, right? Their friendship meant something, maybe everything! It was supposed to transcend time itself, follow them to the afterlife! Carry them through the entirety of their lives, never faltering!

He had to become a man, he knew that, so he’d started talking himself up to her.

“Hey, Izzy, did you see that move earlier?”

“Hey, Izzy! That was pretty cool, wasn’t it?”

She’d been significantly less enthusiastic every time, if she acknowledged him at all. So he tried to protect her in battle, help her, but more often than not that only upset her more.

“Ed, get out of my way!”

“Ed, what are you doing?”

At this point he was starting to think she hated him, or was well on the way there. He just wanted things to go back to normal! She had to forgive him eventually, right?

Ed sighed and inched the door to the clubroom open. He was the first one in, per the “new” usual, aside from Spender. He’d walk in, wave, and Spender would wave back, and then they’d both sit there in silence for twenty minutes while they waited for the rest of the club to show up. The order in which that would happen was up in the air; sometimes Isabel and Max would walk in, and Isaac would walk in a good twelve minutes after, and other times Max and Isaac would come in with Isabel lagging behind by five minutes. Then on the rare occasion, like yesterday, all three would come in at the same time.

“Ed, please sit down.”

It seemed the routine was thrown off.

Ed raised an eyebrow and took a seat on one couch, sitting squarely in the middle. Spender stood at his desk, one hand raised to massage the bridge of his nose, glasses falling up and down as he did so. Ed tilted his head. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on I’m gonna tear these couches apart and eat them right in front of you.”

Spender huffed and finally met Ed’s eye, brows furrowing under unruly bangs. “I tried to stop this, but Master Guerra wasn’t listening…”

“I can already taste the cotton.”

“Ed,” Spender straightened up, but Ed could see his hands clenching the edges of the desk, as though he was debating breaking the white wood. “An old master of mine, Master Hashimoto, wants to take over as your Master.”

#Paranatural #Isabel Guerra #Richard Spender #Edward Burger #Isaac O'Connor #Master Guerra #Master Hashimoto #FWTBT #The Monster Trilogy

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