Ghost!Phil and Poet of Death!Wilbur role swap please. ...Oh wait I have the ability to write. Hehehe >:)
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content warning: same kind of memory loss as ghostbur, guilt. (please tell me if there's anything else I should add)
He looked at the washed-out figure that had once been his son, floating obliviously around a patch of multicolored flowers. His tattered wings fluttered weakly against his back, making Wilbur turn away with a flinch.
He'd done that.
"Hey! Hey dad!"
"Hmm?" He turned back around, pasting one of his signature lazy smirks onto his face. Phil was always good at seeing through those, even if no one else ever could, now though...
"Look! They make a smiley face!" Ghost Phil grinned at him excitedly, not seeming to notice the lack of genuinity.
His little angel really wasn't there anymore, was he?
Clint's head jerked up from where he had been bent over his sketchpad. He hastily pulled the headphones off his ears and looked to his left to see a man sitting on the short wall next to him watching him sketch. "Uh, I'm sorry?" he tried.
The man smiled. It was a nice smile, Clint noted absently. "I was asking if you believe in ghosts," he repeated.
"Not so much," Clint told him with a easy grin. "I have a hard enough time believing in what's in front of me sometimes."
The man hummed and looked like he was giving Clint's off-the-cuff answer serious thought.
"What about you?" Clint asked quickly. It didn't seem like the man was going to be leaving soon, and if Clint were being honest, he didn't mind the company. It seemed like this end of campus got pretty dead after nine o'clock and he could use the break from sketching.
"I've found that at a certain point, believing becomes unavoidable," the man told him slowly, as if picking his words carefully.
Clint scoffed playfully and adjusted the shading on his rendition of the abstract sculpture in the middle of the art building's atrium. "Seen a lot of ghosts, then?" he asked, sliding his gaze back over to the man.
He couldn't really help it. The man sitting by him was plain, almost the dictionary definition of "unassuming," but there was something about him that Clint liked. Maybe it was the confident, quiet way he held himself, his kind blue eyes, or the well-fitted - if slightly old-fashioned - suit he was wearing. Or maybe it was just the way his lightly lined face and receding hairline played into Clint's predilection for handsome older men.
The smile that played around the man's lips twisted wryly. "Something like that, yes," he said.
"So," Clint drawled, waggling his eyebrows outrageously. "Come here often?" If he asked as ridiculously as possible, he could brush it off as a joke if need be.
From the smirk that tugged at the corners of the man's mouth, Clint didn't think he'd have to downplay the question. "Would you believe me," he asked, "if I told you I didn't get out much and that this was the only place I'd been in a very long time?"
For a moment, Clint wasn't sure if he was serious or not, but the upturned corner of the man's mouth was enough to convince him that it had just been very, very dry humor.
Clint snorted and the other man seemed pleased that he had recognized it as a joke.
"I'm Clint," Clint said, twisting in his seat so he could offer the man his right hand and a dazzling smile. "Clint Barton. Do you want to get a drink with me?" What the hell, might as well, right?
"Phil Coulson," the man said politely, making no move to take Clint's hand. "And I'm afraid I can't, as much as I would like to. Unfortunately, incorporeality does have its drawbacks." He sounded honest-to-god regretful about it.
Well that had stung a bit more than anticipated. Clint drew back quickly and used his outstretched hand to rub the back of his neck. "Ouch," he half-joked. "That's a new one." He glanced over at the sculpture in the center of the atrium again and tried to focus on the lines he'd been sketching.
"Excuse me?" The man - Phil - sounded baffled, but Clint didn't look over to see if his expression matched his tone.
"It's just that usually when a guy doesn't want to go out with me, he just says no." The curve at the top was actually a little rounder than he'd drawn in his sketchbook, Clint noted absently. "He doesn't pretend he's a ghost."
Phil didn't say anything for a moment, so Clint brought his pencil back up with his left hand to gently correct the shape. He'd barely started, though, when a movement caught the corner of his eye. Phil had leaned in and placed one hand gently on Clint's elbow.
Normally, that wouldn't be cause for alarm. However, normally, Clint would have sensed someone leaning into his personal space. And normally, he'd be able to feel where Phil's hand rested on his arm.
Clint stared at the place where his eyes were telling him Phil Coulson was touching him and his arm was telling him Phil damn well was not. His lifted his right hand hesitantly and placed it over Phil's fingers. If Phil were a tangible, physical person, Clint would be clutching at his hand like an Austen heroine. As it was, his fingers hovered over space his eyes were insisting shouldn't be empty before he laid his fingers flat on his own arm.
Immediately, a cold tingle rushed through his hand, instantly putting it to sleep, pins and needles and all.
Clint swore and pulled his hand back abruptly. Phil flinched away as well. Clint shook his hand a few times and swore again as the pins and needles played havoc with his pain perception. "Sorry," he managed, flexing his hand twice to try and dispel the sharp tingling.
"No need to apologize," Phil said. "It's hardly the first time."
He sounded sad. Clint looked over at him to find Phil inspecting his own hand. There was a slump to his shoulders that he could have sworn hadn't been there a few minutes earlier.
"Hey," Clint said softly, his own fading pain forgotten. If Phil had been physical, Clint would have bumped shoulders with him. (Then again, if Phil had been physical, Clint wouldn't have needed to.) "You okay?"
Phil straightened up. "Of course." He straightened his cuffs, carefully not looking in Clint's direction.
Clint had just opened his mouth to say something reassuring (what, he had no idea), when his phone buzzed. Since there were only a few people who might have been texting him this late at night, he pulled his phone out and glanced at it. It was an SOS from Nat.
Before he could have a heart attack (and, boy, wasn't that joke less funny with apparently an honest-to-god ghost sitting right next to him), a second text came through. Apparently she and Bucky had just entered one of the "off" phases of their on-and-off relationship and his presence was required.
Clint sighed and muttered, "Great timing there, Nat." He shot her a quick acknowledgement and looked back over at Phil, who seemed to be attempting to memorize the abstract sculpture if the intensity of his gaze was any indication. His shoulders were stiff.
"Sorry," Clint apologized, closing his notebook and starting to put his drawing supplies back in his backpack. "My best friend just broke up with her boyfriend again and could use some help practicing her knife throwing."
Now Phil just looked concerned. "Are you sure that's the safest..." He trailed off.
Clint didn't notice; he was half-bent-over, trying to squeeze the sketchpad into his backpack. "Nah, it's fine. I was in the circus and I think she was a Russian assassin in a previous life, so we've got it covered." He straightened up and stood, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. "Anyway, I should really be heading out." He hesitated. "Will I see you again?"
Phil was staring at the backpack slug over one shoulder. "You're a student?" he asked faintly.
"Uh, yeah," Clint frowned. "Just started a couple weeks ago." Phil's expression was becoming increasingly dismayed. Clint hitched his bag higher and tried not to let it get to him.
"I usually only talk to the professors," Phil explained. "I thought you were older. An artist-in-residence at the very least." He looked distressed.
Clint had the sinking feeling that now Phil wouldn't want to get a drink with him even if he were physically capable of it. "It's cool," he lied. "I know I'm a bit older than the typical freshman. It was the circus," he added, desperate to explain. "They weren't big on traditional schooling and I had to take some extra time to get caught up." Clint focused on the floor of the atrium and hoped his face wasn't as warm as it felt. Did he really try to reassure the handsome ghost haunting the art building that he wasn't too young to hang out with because he'd been too stupid to get into college at 18?
"Clint."
Clint glanced up again and Phil looked uncomfortable. Before he could say anything, the phone in his hand buzzed again.
"I've got to go," Clint said. "Apparently Nat needs Rocky Road to go with her target practice." He tried to give Phil a smile, but he was pretty sure it came out sad and wonky. "Anyway," he added unnecessarily.
Phil didn't say anything, so Clint took that as his cue to go.
"Clint," Phil said again.
Clint turned back to see him standing next to the low wall where the pair had been sitting. He looked decisive. "Yeah?"
"I can't get a drink with you," the ghost of Phil Coulson told him. "But I would enjoy talking to you again, if that's something you would like." He held Clint's gaze steadily, but Clint could have sworn he saw a hint of a blush on the top of his cheeks.
Clint gave Phil another smile, this one wider and more sincere. "I'd like that."
They looked at each other across the atrium for a moment before Clint threw a hand in the air in a jaunty wave and turned to go. "See you around, Phil," he called.
He didn't look back, but Clint could have sworn he heard an affectionate sigh behind him.
rip that title tho lmao anyway have some supernatural themed fics i wrote ig (most of them are like.....older tho.....) but! everything has happy endings bc i can’t write unhappy endings that’s just who i am
short stuff
The Origin (x) 5k - the origin story of how dan came up with his tabinof fic ‘the urge’ (tw blood) - vampire!phil, smut, established relationship
angel boy (x) 22k - the one where angel!dan goes into a demon club looking for a bit of entertainment - angel!dan, demon!phil, smut, it’s my sad attempt at pwp that turned into like. wanting to give it a plot lmao
Life and Death (x) 11k - the one where dan is death, phil is life, and phil starts following dan around (tw mentions of death but not mcd unless dan being death counts lmao) - life!phil, death!dan, getting together, fluff
dark purple sky (darkness comes out to play) (x) 4.3k - the one where dan gets a blowjob from a complete stranger in the middle of the forest on halloween - pwp, fae!phil, smut
chaptered
The Doorknob (x) 36k - dan moves to a london flat after dropping out of uni. some strange things start happening - ghost!phil, fluff, smut, angst, getting together
Like Space (x) 15k - a cute boy shows up at phil’s shop (tw self-harm) - witch!phil, psychic!phil, fluff, getting together
Demons and Diners (x) 65k - a broke dan, on the run from his previous life, finds temporary shelter in an abandoned diner...for the night? (tw mentions of depression-like symptoms) - demon!phil, getting together & established relationship, fluff, angst
Exile (completed!) (x) 172k - exile's a fucking bitch. dan finds himself kicked out of town and searching for literally anywhere out of the rain - somehow, he must have just enough luck, as he stumbles upon a seemingly abandoned house in the middle of the forest. except it isn't abandoned, and the resident isn't exactly...normal... - witch au, getting together, slow burn, fluff, smut, lil bit of angst, it’s just a wild ride honestly
Since it’s the spoopy season, I’m feelin the spoopy themes - would y’all rather see Vampire!Phil, Psychic!Phil, or Demon!Phil? (Don’t worry, I’m not abandoning The Doorknob and Ghost!Phil)
There’s a strong possibility I’ll be writing all of these, but I want the opinion of the people!
Dan moves into a new apartment in London and, though it’s a step up from his old apartment, his landlord gives him strange warnings while he’s touring the place-- something about the last renters leaving because of ghost sightings. But, Dan doesn’t believe in the supernatural. He quickly changes his tune when he meets Phil Lester, the ghost haunting his apartment. Well, if haunting means quickly becoming the best friend he’s ever had.
Summary:‘You’ll drown their roots, watering them that much,’ Phil says.
Given the circumstances, it’s not terribly surprising that Clint drops the coffee mug he’s been using to water the houseplants and jumps a foot backwards in sheer astonishment.
Excerpt : “Clint knows he could get through it. He’s well enough versed in loss to know it really is all about living one day at a time. He could cry for a year and then move on with his life, maybe quit SHIELD, maybe not, paste on a smile, meet someone new. He could kick the grieving process’s ass and make his shrink proud. It would be hard, painful work, and the prize at the end is inner peace and maybe a strange new kind of happiness.
Click the link right here to go read it on my wattpad, I post all of my phanfics there! Story Description: Ever since he was a young boy, Dan Howell has always had imaginary friends that he talked to as a method of coping with anxiety and depression. He never saw them, he would just name them and pretend his own thoughts were another person he could talk to. Now, he is 19 years old and has just began Uni at the University of Manchester, where he goes as a new law student. Since he is older now, he hasn't talked to any "imaginary friends" in years, but when extreme stress, and an existential crisis suddenly hits, he begins talking to a new imaginary friend, Phil, who might not be everything he appears to be.
