#How would you keep them out if they’re part ghost and can probably phase through matter?

[driftingballoons]

it’s tough when you run out of charge :(

But thank goodness for friends who’ve got your back!

[five-rivers]

Ancestral Chapter 29

For Dannymay Day 7: Blood Blossoms

So, the first stumbling block was that no one had made dinner.  Of course no one had made dinner.  The fight had sent everyone to their own private corners, and, as far as Danny knew, only the younger generation had come out - and that was for the purpose of plotting.  Not cooking.  

It wasn’t that surprising, honestly.  Although everyone here could cook, most of the family wasn’t all that used to doing their own cooking.  They were royalty, or at least nobility.  Kyr Argyn had a dedicated team of chefs (all of whom were under heavy suspicion, regarding the deaths).  When the stress had reached its tipping point and the fight had happened, no one had really thought about what they should do for dinner.

The lack of surprise didn’t make the situation any more convenient.  

Maddie, after scowling at the cabinets for a while, instead called down to the security team, for them to order food.  “I know it will take longer,” she said, “but if I had to cook for them, I’d lose my temper before we even started.”

Danny thought that was probably an accurate assessment, since she was losing her temper now, but it did leave him and Jazz sitting in the kitchen with their parents instead of making plans to keep the family alive.  

“So,” said Jazz, “you mentioned a compromise?  Do we get to hear it now, or do we have to wait for everyone else?”

“Well,” said Jack, “your mother and I talked about it, and we want to have very firm boundaries and expectations.  These things that your cousins want you to do are very dangerous.”

“More dangerous than living in Amity Park and fighting ghosts?” asked Jazz, dryly.  “Because that’s what you want us to do.”

“That’s different,” said Maddie.  

“How?” demanded Jazz.  

“Because we can protect you.  Because we aren’t lying to you about what the dangerous part is!”  She took a breath.  “Jazz, I know you’re frustrated, but you’re not pulling me into another fight.”

“I wasn’t trying to, I just want to know what you’re thinking.  We have time.”

“We don’t want you two near the trials,” said Maddie.  “They’re dangerous.  Even if we weren’t dealing with ghosts, they’d be dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jazz.  She sounded surprised.  So was Danny.  He hadn’t thought his parents would even acknowledge that humans could be responsible for their current troubles.

Maddie frowned, then sighed, closing her eyes, visibly trying to calm herself.  “When there isn’t anyone eligible for the throne because no one has taken the trials, the whole family, all the direct descendants of the previous ruler, are gathered to take the trials.”

“Carrying with them the nine Great Gate Keys,” murmured Gwensyvyr in Danny’s ear.  “That there is only one remaining to us will likely prove troublesome.”

He nodded, slightly, to let her know he’d heard.  

“Traditionally, we’d also sit a vigil, to prepare.”  Maddie shook her head.  “It’s one thing to be gathered up here, where we have layers and layers of security, and Jack and I have set up anti-ghost countermeasures.”

Danny glanced at Gwensyvyr, who shrugged, then, frowning slightly, phased through the wall.  To Danny’s surprise, Vivian took her place floating at Danny’s elbow.  

“It’s something else to stand around in front of the public and the Assembly for hours,” continued Maddie.  “The last time we did that, Danny was poisoned.”

She was right.  But the problem wasn’t before the trials, it was after.  If Danny was Revyvtech, he’d set it up so that everyone would get gassed with blood blossoms as soon as possible, especially now that they were on to them.  Revyvtech had to know that, with the security team at Aunt Alicia’s hospital and their attempts to get into the Revyvtech computer system here. 

Actually, considering that they had access to ghosts, Danny was a little surprised Revyvtech hadn't tried a bigger attack.  It wasn't like ritual knives were standard for security, and the Avlynyse ghosts, while numerous, weren’t very strong.  There had been the ghost coming through the phone, and the thing at the Moon Masque, but those were individuals… maybe even the same individual, not a concentrated force.  

“And whatever killed–”  Maddie’s voice caught.  “Whatever ghostly ability killed everyone, we don’t have any direct countermeasures for it.  For that matter, without Specter Deflectors, anyone on the security team could be overshadowed and just shoot us.”

That… was also true.  Sort of.  Any ghost trying that would have to sneak by the literal army of ghosts that surrounded the family at any given time, but Maddie didn’t know that.

“Aunt Alicia stayed away and they still targeted her,” said Jazz.  

“That was before we knew anything was happening,” said Maddie.  “Now that we do, there are measures we can take to keep you safe.”

“You can do that without banning us from participating.”

Maddie shook her head.  “Not as much.  Not nearly as much.”

“So… you want us to not participate, and… then what?” asked Jazz, folding her arms.  Danny saw the door, slightly ajar, move like there was someone behind it.  

“We want more than that!” said Jack.  “We want the security teams properly protected, too!  We want everyone protected, but, er, I know that there are rules to this thing, about what you can wear.”

“Okay, but you know that in a compromise you’ve got to give the other side something, too, right?” asked Jazz, pointedly.

“We shouldn’t have to,” said Maddie.  “You’re our children.”  She inhaled deeply and repositioned herself on her chair.  “If you’re kept out of it, I’ll go and participate properly, and I won’t file legal actions to keep you out of it.  I might not win, but I could certainly delay enough that they’d have to hold another Moon Masque, and the country can’t be kept shut for that long.  Then, once flights are running normally again, we’ll leave.  Permanently.  And never have anything to do with any of them ever again.  Unless Matthew is willing to turn this country into a dictatorship, he can’t stop us.”

“I have no intention of becoming a dictator,” said Matthew, opening the kitchen door.  “That would be far too much work, and unhealthy, too.”

Gwensyvyr floated in beside him.  “I thought it would be better to take care of this quickly,” she said to Danny.  “So that we can make plans for whatever the result is.”

“How much did you hear?” asked Maddie, scowling

“Enough, I think,” said Matthew.  He was wearing pajamas, and there was a smear of toothpaste on his front, as if he’d been startled while brushing his teeth.  “Your summary, there at the end.  Was there anything else I should know about?”

“I don’t want Danny dragged out in front of a crowd because you’re trying to keep up the ridiculous syvyr act,” said Maddie.  “I want Danny and Jazz to have a chance at a life outside of the spotlight.”

“I see,” said Matthew.

“Well, then?” demanded Maddie, expectantly.  

Matthew sighed.  “I think I can convince security to use some of your Specter Deflectors, on a limited basis.  For Danny and Jazz…”  He looked at them, apologetically.  “Honestly, I’d like for Iris and George to be out of it, too, and Leo, for that matter, but I can’t change the rules, Maddie.  I don’t have the power to do that.  Maybe we can set up a separate, secure place for them to spend the vigil, and stagger the entry, but it’s not my decision.  The regent doesn’t get to arrange the entry conditions for the trials, for obvious reasons.”

“Don’t pretend that any of this is logical, Matthew,” said Maddie, coldly.  “Or that you don’t have any recourse.”

“I won’t,” said Matthew, raising his hands defensively.  “I don’t want to fight with you.  I don’t want you to leave and never come back again.  I’d love it if we could all go down to the sacred pool together, so you can make peace with the ancestors, but I know that won’t happen.  I’ll talk to the Trial Heralds–  They won’t like it, I’m not supposed to interfere with their arrangements for the trials at all, now that the date is set, but I’ll do it.  I’ll even ask them to set up a safe room where you can wait, near the entrance.  But all I can do is ask, and they’ll probably have conditions of their own.  Do you understand?”

“I don’t!” said Jack.  “I get that you’re not king yet, but you’re still the regent, aren’t you?  You’re still in charge.”

“Historically,” said Matthew, running a frustrated hand through his hair, “Avlynys doesn’t like regents.  There have always been problems when someone who hasn’t done the trials is in charge.  There are vast limitations to what I can do.  I am very explicitly barred from making any changes to the rules of succession.  I can’t propose laws.  I can’t remove someone from an appointed position, or make an appointment without Assembly approval.  I can’t change throne policies.  Madlyn–”

Maddie’s phone buzzed.  She looked at it.  “They’re bringing up the food,” she said.  “I should–”

“Maddie, please,” said Matthew, also standing.  “Do you understand?  We’ve just lost–”  His voice caught.  “We’ve lost so many people.  I don’t want to lose you, too, even if it’s only to a fight.”

Everyone in the room held their breath.  Even the ghosts.  Danny could feel Vivian’s fingers through his shirt, where she had latched onto his shoulder.  

Maddie nodded.  “I’ll get the food,” she said.  “The rest of you, you’ll fetch everyone?”

“Right-o, Maddie!  Come on, kids.”

Danny and Jazz got up.  So did Matthew.  “I’ll get Irene,” he said, quietly.  

As they knocked on doors, explaining that there was food, Vivian said, quietly, “They aren’t completely wrong…  Your parents, I mean.”

Danny made a face, but gave her a small nod.  His parents were wrong about a lot, but they were also right about a lot.  That wasn’t going to stop him from helping, but…  

But they really needed to solve the ‘aerosolized blood blossom’ problem.  Before it killed all of them.  Danny just… didn’t know how to do that.  Danny didn’t even know if he’d be able to go to the sacred pool, if there were a bunch of blood blossoms growing around it, or whatever it was keeping the ghosts from going there.  

“It’s worse than they think, though,” continued Vivian.

“What do you mean?” mumbled Danny, glancing at Jack, knocking on Joanna’s door, down the hall.

“Usually,” said Vivian, also looking at Jack, “there are nine ways down.  Nine ways into deep Andyr.  But the other Great Gate Keys are missing.  If there’s only one…”

“It’s another bottleneck,” said Danny.  “Both ways.”

Jack almost ran into Matthew, who must have looped around one of the back staircases to come up into this one.  Danny bit his lip.  There were other ways in and out of Andyr, too, especially if Revyvtech’s factory really did go into the tunnels, but trying to go out that way wouldn’t be safe, either.

Not for the first time, Danny deeply regretted not being able to make portals like Wulf.  He stopped in the middle of the hallway.  

“I might be stupid,” he said, under his breath.  He didn’t need to make a portal.  The sacred pool was a portal.

Of course, if Revyvtech controlled one side of the portal, they probably controlled both, but blood blossoms didn’t work the same way in the Ghost Zone.  There was too much ambient ectoplasm.  It made them weird.  Like plants drowning in too much water.  

It… wasn’t a perfect solution.  After that, the problem was getting out of the Ghost Zone, but if blood blossoms were a problem right there, at the pool, then it’d keep everyone from dying long enough to figure something out.  

He took a deep breath, then let it out.  Okay, he’d explain that, later, and check with Gwensyvyr to make sure the sacred pool could be used like that in the first place.  

For now, it was time for dinner.  

Maddie was setting out flatbread, marinated fish, cold salad, and avlpayst - international chains aside, Avlynys fast food was substantially different from its American counterparts - along the center of the table while Iris and George put out plates and silverware.  The rest of the family trickled in slowly, taking their spots at the table.  

No one was particularly interested in talking, not after the earlier arguments.  There were murmured thanks, but no conversation.  Even so, everyone at Basym Hyws ate together, as a family.  

Danny wasn’t going to let anything happen to them.

[dirk-fucking-strider]

Family Curse Liveblog Pt.1

TT: Nice, so this one’s a game about a haunted house. Fucking love those kinds of games. Sollux even played Anatomy by kittyhorrorshow once.

TT: Okay, so no voice acting this time. That can be pretty good for atmosphere sometimes, especially if they want you to feel like the character and not some observe that happens to have control.

TT: Dude I don’t think the inheritance is the house. It’s all in the name, you’re probably going to get cursed.

TT: Sure, go check out the house you supposedly inherited, at dusk, alone. Not even an attorney or a real estate guy or anything.

TT: The instructions when you interact with something you can’t use or that is incomplete are so borderline patronizing. In my opinion.

TT: Main character falls asleep and now there’s blood everywhere. Like on the walls. Joy.

TT: Is that crying, laughing, or coughing?

TT: Ritual circle, of course.

TT: Aaaand the front door is gone. Really like that they’ve given the character a reason to stay in the house. Because, you know, it’s obviously haunted as SHIT.

TT: Another ritual circle? How many rituals were going on?

TT: Well, the back door opens, but that is one fucking tall fence.

TT: That is a body. Just, you know, lying on the dining room table, nothing out of the ordinary here. IT’S FACE IS HOLLOWED OUT? WHAT THE FUCK? IS THERE EVEN ANY SKULL LEFT? BECAUSE THAT JUST LOOKS LIKE SKIN?

TT: …Okay, it’s an impressive model, but maybe. Stop looking at it now? Or not, that’s fine too.

TT: New room unlocked! Also I managed to pause just as the jumpscare was starting. Send help.

TT: Okay, it vanished, whatever it was. Looked like a woman.

TT: So why is the medical file of one Lily Krouse here? Was the previous occupant employed at a hospital? There’s stacks of what could be similar files.

TT: I’m already expecting to get jumpscared again…

TT: Ah. The master bedroom. As Anatomy says, if a house had a mouth, it would be here. I’ll be surprised if nothing happens in this room.

TT: No jumpscare so far, just jazzy music. Mood dissonance. I like when horror does that.

TT: Of course there’s a random crying figure as soon as you exit the bedroom. Of course.

TT: Got jumpscared so bad I hit the fast forward button. Looks like the same apparition.

TT: And again! My fucking heart, jesus fucking christ.

TT: Just keep away from any cell-like bars in horror games. They’re usually bad news.

TT: Gab’s right, major ResE7 vibes from this part.

TT: Is that Russian? The ghosts are whispering in Russian. Probably the game was made by people who speak Russian. But still, if I walked into a room and heard ghostly whispering in Russian, I’d leave. Not because I’m scared of Russians, but because if I can’t understand them, how would I know the difference between “BE GONE!” and “Hey dude, how’s it going!”

TT: So the ghost seems to have turned into some kind of monster. If the shift key works in this game I would be pressing it about now. She could be right behind you.

TT: Evil painting. Maybe check that it isn’t a mirror? Or something?

TT: That is one long musical sting.

TT: At this point, if I were the mc, I would just stop opening doors.

TT: Wait so how many ghosts even are there? Maybe one woman, two girls. I think. One of the girls is a monster right now though.

TT: Dw about it Gab, sometimes the best way to solve a puzzle is to PRESS ALL THE BUTTONS until it works.

TT: At least the house is (relatively) back to normal. Hey! Rude ghost. Breaking mirrors is lowering the property value. Oh okay, it just phased through it. Wonder why it made a shattering sound.

TT: This Ms. Dawson sounds suspicious. Told you, she really got Lily possessed by the deity she claimed would help her.

TT: So the ghost is the main character’s sister, and the other ghost is the demon thing?

TT: Gab, the envelope. The greenhouse code is the initials on the left. BEA.

TT: There we go.

TT: Going to pause my ramblings for now, gotta work on the intro and such. Also I don’t think I can handle many more jump-scares.

[lyrabythelake]

Ghost Wind AU

part 1 || part 2

These heroes can be real idiots sometimes, Wind thinks dully as he watches yet another poorly concocted plan pan out exactly as terribly as he had foretold it would. This one even involves explosives for that added spice of death.

“For Hylia’s sake,” he says out loud as Sky throws his sailcloth over Hyrule’s hair which is literally on fire.

“Well done everyone,” Time praises once all flames are successfully smothered. They look a mess, the lot of them. Hyrule’s hair is missing chunks and still smoking a little bit, Wild is sporting both a wide grin and a broken arm and Legend is noticeably limping as he joins the rest of the group where they’re congregated.

“I would say that was a pretty successful ambush. We managed to take out all the enemies—”

“And half the mountain,” Wind adds.

“—we may have to work on bringing down casualties on our side, but that’s something we can talk about for next time. Right now, I say we take a well-earned rest. Sky, can you distribute potions to those who need them, please?”

“Pretty successful?” Wind screeches incredulously, following Time as he separates himself from the rest of them and sits down with his back leaning against a tree, lowering himself with a groan like the dramatic old man he pretends he isn’t.

“Pretty successful?!” That was a disaster! I’m better at planning attacks than all of you put together and I have the mind of a fourteen-year-old.”

Time takes off one of his boots with a relieved sigh, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Most of Wind’s senses are dulled these days, but he swears even he can smell the stench coming from those socks.

“You should have attacked from the side,” Wind tells him, settling next to him with his chin in his hand. Time starts to remove his weaponry from the belt around his torso. “I know coming from above seems like the obvious attack, but you could have been stealthier if you’d come from the left. You probably wouldn’t have any casualties and you wouldn’t have caused that landslide.”

Time brings up a finger to clean the wax out of one of his ears and then proceeds to take off his shoulder pads and chest plate.

“I mean, I know Warriors is your best tactician, but he can also be as much of a pyromaniac as Hyrule sometimes, so you’ve got to be the voice of reason.”

Time settles back into the tree trunk, watching the others distantly as they set up camp for the night. It’s a peaceful scene, one much needed after the chaos and volume of the battle.

“Yeah, it’s probably not all that fun being the leader, huh?” Wind nods in understanding. “You do a good job really; who knows where the others would be if they were left to their own devices.”

Time grunts as if to agree and then rummages in his bag for a few seconds before pulling out a large, red apple.

“Now that’s just rude,” Wind mutters as he takes a bite, “you know how long it’s been since I’ve been able to eat an apple? Two hundred years, that’s how long, and you decide to eat one right in front of me. I’d kill to be you right now.”

Wind folds his arms as he watches him with a wistful frown. Even the memory of what an apple tastes like faded for him long ago. Food is something he misses most about being alive.

“This is torture,” he murmurs after a while and he pries his eyes away from Time to look around at his surroundings. The sun is low on the horizon, the faintest blush of pink starting to creep into the clear blue sky and the other heroes, having finished setting up camp, are laughing and chatting amongst themselves by the fire. They’re just far enough away that he can’t hear exactly what they’re saying, but they sound happy.

He stares at them longingly for a while before he realises there’s one missing.

“Huh. Where’s our resident ranch hand?” he asks nobody. He scans the treeline, pausing when he notices a flash of movement heading into the woods a small distance away.

“Or should I say our resident wolf?”

He pushes himself off the ground and heads in the direction he’s certain the wolf went. It’s not long before he catches up to him (he’s able to forgo weaving through the trees in favour of phasing right through them), and once he’s in his sights it’s relatively easy to keep up.

He’s curious about where he might be going; it’s not often that Twilight transforms into the wolf unless absolutely necessary. He probably just wants some time to his self; he’s sure sharing space with seven other heroes is probably quite taxing, so he’s likely after some peace and quiet.

“I don’t blame you,” he says out loud, “those lot are exhausting.”

Wolfie suddenly stops and stands stock still, ears twitching.

“You hear something?” Wind asks inquisitively, coming to a halt just behind him. He hadn’t heard anything himself, but that means nothing considering the proficiency of Wolfie’s ears compared to his own.

Wolfie perks up once more and twists around so his head faces in Wind’s direction, and if Wind didn’t know better, he would have been certain his eyes were locked straight onto his.

“What do you see?” he asks, his curiosity mounting. Wolfie lets out a small whine which turns into a bark before tilting his head ever so slightly to the left. His eyes still seem to look right at him, as if… but no, that’s impossible.

It is impossible. Wind hasn’t managed to gain the attention of anyone since his death over two hundred years ago, he’s accepted that’s how things are supposed to be now.

But what if…

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters to himself before taking a deep breath. He might as well prove to himself that interaction with the living world is just as impossible now as it’s always been. “Okay. Wolfie, bark twice if you can hear me.”

Wolfie barks twice.

Wind’s eyes widen so far, his non-existent eyeballs are in danger of falling out of their sockets.

“Holy shit.”

If Wind had a working heart, he’s sure it would be thumping hard right now.

“Wait… how do I know that wasn’t a coincidence? Er… Wolfie, bark five times if you can see me.”

Wolfie doesn’t bark, but instead lets out a low growl and Wind’s heart sinks. It was stupid to get his hopes up, of course he can’t see him, that would make no sense at all.

The air fills with dark particles and all of a sudden, a man stands where the wolf once did.

“I know you’re there,” Twilight says, “I can’t see you now, but I can as the wolf.”

Well this… this certainly changes things.

[weenwrites]

So the human reader has been with the Cybertronians for a while, and everything seems fine. But the human reader does seem a little strange. Eventually, something happens which causes them to reveal that they aren’t a human- not anymore, at least, they’re a ghost, and they’ve been like that for a long time.

Headcanons for how RiD2001 X-Brawn, RiD2001 Scourge, Armada Thrust, Armada Jetfire, and TFP Knockout would react to learning that they’ve been hanging out with a ghost this entire time?

X-Brawn isn't all too fazed by the fact you're a ghost, I mean he's used to having T-AI around and she's sorta ghost-like, so he's fine. He stays that way up until he finally realizes that... Oh, wait, if you're a ghost that means you're dead, and if you've been like that for a long time then you've been around for longer than most are supposed to, and you might not want that. He may not be the brightest bot around but he sure knows a couple smarter bots who could probably help you if you ever wanted to pass on, or whatever it is you ghosts do.

Scourge has no fear of ghosts or the supernatural, so he's unfazed by this revelation, he still treats you like he normally does and hardly anything changes between the two of you. It's just that he no longer fears that you might be harmed during one of his skirmishes with the Autobots, but he’d never admit that to you. You could startle him a couple times by phasing through walls to jump-scare him, but he’ll grow accustomed to it quickly. However at times whenever the two of you just walk along and talk, he’ll follow you, and so if you just kept leading him on for a while and then walked straight into the wall, he’ll accidentally bump right into it.

Thrust is rather unfazed, he's dealt with weirder and bigger things than a ghost before (like Sideways, or unicron,) so if anything he’s relieved he doesn’t have to worry about squishy little you getting hurt or killed. But would he ever say that? No, he wouldn’t say that aloud. He acts like he doesn’t care.

Jetfire is a bit spooked and surprised that he's been hanging with a ghost this whole time. Honestly he thought ghosts were just a myth from stories told by humans or cybertronians to spook people. He does tend to forget that you aren’t alive, so he does still worry about your well-being and safety, but once he finally gets used to it, a massive weight will be lifted off his shoulders.

Knockout lets out a startled scream, but afterwards he’ll deny that he was ever scared, he was just surprised! If you can phase through walls you could definitely jump-scare him, and the best part is that he’ll never get used to it, so you can keep milking it for all it’s worth. He is of course glad that he doesn’t need to worry about your safety since you’re already de—oh. Right. You’re... Already dead... Sometimes the fact you’re dead does bother him, and if you ever asked him for help with moving on, he’ll try. I mean he’s a super smart bot, he’ll possibly come up with something to help you.

[queenofhearts7378]

Constellations Ch. 2

(Yes it finally has a title. Yes this is ending up multi chaptered. Yes there’s another part I’m writing. Yes I already have an outline for a vague plot....Yes I’m still blaming @ladylynse for this XD)

Prev. Chapter  -  Next Chapter

Danny was very much unprepared and underdressed for the time when some wizards fell out of his fireplace.

He paused in the doorway, spoon still in his mouth and cheeks full of cereal, as his brother stood up and brushed the soot off him with a displeased nose scrunch.

Danny swallowed. "And you couldn't just use the door?"

Honestly they're lucky his parents had left to chase down the Box Ghost earlier. Otherwise they'd be covered in a lot more than soot and ash.

Danny couldn't help the snort that escaped at the mental picture of Draco covered in ectoplasm and boiling in rage. 

Draco narrowed his eyes, seeming to pick up that Danny was making fun of him. "Using the Floo was quicker."

"....quicker than walking through the door."

"It's a wizard thing you wouldn't understand." Draco snapped back, his go to response whenever he couldn't argue against Danny's logic at the moment. 

"Uh huh. Anyways what are you doing here?" Danny asked, "You aren't supposed to be here for another two weeks."

Which was time previously planned for Draco to prepare for his summer in America while Danny finished school. Spend the two weeks after Hogwarts let out recuperating and making public appearances with his parents, then spend the rest of the summer with the Fentons.

Actually now that Danny was looking, it seemed Draco had come straight from school. His hair was lacking half its gel, he was still wearing his green tie, and his robes were a very boring black as opposed to the various greys and blues he flaunted around in the previous summer.

“Denebola, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” Drawled the man standing behind Draco.

“Hello creepy man that I have never met before,” Danny said, echoing his tone.

Draco choked on air as the discount Kylo Ren sneered at him.

“This is Professor Snape Danny.” A familiar please-don’t-say-anything-that-will-get-us-in-trouble tone coloring Draco’s words. “My godfather.”

Oh the potion guy. Danny remembers Draco talking about him now. He was friends with Draco’s parents, which didn’t really impress Danny that much as all of the Malfoy’s friends seemed to be really rich snobs or really racist. Mostly both.

But he was Draco’s godfather, the reason he got into potions, his favorite professor and someone Draco would willingly go to get advice from. So, Danny decided to reserve judgement till he met him. Well….he met him.

Danny looked Draco dead in the eyes, “My apologies.”

Draco closed his eyes in mortification, which made Danny grin internally. They were really getting the hang of the whole ‘speaking without talking to each other twin thing’. 

Professor Snape just scowled at him. “Where are the….muggles?" Disdain dripped off his words, instantly making Danny defensive. He had heard enough at Malfoy Manor about disgraceful, savage muggles from Lucius. Even Draco had echoed his father till Danny dragged him kicking and screaming into being a slightly decent person.

"My parents," Danny said, stressing the word, "Are working right now."

Okay maybe they were just being their usual trigger happy selves and running after Boxy, but there was no way he was telling Professor Snape that without it leading to an hour long discussion about ghosts. And Danny did not have time for that. He shoved a giant spoonful of cereal in his mouth as he met Professor Snape's eyes and-huh.

Draco never told Danny his godfather could read minds. He could feel the light brushes of a foreign mind attempting to gleam information from his surface thoughts. Danny didn't know if it was his wizard ancestry or halfa weirdness that made him sensitive to this kind of stuff. Either way, it was useful in keeping his secrets in his head from privacy invading school teachers.

Danny glowered at Snape and immediately thought of Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up music video.

The two of them stared at each other for a minute, making Draco more and more anxious as no one said anything.

Finally Snape broke contact, "Where should his things go?"

Danny tried very hard not to smirk after winning that staring contest, "You can just leave them here, we'll get them later."

With one last displeased sneer, Snape turned to Draco. "I'm needed back at Hogwarts. I trust you are in good hands."

Draco nodded, still looking tense and anxious as hell.

Snape walked back to the fireplace. He paused next to Draco, "Take care of yourself Draco."

Draco softened under his glare, "I will Professor. Thank you."

Snape nodded and shot one more glare at Danny, who still had Rick Astley echoing in his head, before vanishing into the fireplace in a swirl of green fire.

Draco turned back to Danny and said, "You stress me out."

Danny snorted before walking back into the kitchen to put his bowl in the sink. Draco followed after him, looking at all the kitchen appliances with a barely hidden curious look.

"Something else we have in common."

"What are you wearing?" He asked with a nose scrunched in displeasure.

Danny shot him a look, "My pajamas, cause I just woke up. I haven't finished getting ready for school. You should probably change too."

"Why?"

Danny started for the stairs, Draco still following at his heels. "You can't wear robes to public school. I think you can fit in my jeans."

"What?!" Draco screeched, halting at the bottom of the stairs, "I'm not going to muggle school with you!"

"It's either that or stay here by yourself for hours." Danny said as he paused outside his room. Draco scrambled up after him. "Cause my parents won't be home for a couple more hours, after which you'll be alone with them till I get home."

Danny smirked at him, "My parents are going to be thrilled to see you, can you really handle their enthusiasm all by yourself?"

Draco could barely stand Danny showing various forms of physical affection, as proven last summer when Danny would throw an arm around Draco's shoulders and almost get hexed. And Ancients forbid Danny try to hug him. Draco might actually lose the wand and just punch him. Danny had spent most of their correspondence over the school year prepping Draco for the Fenton welcome wagon so he wouldn't hiss like a cat when he gets hugged. Okay, and maybe Danny just wanted to see his overdramatic brother's face as he is subjected to his parent's bear hugs. 

Draco scowled at him, "Fine. But I'm not wearing any jeans."

Draco stomped into Danny's room and slammed the door in his face. He heard the lock click as it was shut.

"Hey! I still gotta get dressed!" Danny banged on the door, "C'mon Drake it's still my room!"

Danny groaned before walking over to the bathroom. He phased through the wall and landed on the fire escape. It took a few minutes, but he eventually maneuvered to his window and slipped in.

Draco had dug into Danny's closet and pulled out the most dressy tux Danny owned and was in the middle of putting it on. 

"You are not wearing that."

Draco scowled at him, "It’s bad enough I'm lowering myself by going with you-”

“Lowering yourself?”

“-But,” he said loudly, “I absolutely refuse to wear common muggle wear. If I’m going to this school, I will not look anything less than my absolute best.”

Danny stared at him. “Drake you will be thrown into the dumpster if you wear that to my school. Let me just-”

Danny jumped on him, trying to remove the suit jacket from a struggling Draco. Draco shouted and tried to twist away, only for Danny to pull it over his head. Once Draco was out of sight, and swearing loudly at him, Danny subtly used his intangibility to yank it off him. And if he happened to remove all of Draco’s hair gel that he used to keep his hair slicked back….well, that would have gotten him thrown in a dumpster as well.

Danny tried not to laugh as Draco glared at him, his hair fluffed up and looking vaguely like an angry kitten. 

"Do you know how long it takes me to fix my hair? I have to completely redo it now! And how'd you get that off me?" He pointed at the jacket Danny was throwing back in his closet.

Danny grinned at him, "Magic."

Draco gave him a flat look.

"Anyway we've got to go, otherwise I'm gonna be late again, and get detention again, and you'll be forced to either walk home by yourself or stay at school with me."

Somehow Danny had managed to get dressed and drag Draco out the door with him, texting Sam and Tucker his plans to walk so they could meet up on the way.

"What is that?" Draco leaned over to squint at the phone in Danny's hand.

"My phone. I told you about it last summer."

Draco hummed, "I thought it was broken?"

"Yeah, cause your magic blew it up. My parents fixed it." Danny shoved his phone back in his pocket like Draco was about to blow it up again. "Now what happened?"

Draco shot him a glance, before letting his eyes flicker around them. "I did try to tell you muggle 'technology' and magic doesn't always go together."

"Drake, you know that's not what I mean." He said softly.

Draco was silent, his jaw clenched and his hands shaking before he shoved them in his pockets.

They walked in silence for a while.

"You'll get hurt."

Danny looked at him.

"I…." Draco sighed, "I've never…."

Danny waited silently for him to get the words out on his own, knowing that pushing him will only make him clam up.

"You aren't like us. And I don't mean that in any bad way!" He said quickly when he saw Danny's face. "But you know what my parents are like, and their friends are so much worse, and you're the first person I've ever had to worry about. I just want you to be safe."

Oh Ancients, that was a lot to unpack there. 

Danny had known something had happened during school. The two of them spent the school year exchanging letters, both of them wanting to stay in contact. Danny would tell him about his school, and his parents' antics, and explain random muggle technology to get Draco prepared for his summer with the Fentons.

Meanwhile, Draco had complained at length about Potter and a tournament and Potter being insufferable about a tournament. There was a furious letter about being turned into a ferret and how Potter and his friends keep bringing it up. Draco sent him about three feet of parchment around Christmas just making fun of Potter at a dance and how horrible he was. There was a lot about some famous Quidditch guy and then a lot about Potter’s friend stealing the famous Quidditch guy.

Draco complained about Potter a lot, okay?

But Draco never sent him a letter about the tournament results or if Potter got eaten by a bog witch or whatever it was he was hoping for the last task. He just showed up, two weeks early and clearly shaken about whatever it was that happened.

That isn’t a good sign at all. And Danny had eavesdropped enough last summer to get a decent idea as to what was going on.

“This is….this is about him isn’t it?”

Draco flinched, which was enough answer for him. Danny let out a breath.

“We can-we can talk about this later. I care about you too Drake, and I know your family is neck deep in this mess.” Danny bumped his shoulder, “You’re safe here, that’s why Narcissa sent you here right?”

Draco leaned against his brother’s shoulder, eyes still flitting across the street and his jaw clenched. “Yeah. We’re safe here.”

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 05 (second part)

(Masterpost) (Continued from Episode 05 first part, over here)

Breaking News: Zewu-Jun Continues to be Handsome

Just. Look at that man. 

Water Ghost Field Trip

Lans Xichen and Wangji are going ghost hunting and the Yunmeng boys want in. For a simple "can we come?" conversation, a whole lot happens here. Lan Wangji uses his mouth to say he definitely does not want these boys to come while using the rest of his face to secretly beg his brother to invite them.

Corporate recruiter Wei Wuxian advocates for Wen Qing, talking up her skills, and then does the same for Wen Ning.  He pays careful attention to what everyone is good at, and advocates specifically based on their abilities. While Wen Ning makes heart eyes at him.  

That’s my future dark master

Wei Wuxian also promises to protect Wen Ning, which he ultimately does for the rest of his first life. Wen Qing gives both Jiang boys a genuine sweet smile, and dismantles another anti-WWX ward or two, while still being very protective of her brother's secret.

Lan Xichen says yes to everybody. Lan Xichen is that indulgent elder sibling who's just a bit too old to play with you after school, but will take you to the park when he isn't too busy with varsity and debate club. [OP mentally hugs her third older brother]

Back at the Inn

Fastidious local boy dislikes dust; plans to build house on corpse pile

They get to town and Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian check into a room together. LAN XICHEN WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Each of these boys came to this town with his own brother, but they are rooming together, how did this even happen?

(more after the cut)

Does this mean Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng are rooming together? and if so are they going to have a hot but ultimately meaningless one-night stand while each pines for the person they truly desire? 

Wen Qing is rooming with her own brother, and the other hot girl cultivators stayed back in Gusu. Wen Qing never catches a break.

The innkeeper tells the Hardy Boys cultivators that there’s a shark ghosts in the lake and they’re going to have to close the beaches in the middle of July, oh dear. 

Lan Wangji takes a lingering look at one of the beds and then goes to sit at the desk. Wei Wuxian tries to chat with him, fails, and goes and lies down on the bed.  They’re not quite getting along yet but they’re moving in that direction, like when you bring a shelter cat home and introduce it to your established cat. Wei Wuxian is obviously the stray tabby in this metaphor, while Lan Wangji is one of those stuck-up Blue Russians. 

Physically they are setting the template for many of their future domestic interactions, in which in which Lan Wangji meditates or plays guqin at his desk while Wei Wuxian lays in bed recovering from his latest physical or spiritual injury. 

Walk from Dock to Dock

Instead of taking a boat from the dock directly outside the inn, the cultivators walk through a bunch of random countryside.  How does anyone around here sell their fish, if the lake isn’t next to the town?

Wei Wuxian chats with Lan Xichen, laying out his case for why all the recent weirdness is connected. Lan Wangji, who has been shut out of his brother’s thinking on all of this, listens super carefully. Lan Xichen straight up lies and says “nuh-uh” and then walks faster to get away, so Wei Wuxian tries grilling Lan Wangji instead.

At this point WWX reveals that he, terrifyingly, shares Lan Xichen’s ability to tell what Lan Wangji is thinking by looking at his face.

Lan Wangji distracts him by pouring out his wine. This isn't LWJ being puritanical; he's escaping from the conversation by using the power of pettiness.

This works perfectly, getting Wei Wuxian to completely drop the subject and allowing Lan Wangji to make a run for it.

Note: Lan Wangji may have just now made up the “No Liquor on Night Hunts” rule, because Wei Wuxian asks him “why don’t I know that?” and if anyone knows Lan Clan rules at this point, it’s Wei Wuxian. 

R-A-G-G M-O-P-P Rag Mop

They take a bunch of boats and all stand in the middles of the boats while they use magic, presumably, to move the boats and also to keep from falling the fuck over because you're not supposed to stand up in a boat, assholes.

Cue JAWS music.

Wei Wuxian cleverly spots a rag mop on Lan Wangji’s boat. I would like to know where the Department of Dubious Effects sources their goddamn nerve, because we are in Classic Doctor Who territory with these mop monsters.

Wei Wuxian is out here being impressive, and Lan Wangji is doing his good goddamnest to not be impressed, and to be a sulky bitch while he's at it. He rejects Wei Wuxian’s explanation for why he splashed water on his boat, and rejects this friendly shoulder bump, telling Wei Wuxian to stay away from him.

Look at how Wei Wuxian reacts to that. He is dangerously close to being done with Lan Wangji’s bullshit.

He is opening the fight playbook here. He takes a big ol’ step over the boundary that Lan Wangji just set, which means the first phase has begun.

Let’s take a moment to appreciate the not-at-all suggestive framing and prop placement in that shot.

Lan Xichen is amused at these two extremely deadly extremely horny youngsters getting ready to kill and/or make out with each other.

Suibian

Before this can turn into a fight, the water mops start attacking and Wei Wuxian gets to show off his sword skills. 

Wei Wuxian’s crazy high level of cultivation always makes Lan Wangji weak in the knees, which is part of why it’s so distressing for LWJ when WWX gives up the sword during the Sunshot campaign.  Cultivation is the heart of their romance, and while Dark Wei Ying is also a high-level cultivator, Lan Wangji isn’t ready to share his narrow path until much later. 

Lan Wangji is impressed enough to ask Wei Wuxian about his sword, and is rewarded with the most Wei Wuxian answer ever, as he explains why he named his sword “Whatever.” 

The important relationship being shown in this moment is not Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, but Wei Wuxian and Suibian. You can see how he loves it and it's like he's talking about his pet. 

And it loves him back, as we later learn. This comfortable symbiosis is part of what he gives up when he sacrifices his core.

Jiang Cheng gets injured by a seaweed mop and Dr. Wen hops over to help him and look at his leg, leaving Wen Ning alone in his boat. This doesn't actually cause a problem for Wen Ning because he's a very strong cultivator. 

Later, as the Ghost General, he's more formidable than any other fierce corpse out there, and he is harder for Xue Yang to control than Song Lan is. Which means he’s right now he’s probably one of the more powerful cultivators of his generation in spite of his youth and his wandering-soul problem. 

Dance of the Water Ghosts

Now things start to get dicey. Wen Ning notices the color of the water is wrong and Lan Wangji correctly deduces what the water ghosts are doing. Then Wei Wuxian correctly identifies the water demon. As a corporate teambuilding exercise this is going very well, but as a night hunt it is maybe a little more dangerous than expected. 

Lan Wangji says everyone needs to ride their swords and all of the actors fling their arms out in a T and pretend they’re not just standing there in front of the camera. It’s so fucking ridiculous I can’t even.

However, it’s even worse when they show them standing on the swords. It’s SO MUCH WORSE when they show them standing on the swords.

Back to Corporate Strengths Finder 2.0: Su She has no strengths, just weaknesses. Instead of riding his sword he wants to take one last swipe at a rag mop. He sends his sword into the water and it loses its bluetooth connection and he can't get it to come back out.

The entire group of Lan clan disciples hop up into the air on their swords and not one of them tries to help Su She, which is hilarious.  

Sweet baby Wen Ning, however, being a good lad, does go help him, and gets possessed, oops. 

Wei Wuxian grabs Wen Ning and flinches when he sees his white eyes, but hangs on to him. 

When Lan Wangji sees that Wei Wuxian is in danger he makes this face and goes and grabs him and Su She.

A hilarious midair conversation ensues, along with some relationship negotiation. Wangji is touch starved and aims to keep it that way. At least in public.

Lan Xichen fires up the battle flute and seals the water demon and oh my god how is he so elegant and beautiful?

What’s Wrong With The Baby

Wei Wuxian back at the Inn is checking on Wen Ning in a genuinely concerned way, having basically signed on as a co-elder sibling at this point, sensing that Wen Ning is broken. Wei Wuxian is friendly with everybody but he's particularly protective of anyone who's hurt.

Wen Qing shows up and tells him quite directly to get the fuck out, but he surprises her by understanding what's up with Wen Ning and making it clear that he's on her side as far as care for Wen Ning goes, while he still knows that she's up to something.

Giving Gifts to Girls, Yunmeng Brothers Style

Wei Wuxian: I deduced that your beloved brother has no personal firewall and can be possessed easily in spite of his high cultivation level, so I used my expertise to make a special talisman that can protect him from invasion by hostile entities. Here, even if you and I are sorta enemies I want him to have this. Also I’m going to throw in a casual acknowledgement of your professional expertise.

Jiang Cheng: I bought you a comb

Squeeze This

Wei Wuxian tosses an approximately testicle-sized loquat fruit to Lan Wangji and Lan Wangji catches it without looking, and an ENORMOUS romantic music cue swells up. 

Then he rejects it and throws it back. He doesn't, of course, just avoid catching it in the first place because that wouldn’t be elegant and pointed enough. In a later episode, when they begin travelling together, Wei Wuxian will announce his presence in this same way, throwing a loquat fruit at to Lan Wangji, who will catch it and keep it.

Wei Wuxian tosses the rejected loquat over to Jiang Cheng, who catches it, not realizing he is going to be Wei Wuxian’s second choice man in every instance from this point onward. 

Outtro

Soundtrack

Jaws music obvs

WuJi aka Wanxian which is playing constantly when they are in the library, presumably this is the sound in LWJ’s head

Lookin’ Out My Back Door by CCR

Nothing, from A Chorus Line

Rag Mop by the Ames Brothers (warning before you google it: this will give you a permanent earworm)

Writing prompt: Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng explore Gusu while WWX is stuck in the library  

Restless Rewatch Episode 06 is here!

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Dress Code (Post-War ficlet)

(A/N: Some Post-War MIC!Eragon/Arya for you all. 

I’ve extended the Rider War timeline to be closer to 5-ish years. Eragon has more time to mature, Arya has more time to heal. They start a relationship around a year before the war ends, and while I have a basic idea of how it comes about I’m not ready to put it into writing for you all yet. There’s about a year or so of Arya and Fírnen remaining behind in Alagaësia to help with reconstruction and reintegration of the elves into the world without starting an incident while Islanzadí heals, and then they join Eragon and Saphira at the Rider School. At this point, even a year on, the school is still in some phases of construction and only has maybe a dozen students + their dragons, possibly less. Everyone is still trying to settle in to the new reality, and Eragon is still getting used to the admin role he now has to take.

I’ll probably post more about MIC!Eragon and Arya’s relationship, especially as it is post-war. In the meantime, take this. It’s a little spicy, so fair warning. Cheers mates!)

~~~

Eragon scrubbed his hands through his hair, frustration edging his voice. “Remind me why I agreed to host this?” 

Invitations to the Rider School’s gala were strewn across his desk, addresses of dignitaries from the chiefdoms surrounding Mount Arngor paperclipped to each. He held in his hand three different menus in various stages of translation and tweaking, trying his best to work through the grammar of the local dialect and please the varied dietary restrictions of all in attendance. An itinerary draft sat incomplete under a handful of pens, half abandoned until the Rider’s leader could muster up the focus to finish it.

For all the good will these events garnered, they always brought in more paperwork than he thought they were worth.

“Because people tend to get nervous when dragons and Riders begin massing in one place and it looks like no one knows what’s going on.” Eragon leaned back in his chair and tilted his head to watch Arya across the room. His mate was cross legged on the floor, a portion of Fírnen’s saddle in her lap while the rest spilled out like a comically large sea turtle. A half-threaded leather needle dangled from her lips as she closely examined a patch of torn stitching to judge the length she needed. “And it’s one of the fastest ways to show that yes, the Riders have leaders in you and Saphira, and that you both aren’t as scary as they might think.”

From outside the exterior porthole a chuffing snort signaled Saphira’s amusement. That anyone would dare to put her majestic yet terrifying visage into the same league of frightening as Eragon’s squishy, scaleless frame was laughable.

Down below the cliffside, the sounds of Fírnen’s playful growls as he entertained a handful of yearlings and hatchlings rumbled up the mountain. The fledgling Riders and their dragons were on a day of leave after a month of hard work and lessons, leaving Eragon, Saphira, Arya, and Fírnen time to catch up on the tasks that went by the wayside during instruction. 

Eragon felt Saphira yawn wide, barbed tongue curling at its tip. His jaw twinged slightly as her teeth clicked together. Don’t forget your meeting this afternoon. Saphira stretched out one massive paw and began fastidiously cleaning the scales around her claws, irritated by the stone dust from construction that still remained in the nooks and crannies of the mountain’s halls. I will fly you down, but after that I must take the hatchlings to hunt.

Thank you. I won’t forget. Eragon assured as he set the menus down and picked up the draft of the event itinerary, clicking his pen in distracted boredom. As he worked, Arya finished her repairs and began the process of conditioning the rejoined pieces, working neatsfoot oil into the saddle with a soft rag.

Saphira’s deep breathing outside signaled her shift to a light doze in the afternoon sun. The sound was soothing, lulling her Rider into a state of half focused haze.

Once again drifting away from his work, Eragon’s eyes snagged on the invitation’s request of a black tie dress code. It sent his mind to other places, and, the corners of his lips curling into a mischievous smile, he let his chair turn again. 

“You know…” Arya looked up to see her mate tapping his pen against his lips. “There is one thing I don’t mind about these fancy events though.” Mirth danced in his eyes, along with something a little more, as he lifted his gaze from the papers in his hand. 

The elf set the saddle aside, wiping her hands on the rag. This should be interesting. He only acted this innocent for two reasons, one distinctly more alluring than the other. “Oh really?” She stood and stretched, fingers linked above her head as she lifted onto her toes. “And what would that be?”

“You.” Eragon broke into a blush tinged smile and set the itinerary aside, turning his chair fully to face her. “I will never get tired of seeing you all dressed up.”

Arya let out a soft laugh and approached him. His gaze boldly roamed over her form, still marveling years on that she was his and he was hers. “Really! I love you no matter what you wear. But there’s something about the way you can pull off a black dress….” Eragon practically purred in approval as the elf settled into his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. The tang of leather conditioner wrapped around Arya’s earthy scent, reminding him of their time in the field and nights around watch fires, working on their gear and simply enjoying each other's company. It was just so simply her, so entwined in his mind with who she was, that it made his heart flutter. “What will you wear this time?”

Arya cocked her head coyly, braid brushing against her back as she shifted her weight to his knees with a thoughtful hum. “I don’t know. You pick.” A sly grin touched her lips. “Within reason, of course.”

Eragon leaned back, mind awhirl with possibilities. Almost subconsciously his hands had found Arya’s sides to steady her on her perch. As he mulled over the choice she had given him, his thumbs rubbed small circles against her ribs, eliciting a pleased sigh that danced in his ears. She leaned into his touch, content. 

“Hmm...I think…” An image solidified in Eragon’s imagination, bringing back that hooded eye grin as he went a step further and imagined it covering less of his mate’s body and more of his bedroom floor. “Black dress. Mid length. Something backless.” 

Arya huffed a quiet laugh, her smirk suddenly tinged with a tiny twist that he couldn’t quite place. Awkwardness? “Love...we’re trying to make friends here, not send them running for the other side of the continent.”

It took a long, long moment for Eragon to realize her meaning. With a slight pang of guilt his grin drooped, and in quiet apology he slipped his hands under the soft material of his mate’s shirt. Calloused fingers slid up her back, ghosting over the multitude of scars that still decorated her skin, as he pulled her down to him until their foreheads touched.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured. He could feel the uptick in her heart rate through her skin, the warmth of her breath against his cheek as he massaged the silky rifts below her shoulder blades. “I’m sorry. You’d think after all this time I’d remember. They’re so much a part of you that I–” 

Arya silenced him, brushing her lips against his. The contact flushed warmth down from his cheeks to his throat and over his chest. “I like that you forget.” Her smile feathered against his skin as she shifted her body closer to his and pulled away from the light kiss. “I think it’s one of the sweetest things you do.” 

Relieved, Eragon smiled back. Taking one of his mate’s hands from where she had braced against his shoulder, he pressed lips to her palm in one last apology before returning his grip to her sides. The feeling of warm, bare skin beneath his fingertips and the new position of her hips had him quickly distracted again, and he soon found himself itching to continue their banter. “Well...what about me, then?” 

“What about you?”

“What should I wear for the gala?” 

Arya hummed quietly, teasing her fingers down his chest. “It’s black tie, isn’t it?” Eragon nodded in confirmation, doing his best to keep from moving beyond the gentle dance of his fingers against the elf’s sides. She was always more composed than he during these little games, to the point that the Rider’s leader found himself pushing his limits to better match her whenever they arose. “Well then. I say you should wear just your slacks and a tie.” She gently tapped the end of his nose before dragging her hands across the tightening muscles of his abdomen, nails lightly scraping through the material of his shirt. Her voice took on a low purr, rippling with a possessive edge from deep within her chest and sending tingles of anticipation across Eragon’s skin. “It doesn't say anything about wearing something along with it, does it not?”

Eragon raised his eyebrow, control cracking. His hands settled on her hips as she draped her wrists over his shoulders, pulling her closer. He could feel the heat between their bodies growing, pooling over their clothed skin. “Well, if it’s the dress code you’re insisting on, who am I to break the rules?” His mate grinned that little devilish smirk that set his heart pounding, fire dancing in her eyes as she leaned in closer. Eragon let his eyes drift closed, lifting away from the back of the chair to meet her–

And frowned in confusion when he felt her cheek brush his. The light touch was followed by a breathy whisper in his ear. 

“You’re going to be late for your meeting with Blödhgarm and Telvi if you don’t hurry.”

Eragon opened his eyes to find Arya pulling away from reaching over his shoulder, the small clock he kept on his desk in her hand. 

It read only eight minutes to two in the afternoon. He was supposed to be meeting the elves to go over plans for a new family housing addition at two o’clock sharp.

“Oh shit!” 

Eragon bolted to his feet, unceremoniously dumping Arya off her perch on his lap. The elf couldn’t help but laugh as he dashed around the room, searching frantically for the plans Gerard had drawn up for him and the set of drafting tools necessary to make any adjustments. Outside Saphira similarly surged to her feet and shook herself. Her wings rustled like parchment as she unfurled them and stretched, ready to leap from the mountain shelf to the courtyard below.

I can see them nearing the gate. Saphira’s warning echoed in Eragon’s mind. You need to hurry, Little One.

I’m trying! I can’t find the damn plans! Eragon jerked his gaze from ripping apart a cluttered drawer of stationary when his mate gave a short, sharp whistle. Arya stood by the porthole with his messenger bag in hand, and wordlessly slipped the protected tube that held Gerard’s plans and the box of tools in when the man looked up. He let out a wordless cry of relief and hurried over, ducking his head and lifting his arm slightly to allow Arya to loop the strap down over his shoulder and settle the bag onto his hip. 

“Where would I be without you?” Eragon asked, half sincere and half rhetorical as the elven Rider adjusted his shirt. He leaned in, hopeful and thrilled as always.

Still grinning, Arya allowed him to give her a quick kiss. Her hand lingered at his cheek, checking him over out of habit before swiping a few stray locks of his curling bangs away from his face. “In Carvahall, living a quiet life without dragons, elves, dwarves and Urgals.” Pleased that he was presentable, the elf gave him a kiss of her own before turning him to the waiting Saphira and giving him a push. “Now go! Fírnen and I are teaching Silas and Rakka some flying, so we’ll see you both at dinner.”

Eragon gave one last wave and tightened the saddle straps around his legs. With that, Saphira took two great strides and launched herself from the cliff.

[goldenchan-fx2thepeacock]

Friendly Neighbourhood Phantom

rKay, y’all remember how I said I would write a fic for that one post I reblogged? Well, Wattpad still hates me, but here ya go.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny was bored. He’d finally mastered the powers that decided to show up when he ‘died’ in the portal accident, but nothing was happening. Not that it was bad, just boring. He felt like he should do something. And when he overheard Sam talking about volenteering, he got an idea.  “Sam, what was that thing you were talking about volenteering for?” He asked. “Oh, it’s a soup kitchen not far from here. You thinking about helping out?” she replied. “Well, yeah. I was thinking about using these powers for something useful,” “Danny, that’s genius. But volenteering is a big step. Maybe you could just help out people in ghost form?” “Huh, that’s not a bad idea. Thanks Sam!” He ran to class.

After school, he put his backpack down and changed. The first few times it was painful, but now it was a numb tingling sensation. He knew about the more sketchy areas in town and sped off. 

He set down in a playground with a bunch of kids. There was one sitting off on her own. She was glumly playing with the sand.  “Hey kid, want to play a game?” He asked. She stared at him. At first, she seemed startled, but she smiled. “Yeah! Let’s play hide and seek!” She giggled. He smiled. “Okay, I’ll count to ten and you go hide. Just don’t leave the playground,” He turned around and closed his eyes. She giggled and ran off. Once he finished counting to ten, he turned back around. He heard giggling from her, but decided to wander when looking for her. “Oh my gosh, you’re so good at hiding. I wonder where you could be,” He heard giggling behind him. After looking around a few trees, he acted like he’d just spotted the play structure. “Maybe you’re hiding in here?” He peeked under the structure. She giggled up at him. “You found me! Now it’s your turn to hide!” She ran off to the tree. He dashed into the slide and hid just in view. She spotted him immediately. “Ha! I found you!” “You did!” they played a few more rounds. 

They were the only ones left when her dad showed up.  “Iliana? Where are you?” He yelled. She dashed out from the play structure.  “Right here daddy!” She yelled and ran over to Danny. He smiled at her and waved goodbye.  “Iliana! That’s dangerous, don’t play with demons,” The dad snatched her away from Danny.  “He’s not a demon!” Iliana said. “I’ve heard about things like you,” The dad narrowed his eyes at Danny. “Stay away from my daughter,” “We were just playing hide and seek!” Danny protested. “And I’m not a demon,” “Preying on children is wrong. Go back to hell,” Danny held back the tears and left. He knew the feeling. Transphobes liked to tell him to go to hell, but this was horrible. 

Once he got home and finished his homework, he looked through his insta. Then he got a random idea. He went to the account blurb and clicked “make new account”. He took a selfie in his ghost form and set it as his profile pic. What to call it? He drummed his fingers on the desk and an idea came to him. He typed it in. Danny Phantom. He posted a bunch of anti bullying posts and selfies. He’d take pictures when volenteering as Phantom and put them up. 

When he got to school in the morning, there was the usual buzz. Sam looked at him. Tucker was on vacation for a few more days.  “So, how’d ‘volenteering’ go?” she asked. “Pretty good. I played hide and seek with a little girl. Is that a good start?” “Sounds good to me. But pretty good with you usually means that something happened,” She knew him too well. “I got called a demon,” He snapped. She grimaced. “Oh, Danny. I’m sorry. What was it?” “I think it’s just the whole ghost thing. I doubt he could tell I’m trans,” “Well, that’s gotta count for something!” “Maybe,” He sat down in Lancer’s class and pulled out a notebook.  “Anything else happen?” “I started an account on Instagram for ghost me. I called it Danny Phantom. Should be easy enough to find,” “Don’t you think anyone’ll notice the parralels between that and Danny Fenton?” “The people here are too stupid to guess that. Besides, no one’s gonna connect the dots between me and a random ghost,” “Good point,” Lancer walked into the class.  “Alright class, you know the drill,” Danny pulled out the novel they were reading this week. 

Danny spent the rest of the week helping out in random ways and putting the pictures up on insta. Maybe it was kinda cheap, but unlike some accounts he’s seen, he was doing it solely for the purpose of raising awareness, not to make a good face. There were a few other derogatory terms thrown his way, but it wasn’t horrible. Today, he was going to start volenteering for real. He set down in front of the soup kitchen.  “Listen, we don’t have soup till later. Come back then,” A guy wearing a big apron said. “Actually, I was going to volenteer to help out,” Danny said. The guy turned around.  “You got a bit of a look going on there. Why do you wanna volenteer?” “To help out the community. And I can’t help looking this way,” “Huh. Well, get an apron on and help me make this soup,” The guy turned around. Danny obliged.  “Uh, you never told me your name,” Danny said meekly. “Milton’s the name. And since I gave you mine, I’m gonna need yours,” “Danny,” “That all? No last name?” “You didn’t give me yours,” “Nah, but the kids like you usually boast about it. For a teen, you’re pretty humble,” “Thanks?” “Okay, enough small talk. Help me stir this while I get the other ingredients,” Milton thrust a long wooden spoon into Danny’s hands and walked off. Danny started stirring the big pot on the stove. He smiled and hummed a little tune to keep his attention. Milton walked back in. “No picture taking? You really are humble,”  “I guess it just didn’t occur to me. I mostly made my account to tell people to be nicer to the less fortunate,” (Yes, the first part is a Toph line, but less condesending in this case) He kept stirring but didn’t pull his phone out.  “You kids these days. Always an ulterior motive,” “I mean, I’m a ghost, so I could’ve been dead for hundreds of years for all you know,” Milton stared at him. “A ghost?”  “Jeez, don’t panic or anything. Not all ghosts are malevolent. And I’ve only been ‘dead’, per se, for about a month,” “I thought it was just dumb hair dye and contacts,” Milton gaped.  “Yeah, teenager just casually floats and nothing’s weird about that. Got the ingredients?” “Wha- oh yeah. Here,” Milton dumps the vegetable in the pot. “Sorry to scare you like that. I just didn’t want you calling me a demon or something when you found out,” “Why would anyone do that? Seems cruel,” “People don’t often care about anything but their prejudices,”  “Generalization or stereotype there?” “Stereotype. I guess. Let’s just make soup,” He wasn’t about to spill his troubles onto a random stranger. 

He stood in the window giving out soup. Sam was standing not far off taking pictures. He wasn’t completely sure if he should keep posting. But it was kinda late to do that now. Danny Phantom had started to gain attention Danny Fenton never would.  “What the hell? I didn’t know Milton was the type to let freaks help out,” One skinny teenager in ripped clothes said.  “I didn’t know there was a reason to not let a person help the less fortunate,” Danny handed him a bowl of soup.  “Sorry man. I guess the stress of having to come here everyday is starting to get to me,” “It’s okay. When Milton takes his turn, wanna talk about it?”  “Thanks dude,” The skinny guy sat down at one of the many tables set up. “No problem. It’s the least I can do,” Danny smiled at him. Milton walked up behind him.  “I’ll take it for fifteen minutes. Ghost probably don’t need breaks, but I’d feel bad if I made you do all the work,” Danny nodded and ditched the apron. He phased through the wall and floated over to the skinny guy. 

The guy looked startled.  “You’re floating,” He stared at Danny’s feet.  “Ya know, probably could’ve told you that myself,” Danny smirked.  “Danny! Is your shift done or something?” Sam ran over.  “Nah, I just was gonna let this guy talk about his problems to someone,” “You’re a ghost,” The guy looked lost. “Yes and no. Semantics. Listen, I’m not here to tell you about my weird life. I’m here so you don’t completely lose it from having to support yourself,” “Thanks again for that. So your name is Danny?” “Yeah. This is Sam. What’s your name?” “Jack,” Danny held back the snort that came with thinking of his bumbling father. Bumbling couldn’t have been more accurate. Jack Fenton gave Danny bumblebee vibes.  “Nice to meet you Jack. What did you need to talk about?” Sam snorted behind Danny. “Shutup,” Danny slid into the seat across from Jack.  “What’s funny?” Jack said. “Nothing. My dad’s name is Jack and you look absoloutely nothing like him. Sam is drawing certain parralels that don’t need to be there,” “Your dad? Do ghosts have dads?” “Half ones do,” Sam said.  “We’re not talking about that. Why do you have to come here. You don’t look much older than 15,”  “If it weren’t for the glowy hair and eyes, I’d say you don’t look older than 12,” “I’m fourteen,” “Close enough,” “Whatever. Why do you come here?”

Danny became a hit with the soup kitchen users. He’d talk to people about they’re issues with an air of concern. He didn’t shut anyone down no matter how small the issue. Soon, he wasn’t a freaky prospect, he was the ghost who listened to people’s issues.  “I think we should get Jazz to help you out at the soup kitchen,” Tucker said one day at lunch. “I mean, she knows, so it can’t be that weird. It’ll give her some field experience with helping people out too. Yeah, that’ll work,” Danny took a bite out of the glowing sandwich.  “Are you sure that’s safe?” Sam poked it.  “Eating ectoplasm won’t kill me anymore than I already am,” “Touche,” Tucker said. “That’s not how touche works, at least I don’t think so,” Danny replied.  “And you’re in academic english,” Sam laughed. “You are too! And english is like, my worst class,”  “Fair enough. But yeah, getting Jazz to help out is a good idea,” She forked her veggy lasagna. “Okay! I’ll tell her tonight,”

The soup kitchen wasn’t the only place Danny volenteered. He kept up the random helping and stopped a few crimes when he came across them. It wasn’t like he went looking for crimes, but it came with the territory. He stopped a car crash one time. Danny Phantom slowly became a hit on Instagram. Danny had to turn off notifcations at night. He opened it and gaped.  “500 followers overnight! And it’s going up?! Holy shit,” He turned the notifications back off and did his morning routine. It was break day, so he glared at the sports bra he knew he’d have to wear.  “If I find that ghost boy, I’ll tear him apart molecule by molecule!” Jack Fenton said. Danny winced. It was normal at this point, but he didn’t like it very much. “Oh Jack. You know we should study it,” He head his mom say. Danny didn’t know what was worse, his dad’s threats of death or his mother’s dissociation.  “Dann-o! We’re going looking for the ghost boy today!” Jack said excitedly.  “What did he do wrong?” “Nothing, but he probably has an ulterior motive to all this helping stuff!” Jack replied. Danny sighed and pulled out the cereal.  “That’s the ecto contaminated cereal Danny,” Maddie said. Mom, that’s what he meant.  “Oh, whoops,” He put it back and grabbed a new box. “Why’re we keeping it anyways?” “It’s an experiment!” Mom replied.  “You guys and all your ridiculous ghost stuff need to stop it,” Jazz huffed as she walked down the stairs.  “But we have proof of ghosts now! And some of them can get they’re hands on human tech,” Jack- er Dad, said. “You mean social media? People could just taken random picture of a random guy doing that and made something out of it,” “He’s floating Jazzibear, that means something!” J- Dad said loudly.  “Photo editting,” Jazz knew it was hopeless, but she did it for Danny. “Believe what you want,” Dad grabbed some fudge from the fridge. 

Jazz and Danny walked to the soup kitchen. Well, Jazz walked and Danny floated. It was Saturday, so they were taking an all day shift.  “500 followers Jazz! That’s crazy for one night!” “That’s great!” “I know. Oh look, we’re here,” Danny sped over to the kitchen while Jazz sat at one of the tables. “Hey, it’s my favourite ghost,” Milton said. “More like the only ghost you know,” “Yeah, let’s stir this pot and make soup,” Milton laughed. Maybe everything wasn’t great, but Danny was okay with that. He smiled and stirred the pot of soup. 

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And, la fin. Maybe it sucks, but I felt like writing something for this. My first oneshot actually. Let me know if you want more of this! The idea came from a post I read by @redrobin-detective. I reblogged it for those who want to see the original concept. Sorry if my grammar is a little strange to you. I’m from Canada, and grammar here is different than the States. 

[abarbaricyalp]

@sambuckylibrary

SamBucky Halloween Prompt 1: Urban Legends

High School AU, spooky ghost stories and dead girl’s revenge

Rated G: mild cursing (AO3 link in the notes)

Haunt me, baby, one more time

“Legend says that every 17 years, the body of Lyla Ray comes back from the dead, looking for her next victim,” Sam whispered severely. Bucky’s attention was rapt on him, unblinking and fully engaged. “She preys on beautiful young men, the kind that killed her all those years ago. And she cuts their hearts out to eat it.”

“That’s a little on the nose,” Bucky breathed back, but his gaze didn’t waver. The bottom of Sam’s truck bed was starting to get uncomfortable, even with all the blankets he and Bucky had piled into it and Louisiana was hot on October 28th, so the blanket thrown over their heads--turning them into one lopsided ghost to anyone who happened to drive by and look--was getting unbearable.

“Do you want to go see where her body is?” Sam asked.

“I thought you couldn't bury people so close to the coast.”

“She’s buried,” Sam assured. “So far down underground so that maybe she won’t dig her way out.”

Bucky shivered involuntarily and Sam grinned. “How long ago was her last supposed appearance?” he asked.

“A year after we were born.”

Bucky let out a breath of realization. “I see. So she’s supposed to come back tonight,” he said.

“Exactly. If we hurry, we can see her come up.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted the full Louisiana experience while you were stuck down here?”

“Did I say stuck?” Bucky asked, reaching over to cup Sam’s cheek before pulling him into a slow kiss. “I’m sure I didn’t mean stuck.”

Sam grinned against his mouth, a little thankful for the blanket over them since they were parked just off the road. Then again, Halloween always made him feel invincible, so he probably would’ve let Bucky kiss him with or without the blanket.

He let Bucky distract him up until Bucky tried to lay him out over the blankets--later, definitely later--at which point he pushed him back. “Come on, you have to come with me,” he said, pulling on Bucky’s hands.

Bucky sighed like it was the last thing he wanted to do. Maybe it was. Bucky was the biggest skeptic Sam had ever met. Most kids new to the state were wide eyed and excited about the hundred billion ghost stories that permeated every street and building. Not Bucky Barnes though. He couldn’t be tasked to believe in any story about any monster or ghost or legend. Nothing phased him. Not any of the ghost tours Sam had dragged him to, not the haunted houses that had crept up in the weeks leading to Halloween, not the voodoo or tarot shops that always sent a thrill of excitement down Sam’s spine. Bucky just didn’t buy any of it, which made him even more enchanting to Sam’s stupid heart. Opposites attract and all that.

Bucky stood up, knocking the blanket away, and hauled Sam with him before climbing over the edge of the truck and waiting for Sam to do the same. By design, they were already pretty near the cemetery and it was getting dark, so Sam let his fingers graze over the back of Bucky’s hand until Bucky tangled them together.

“Y’know,” Sam said after a few steps, “you’re just like a Layla Ray victim.”

“Am I?” Bucky amused. “How do you reckon?”

“Oh come on. You’re a total pretty boy. Total heartbreaker.”

“Samuel Thomas, have I broken your heart?” Bucky asked in mock affront.

The thought of this thing between them maybe not being permanent broke Sam’s heart every damn day, actually. And Bucky being adamant about going back to New York for college was devastating too. “Not me. But I know you got a string behind you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and knocked their hands against Sam’s thigh softly. “You’re terrible to me. You’re like her victims. You’re breakin’ my heart right now as we speak. And with eyes like that? A mouth like that? Total pretty boy too.”

Sam laughed and leaned into Bucky’s side. “Now you’re just flattering.”

“Nah, it’s true. I’ve heard the girls at school talk about you. All of Sarah’s friends are obsessed with you. Becca thinks you’re the cutest.”

“They’re freshmen. They hardly have taste yet. Sarah’s friends are just happy I pay attention to them in the hallways.”

“Well, Sarah’s friends like you a lot more than Becca’s friends have ever liked me,” Bucky said. “Which has to count for something.”

“Nah, ‘cause you’re an asshole. I totally get where those girls are coming from.”

Bucky glanced down the street before hauling Sam into a kiss that sent Sam’s head spinning through the dark night. “You think assholes can kiss like that, Wilson?”

Sam still couldn’t think but he nodded anyway because being contrary to Bucky was second nature.

Bucky snorted and let go of Sam’s waist. “Then I’m an asshole who likes you a whole lot. Even if you’re, like, super mean to me all the time.”

“You like it,” Sam said and hurried to catch back up to Bucky. “Here, it’s just up ahead.”

“Yeah, I might’ve missed the gate,” Bucky agreed sarcastically.

“We can be a little extravagant,” Sam said, looking up at the metal monstrosity, a remnant of the past, holding all the secrets of the past too. “Gotta keep the ghosts inside, y’know.”

“From what I hear, you’re not very good at that part.”

Maybe not. “Layla Ray isn’t a ghost, she’s a Revenant.”

“She’s a bear?” Bucky asked, just to be obtuse.

“You’re such an asshole,” Sam repeated and pulled him into the cemetery. “She’s buried towards the back, ‘cause she’s so old, y’know. And so that maybe she’ll be confused while she’s trying to get out.”

“Wait a second, this girl has been eating hearts for centuries now and she’s been buried underground for most of the time this cemetery’s been around to keep her buried, but actually it’s not working since she’s been wandering around?”

“That’s not the point,” Sam said, waving his hand in the air. “The point is the story.”

“I get the story. I’m just saying, stick to a reason why she’s buried instead of cremated or something.”

“She’s buried because that’s how the story works.”

“You know, she ought to come after you, usin’ her name and tragic end to scare new kids at your school.”

“We used to come out here all the time when we were kids,” Sam said. “The worst trouble I ever got in was when I brought Sarah with me once and dragged a stick down her arm while she was looking at the gravestone.”

Bucky snorted. “And I’m the asshole.”

“I’ve been waiting for seventeen years for this. Just let me have this one night.”

“If this is a once in seventeen years event, why ain’t no one else out here?” Bucky asked.

“I dunno, guess you grow out of it,” Sam said with a shrug. “Or maybe no one wants to risk being the guy who gets his heart eaten.”

“Right. Or you just made this up to get me out here all alone. Maybe you’re actually the ghost.”

“Am I that unbelievable?” Sam teased. He leaned up and stole another kiss before weaving Bucky to the back of the cemetery. He made sure to avoid walking over any plots that happened to be in the ground, though there weren’t many. Finally, nearer to the back fence, they came to a stop in front of a gravestone that read Layla George Ray 1796-1813 Beloved Daughter.

“I hate looking at tombstones for people our age,” Bucky said, reaching out to run his fingers over the lettering of Layla’s name.

“That’s almost touching, Barnes,” Sam said.

Bucky crouched down to run his hand over the even, cut grass that adorned the top of the grave. “No fresh dirt. Guess your revenant isn’t so hungry tonight,” he said, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “Even with two eligible guys standing around.”

Suddenly a woman’s scream pierced through the night and Bucky sprawled back on his ass, scrambling away without ever being able to get his feet under him.

Sam wrapped an arm around his shoulders when they finally collided and then sank down himself, cackling so hard he could barely breathe.

“Oh my God, Barnes,” he gasped. “Your face!”

“Sam!” Bucky cried. “Didn’t you fucking hear that? What was that?”

Sam fell onto his back, clutching at his ribs, knees bent up to his chest. It didn’t help retain any air, but it happened anyway. “Jesus, look at you,” he wheezed and buried his face in his own arm. “You really thought--” He wheezed some more and real tears slipped out from his eyes.

“What?” Bucky asked, still panting, still ready to bolt, but now more confused than terrified. “What are you talking about?”

Sam uncurled himself and held out his phone. The scream pierced through the air again and cut off abruptly when Sam silenced it. “You thought-- You really thought a dead girl was coming out of her grave to eat your heart.”

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Bucky snapped, finally catching up to what Sam had done. He sat back heavily on the ground and Sam broke out in new laughter.

“Your face, Barnes! You were so fucking scared.”

“I thought someone was dying, Wilson.”

“You thought someone was coming back from the dead,” Sam corrected.

“I hate you. I hope you do get haunted.”

“You can’t hope for what you don’t believe in,” Sam pointed out.

“I can hope for what you believe in. And I hope all sorts of creepy shit haunts your ass for years. I hope you don’t sleep for ages.”

“Oh come on,” Sam said with a smug smirk. “You don’t mean that. You love cuddling with me when you think I’m asleep.”

Bucky glared balefully at him. “Cuddling with you when you’re awake is just as fine by me.”

“Besides, if I get haunted, that ghostie’s gonna be all up in your business too,” he pointed out. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet and offered his hand down to Bucky. “Come on, baby. I’ll make it up to you.”

Bucky followed the long line of his arm up to Sam’s face before reaching for his hand and standing as well. “That a promise, Wilson?”

“Well, those blankets weren’t just for story time, y’know.”

“I like the sound of that. Keep on talking.” Bucky closed his fingers around Sam’s and Sam took it as the reconciliation it was. Together, they started for the front gate again.

Behind them, others talked too.

[shadeswift99]

Team ZIT Ghostbusters AU!

Discord ideas. Of course they’re discord ideas. (paraphrased from a Discord discussion)

-  Zedaph is the one who started the ghostbusting crew. Impulse is the one who went along with it because his normal job is boring and he's had haunt-y experiences before that he wants to confirm were real. Tango is the guy who didn't believe at all but they dragged him along because he's the only one with a car

- Tango keeps somehow missing any and all real ghost encounters (”Come on man, you HAD to have seen that!” “I was in the bathroom!”)

- The few ghost encounters he actually has. he still manages to excuse as something else for a really long time (”Jerk in a costume” “Weather balloon” “Firework show gone wrong” “Hallucination” “Water reflection”, etc.)

- He eventually has to admit that ghosts are real, but he keeps up the bit with the others because he thinks it’s funny

- the others start to wonder why he’s so dedicated to convincing them that ghosts aren’t real in spite of their very real encounters. They start to wonder if Tango himself is a ghost

- He is not. Hilarity ensues

- Zed and Impulse start setting ghost traps around the office, but the ever-oblivious Tango keeps accidentally avoiding them. Zed and Impulse then activate them themselves while looking for flaws in the design.

-  About two thirds of their calls are just old people who are freaked out and kinda lonely, they're good at reassuring them and "thoroughly checking" for any “ghosts” to put them at ease

-  Beetlejhost was one of these calls, it was supposed to be nothing! They were convinced it was nothing! And it was nothing, until Tango and Impulse went into the hall for their customary "check" and got insulted up and down by a nerd-looking guy in a striped suit.They like to think they let him come with them, but really, he just wouldn't leave. He is Weirdly resistant to all their ghostbusting measures

- Eventually they just stop trying to get rid of him

-  Zed and impulse eventually ask him if Tango is a ghost, he gives an incredibly cryptic answer that those two interpret as a yes

-  The eventual confrontation about Tango's theoretical ghost-ness starts out ridiculous, but gets more serious. Impulse and Zedaph start listing the reasons why they think he's a ghost - he's weirdly insistent that ghosts aren't real, he hasn't told them anything about his life, they never really see him arrive or leave from the office...eventually Tango kind of snaps and shouts at them that he's not a ghost! He just doesn't have many other places to go, okay? They don't bring it up again

-  However. There are a few weird things around the office that they cite as evidence that Tango can't explain. He didn't open that door that they always leave closed. He couldn't have boiled water in the kettle that's been broken for six months. He isn't the reason why their reflection in every mirror is wearing a different facial expression than they are.

- They would suspect the Beetlejhost, but the strangeness started long before he got there

-  They bought the office for cheap because nobody else would buy it. The story is that the landlord was murdered there a decade ago, and he still hasn't left the place, making sure all of the new tenants are treating it well and punishing them if they don't. The three didn't really put much stock in that. It's a myth, right? Urban legend. Happens all the time. Surely the ripped and slightly bloodied vest they found in the attic has a perfectly reasonable and natural explanation.

- Honestly, their resident ghost buddies (both known and unknown) are probably the only reason they haven’t been attacked by ghosts in their own office yet. As annoying as they can be, they make pretty good protection from incorporeal intruders.

- “Ghosts try to fuck with them and are met with a ripped dude and a nerd in a suit, both looking quite angry”

-  They only really realize that the Beetlejhost isn't the only ghostly officemate when large amounts of their post-mission pizza start disappearing

-  Impulse starts "accidentally" leaving things out just to see what happens to them. He leaves out a Rubix cube to see if it's solved by the morning. It isn't, but it has been thrown out the window.

-  Skizz has never had to learn how to physically appear before. He's never really wanted to. The living world kind of screwed him over, so he doesn't feel like he owes them anything other than ominously lurking just beyond the mortal plane. However, to these people, he kind of thinks he might want to make himself known. They seem...okay. Ish. Maybe. No promises.

- Maybe at first, he just talks (suddenly, in the middle of the night, in a way that just about gives Impulse a heart attack of course)

- Eventually, the Beetlejhost teaches him how to make himself visible. (Of course he knew Skizz was there the whole time)

-  He still mostly keeps to himself - not used to being friendly yet - but when he does choose to show up to team game night, an extra bit of company is always welcome. (plus it's someone to keep the Beetlejhost from cheating by phasing through the table and looking at the cards)

-  Beetlejhost comes with them on missions, but Skizz is more or less bound to the building

-  The Beetlejhost usually just sings and/or laughs at them, but he's gotten them out of a good few tight spots on occasion with Ghost Negotiations. After all, he doesn’t really want them to get hurt

-  As distant and mischievous as Skizz can be, really, he doesn't want them to get hurt either. They take good care of the building and they're the first real friends he's had in 15 years so why would he want them gone? So, he does his part to help them whenever he can

-  One time one of the more dangerous ghosts decided that possessing Impulse was a good idea. They subdued him and took him back to the office to figure out what to do with him, but they didn't have to. Skizz basically just yelled at the ghost until it left.

- Speaking of possessed, Tango has a strange talent for coming under the control of ghostly forces. Usually it’s pretty easy to get the ghost to leave, though, so it’s okay - and hey, at least it left him with some nifty red eyes!

- And yes, Tango does get possessed when he still thinks ghosts aren’t real. And no, that does not convince him.

- He has to wear sunglasses sometimes so they don’t get kicked out of places, but he usually just lets the eyes show and becomes the most badass person in the Walmart

- Zedaph and Tango try to ask Skizz how he died sometimes. It’s a bit of a touchy subject, but of course he chooses humour instead of just saying that. Zed and Tango continue to insist that “saw your mom’s face and died from shock and horror” isn’t a valid death explaination

- Skizz doesn’t want to talk about his death because he was killed by someone he trusted. A "friend" did something bad and wanted to use Skizz's place to hide from the cops, but Skizz didn't agree and didn't want that on his hands. He tried to convince the friend that if he turned himself in he would get a lighter sentence, but the friend killed him in anger. Notice how I said earlier that the crew are the first real friends he's had in 15 years, but he's only been dead for 10

-  Skizz isn't really interested in getting that person caught, he just wants to make sure nobody uses his place for bad stuff after he died. That’s his unfinished business.

-  Of course, the crew sometimes gets called in to take care of things that are not, in fact, ghosts, to varying results. One time a guy (whose name might have been Mumbo) called them in to ghost-vacuum his living roommate (who might be called Grian) who was just being annoying. They didn’t, of course, but only because Impulse said it would be wrong. Their other roommate (Iskall) gave them a tip and apologized for his idiot besties

- While they didn't vacuum Grian, Zed and Tango are still curious about what happens if they vacuum a living person

- Tango now has to figure out how to delicately and calmly phrase "Skizz please help oh god Zed's soul is stuck in the vacuum cleaner"

Please feel free to send me questions, I am enjoying this way more than I should be :)

[five-rivers]

Questions (Not Answered)

@amabsis  MERRY CHRISTMAS FEATURING CRYTIC DANNY AND HIS SPACE FRECKLES (and one other prompt you sent me, but that one’s a mystery).

.

.

.

Bare feet on ice. Breathe, he reminded himself.  He was human, for now, and he wasn’t supposed to be here.

Ice.  Thin ice.  

He was human, for now, but he didn’t have the weight of it.

In slow motion, he saw the much, much heavier man—Boy, really, he hadn’t graduated that long ago—step out on the ice, brow furrowed. A kind of rage lit him up, a paper lantern that burns itself, like the last time Danny had seen him, a frustration born of not being believed and—

The ice gave way.  

It took him a moment to remember to fall.  

.

Beeping.  White. It took him a moment to remember and remember he had been human.  At least then.  At least now. Something like a fever danced over his skin.  Pinpricks. A heated blanket.  Whiteness he has come to associate with a threat.  

He—

This is a hospital.  

He breathes.  He remembers. He wasn’t supposed to be there, but even less is he supposed to be here.  

There will be questions.  

It isn’t his fault, he reassures himself.  No way he could have been anywhere else, done anything else, except by the actions of others.  Not with safety.  Not with grace.  Not with morals.  

He can smell the other person in the room.  Their sweat.  The fabric softener their suit had been laundered in.  

“You should be dead,” said the man.  Accused the man.  

“Well,” croaked Danny, “clearly not.”

“We didn’t pull you out until after Agent W.”

Couldn’t they use the guy’s real name?  Agent W.  Too many syllables.  Too long to say in the heat of battle, or to keep him from running out and nearly drowning in a half-frozen lake.  

“You’re not dead until you’re warm and dead,” said Danny. “Heard it in a documentary.  Mom and Dad say it’s why you don’t see too many ghosts who died that way.  That and the hallucinations.”

His parents don’t think happy people leave ghosts.  They’re wrong.  In that and many other things.  

He does not look at the man.  The line on the heart monitor goes up and down, dead steady. He did not think of the ghosts he left behind him.  Of the battle and journey that left him on the ice, surrounded by white.

“I think we both know that isn’t true,” said the man with an edge of a growl.  His shadow fell on the edge of the bed.  “We’ve had our specialists look into you, you know.  With your parents’ blessing.”

Blessing.  What a strange way to say permission.  Danny has received blessings.  True blessings.  One is not the same as the other.  He remembers them, towering, like storm clouds, like mountains, like the forest, like the moon, the sun, the stars.  He remembers the lights overhead, circling, and himself, looking up, beneath it all.  He remembers the well, the fountain, the door, the path.

He remembers.  

And he has none of that right now.  No lightning but what he was born with.  No ice but what the doctors chased away, if there were doctors, and not simply more men like the one at his bedside.  No knife or poison but the words on his tongue.  No shield but his disregard.

Human.  

Yes.  

“We even ran you through some of our pattern recognition programs.  Do you know what we found?”

“Enlighten me,” said Danny, dryly.  His voice cracked again, painfully.  

His effort was rewarded with a finger shoved harshly against his cheek.  He winced at the sharpness of the nail and looked directly at the man for the first time since he woke up.  He was reflected twice in the man’s sunglasses, and a third time on the warped silver casing of his overlarge earpiece.  

“Your freckles,” said the man.

“What, did your program decide I had skin cancer or something? Forgive me if I decide I want a second opinion.”

“Constellations,” hissed the man.  “You have constellations in your freckles.  The same as the ghost boy.”

Danny endeavored to raise his eyebrows as far as they could go. “I’m pretty sure that whatever Phantom has on his face aren’t freckles.  Freckles don’t glow.”

“Don’t play games with me,” said the man.  “We aren’t the only ones who’ve noticed.  We aren’t the only ones who’ve put two and two together.”

“To me, it sounds like all you’ve done is give a computer pareidolia, but whatever floats your boat.”

“What is your connection to Phantom?”

“You’ve been listening to Wes,” said Danny.  If his voice wasn’t wrecked, his words would have been dripping with disdain thick enough to drown the man.  Twice.

“Agent W is not the only one to make note of your behavior,” said the man.  “Paulina Sanchez, for example.”

“Paulina,” repeated Danny.  “You mean the girl who has used every available opportunity to tear me down and mock me since I asked her out in freshman year?  You think she wouldn’t lie to your clown squad?”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what everyone calls you,” said Danny.  “Also, you shouldn’t be interrogating a minor without their guardian present.”

“How convenient, that you know that.  Reading up on the legal system?”

“My sister had a Law and Order phase.  Speaking of, I want a lawyer.”

“You aren’t under arrest,” clearly disgusted.

“Great.  So, can you tell the doctor I’m awake?  Thanks.”

“We aren’t done here.”

“I am,” said Danny.  He closed his eyes.  “If you don’t tell the doctor I’m awake, I might as well go back to sleep.”  He faked a yawn.  Then yawned for real because yawns were like that.

Then the GIW representative shook him by the shoulders.

He shouldn’t have done that.  For a number of reasons.  Not the least of which being that if Danny was connected to ghostly happenings, he could most likely kill the man with his bare hands.  

This is not what occurred.  

Monitors need leads, need sensors.  Disconnected, they scream.  Much like anything else.

In a hospital, such screaming attracts doctors.  

How nice to know that they were in a hospital.  

.

Snow underfoot.  Booted foot, incidentally.  His parents had brought his boots when they came to pick him up, along with other winter clothes.  The snow crunched and squeaked, declining to melt when he stepped on it.  Which.  Rude.  

The trip to the car was silent and sulky.  Or possibly accusatory.  Or morose.  The nuances of the emotions escaped him.  

“Danny,” said his mother.  “Why were you out on the lake last night?”

Danny had been dreading this.  Anticipating it as one would the end of a fall.  Except he hadn’t hit the ground yet, only the branch of a tree that had the misfortune to get in the way.  

He didn’t have a good answer.  

“There was something I had to do,” said Danny.  Which was both true and vague.  

“In your pajamas?”

Danny winced.  That hadn’t been his fault.  

“We don’t know why you keep sneaking out,” said his father. “But it has to stop.  You can’t do this anymore, Danny-boy.  Especially not if it’s going to end up with you in the hospital.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” protested Danny.  “It isn’t like I lured Wes out.  He went out all by himself!”

“Danny,” said his mother.  “You almost died.  And now the GIW is telling us that your freckles are in the same pattern as Phantom’s ecto-luminescence!”  She visibly worried at her lower lip.  “What happened?”

“And what did you go out for?”  added his father.  

Danny shrugged.  

“Were you trying to help Phantom?”

“No,” said Danny.  

“We know how you and Jazz feel about him, but, Danny, this is dangerous.  That ghost is dangerous.”

Danny looked away.  

“You’re grounded,” said his mother.  

Danny whipped around to face her again.  “What!”

“What else can we do?” asked his mother.  “What else do you expect us to do?  You won’t tell us anything!”

“It was just—” spluttered Danny.  He pressed his lips together, considering.  “I did not go out to meet Phantom,” he said.  Again, it was true.  “I went out because one of my classmates said they were being haunted, and I wanted to help.”  Also true.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked his father.  “It’s our job to deal with ghosts.”

“Yes,” said his mother.  “In fact, I thought you wanted nothing to do with ghosts.”

“I don’t know,” said Danny.  “Sometimes—” He winced, knowing what he was about to say would hurt. “You aren’t very good at catching ghosts.  And the part I want to have nothing to do with is the one where you cut ghosts up into pieces.”  He paused. “And I don’t know what happened after I got there.”  He did not specify where there was.  “I think the GIW had some kind of weapon?  I didn’t expect them there.  Anyway, there was a bright light, and the next thing I know, I’m out on the water.”

Alright.  He was leaving a bunch out, but the rest was still true.

“You’re still grounded.”

.

He felt heavy.  Whatever had kept him from making footprints on the ice had left him entirely. Or reversed itself.  Either way, stairs, such as the ones he had to climb to reach his room, felt like an imposition.  Nonetheless, he persevered.  

Right up until he collapsed on his bed, overcome with the unfairness of it all.  

“Hey,” whispered the monster that had taken up residence underneath his bed.  “Can I come out, now?”

“You’re clear,” mumbled Danny.

The monster, Phantom, phased up through the bed to lie on it next to Danny.  

“Where did they even get the Ghost Catcher?” he asked, aggrieved.  

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out!” replied Danny. “It doesn’t make any sense, and I can’t very well ask Mom and Dad about it.”

“Ugh.  We’re grounded, aren’t we?”

“I am.  You aren’t.” Danny pulled a face he hoped his other half would recognize from the outside.  “Be careful, though.  Your escape route is gone.”

“I will.  You need to find out how to get us back together.”

“I will,” said Danny.  “By the way, just after it happened, I think I still had access to some ghost powers.  I think I’m still a little, you know.  Not quite right.  It might be the other way around for you.”

“I’ll try and keep an eye on that,” said Phantom.  “It might be important.”

“Yeah,” agreed Danny.  “You should go, for now.  I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad are going to be checking on me all night, and if they see you…”

“Yeah.  I get it.”

“Sorry.”

Phantom bumped his head lightly against Danny’s.  “Nothing to be sorry about.  We both know what they’re like.  I’m going to patrol a bit, then I’ll probably go over to Sam or Tucker’s. In case you need me.”

“Sounds good,” said Danny.  “I’ll just… stay here.  Try to make the Ghost Catcher from scratch.”

“We have homework, too, while you’re at it,” said Phantom, halfway through the wall.  

Danny groaned and rolled over.  He would have to be careful about getting into the lab while he was grounded, and his parents were on high alert.  Perhaps he could convince his sister to cause a distraction?

[aperfecttimeforscreaming]

10 reasons why a poorly adjusted adult Dib is a Valid headcanon

1. Dib is/was a neglected child

Dib doesn’t have a parent that he can lean on and go talk to for advice, his father is frequently out of the picture and doesn’t give a shit about the thing that Dib cares about. Dib is actively encouraged by his neglectful father to give up on it, actually. I believe this would make Dibs stubborn streak really bitter and spiteful. Most people reading this are LGBTQ+, I assume I don’t need to explain how a fucked up an isolated upbringing, or being unable to be yourself around a parent, hurts you in the long run. 

2. Dib is bullied for the things he is passionate about, and being bullied heavily colours your perception of other people 

The world of Invader Zim is not kind, Dib is frequently harassed by his classmates/superiors/family for his outbursts/lectures/overall investigator shtick. 

Now you might say “but, Screaming, wouldn’t Dib learn to tone it down as he got older?” and YEAH. Probably! But does that mean that he would just forgive all the people that made his life horrible before that point? Or who socially ostracized him for the things he’d done in the past? No. No one is under any  obligation to forgive anyone who hurt them, and I think Dib wouldn’t even try to forgive someone he saw as intellectually inferior 

3. Dib is a selfish rich kid

Dib is selfish. He wants to be the protector of earth- but he doesn’t do it for earths sake. He’s clearly doing it as a cry for attention/ a reason to eventually be vindicated for being spit on by his own kind.  I don’t think he would have genuine empathy for other people. If he did have it, it’d have to be something he had to work really hard at. However, I don’t see Dib putting much effort into understanding other humans. 

Dib is rich (probably). This one being more of a headcanon- in the series Dib wants for no material object, he wastes technology on his explorations like it’s something he can just pick up from the dollar store, his father is a world renowned scientist with access to crazy technology and the ears of world leaders. I think he’d feel entitled to one or two things 

4. Gaz is not her brothers keeper. 

She’s not responsible for his mental health, she’s not responsible for keeping him in line and “normal”. Most of the time she doesn’t want a damn thing to do with him. If we’re going by the standards of the IZ tv show, the only times that Gaz interfered with Dibs paranormal investigations were when Professor M. Was also involved. Either she wanted to see her dad and Dibs antics were getting in the way (forcing her to intervene), or she was directly ordered by their dad to keep Dib out of trouble.  Sure, you could argue that she would beat the shit out of Dib for doing something she didn’t like- but that wouldn’t “fix” the mind of a very stubborn person. It might even make them dig their heels in even deeper out of spite and bitterness as a “fuck you I’m right you’re wrong” 

Furthermore, as Gaz gets older she’s going to have her own life to worry about and might stop tolerating the way Prof. M uses her as a middle man to deal with his “poor insane son”. She’s under no obligation to fix any of the phases Dibs life might go through. If Dib was unpleasant enough, and Gaz had the resources to leave, I think she might just bail on him. 

5. Dib is arrogant 

He's gonna do what he thinks is the best course of action unless you physically stop him from doing so. He comes from a place of thinking that he is right, the opinion of anyone else is secondary. Dib will do “what needs to be done” for “the greater good”. Whatever he thinks that “good” is. He wants to play the white knight at any cost. He cannot be in the wrong, or that bravado towards being righteous in the end crumbles. I think Dib would subscribe to a “the ends justify the means” mentality

6. Dib would harm another person to get what he wanted

In a room with a moose, Dib debates letting himself die just to take his entire class down with him. In the unaired episode “return of Keef”, he co-operates with Zim in an attempt to make Keef explode, because he thinks Keef is irritating. Dib used Gaz to test out an ancient spell book, cursed Gaz to only taste pork, and then only helped fix the problem when threatened with physical violence. This could be the kind of thinking that gets worse over time as more people mock his attempts to save and protect them. Why care about people that don’t even give a shit if they live or die?  Dib is a smart fringe personality in his world, and the otherness that he feels for that could lead to a sociopathic way of thinking if things went bad enough 

7. Dib does not care about other peoples personal space

Dib hides cameras in Zims house. Dib ran right past the front gate at NASA Place, Dib chased a baby big foot up a radio tower. Dib bullied Zim physically on the playground using his known weaknesses against him. Dib would do anything to get the evidence he needed to prove what he wanted to prove, and that would get him in trouble. Repeatedly

8. Antisocial tendencies (like spending countless hours fused to a chair, or most of your young adult life spent hunched over a desk at a computer screen) make it difficult to smoothly socially integrate, and the world of Invader Zim is fuckin' mean

You know the world he comes from is mean. However, assuming Dib did find community somewhere, who’s to say they would agree with him? Or like him? Maybe one of them would cause problems for him that were bad enough he’d have to leave. I’ve always found that the IZ portrayal of earth to be like this funny cynical parody of a dystopian police state america. If we’re going by “what can go wrong will go wrong”, Dibs social integration wouldn’t get easier without a bunch of effort on Dibs part. Maybe Dib would have to pretend to be somebody unlike himself just to get by in his day to day adult life. If we see Dibs country of residence as a police state, the world Dib grows up in would encroach heavily on his personal privacy, and that might make him even stranger via paranoia 

9. Sadistic tendencies towards anything paranormal (obsessed with the act of dominating and exposing the unknown)

Dib is a fucking jerk to Zim (rightfully so), but Dib is a dick to pretty much every supernatural thing he comes across. Either out of an excess of enthusiasm, or using a supernatural being to further his own plans, or from an invasion of privacy, or being an irritant to the entity he’s dealing with. He LIKES to be mean to them.  He  wishes to have mastery over knowing how they work. (maybe it’s more fair to say Dib is a voyeur?)  

This is more headcanon than anything, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to say he might also want to control the paranormal for his own purposes. If Dib could say- catch a ghost in a jar so he could show it to everyone, he’d do it. If he could trick a werewolf into transforming on stage in front of a large audience? He’d do that.

10. Dib is created to be Zims equal

Dib is as “evil” as Zim is and vice versa. Neither of them is good, or pure, or morally justified. It’s a nice little grey dynamic. Both characters think they’re entirely in the right when they act. That they often aren’t in the right is fun because then you get to write/draw/ think about how they’d react to the consequences. Dib could still totally be a hero in his own mind, despite setting an apartment block on fire to flush out a coven of litches.

The reverse of this is also true, Zim can do nice things, and occasionally be good as Dib can be good. I figure the Zim/Dib dynamic changes for everyones interpretations at least somewhat. Having Zims terrible actions rub off on Dib as their battles escalate is a really fun way to go about exploring their relationship 

11. I like the it

There is no right or wrong way to enjoy a cartoon character! Live to make yourself happy in fandom! If you ever thought you needed permission to create rancid content, I’m sorry you felt pressured not to do it. 

You want to make a serial killer Dib?? You want to make a basement dwelling depressed zit covered Dib?? You want to make a Dib who struggles with his trauma through substance abuse?? Go HAM!! 

[clockworkgraystairs]

There is no such thing as vampires #1 || Jurdan AU

Jurdan Smut Week 2020   •   DAY 2

The prompt was technically dagger play...it didn’t really worked that way but HEY more smut! (vampire smut cough)

@jurdannet​   @jurdannetrevels​

Rating: E (no I don’t mean ‘everyone’)

Warnings: Explicit content, mentions of blood, some biting (it’s a vampire au c’mon), swear words (just in case)

Summary: 

Behind me stands a tall, slender man dressed in black trousers and one of those puffy white shirts men always use in period TV dramas. Raven curls frame the sharp angles of his face and his pale skin resembles marble. I stare at him unsure if my eyes widen because of the scare or how good looking he is. Maybe both.

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying.

Extra comments: Just because I’m extra af, I’ll leave you the ambience music videos I listened while writing this. In case you’d like to hear them while reading:

Rain in a forest at night - Haunted Mansion/rain/thunder/wind - Narnia Lullaby

Written for: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​ MA’AM AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR ALL THE HELP AND SUPPORT, FOR BETAING THIS UNENDING PIECE AND FOR HELPING ME CRAFTING THE IDEA FOR IT! ❤️

Part 1 ||  Part 2

Masterlist   •   AO3

“Please tell me again why are we doing this?” I ask for the third time, leaning to rest my head on my sister’s shoulder. We bounce as the uncomfortable van we travel in turns to a cobbled path, leading us deeper into the woods. 

“Because,” Vivi hisses back. “Your little brother is currently in his Twilight-obsession phase, and he just broke up with his girlfriend so we’re trying to cheer him up!”

“He’s 9! And they lasted like, what? Four hours?”

In that moment, Oak turns violently from the front seat, scowling at me. “First of all Jude, we were together two full days ok? She was the love of my life and suddenly she’s not sure about us anymore? Now I shall never find love again! I might have to become a priest. I expect a little consideration.”

Vivi ruffles his hair affectionately. “We absolutely understand, your sister here doesn’t have an ounce of romance in her veins but of course she supports the cause.”

That said, he returns to his place. I bite my lip hard, trying not to laugh. Typical Oak. I love my brother I really do, even if half of the time I can’t understand his dramatic outbursts.

Sighing, I stare through the window, to the heavy clouds gathering on top of us. Great. We are probably far away from the highway by now, nothing more than trees, rocks and occasional wild animals around. For some reason, our father had thought that there was no better way of fixing a kid’s broken heart than going on a quest in search of legends and hidden castles. 

The thing is that apparently, it works. Instead of an incessant whining about love being doomed, my brother spends the days throwing the most random facts about werewolves, vampires, ghosts and any impossible creature. To be honest, I don’t think wikipedia and the Twilight books are a reliable source, but if it makes Oak happy I could live a couple of days with it. And most importantly if I have to choose between this or spending the week back at home with my mother and twin sister going to tea parties for old ladies, well, the answer is very clear.

I remember reading a few books about myths when I was younger. When I turned fifteen, I developed a hard crush on Brad Pitt after I saw Interview with the Vampire, filling half of the walls in my room with posters of him. Even now ten years later, I actually enjoy talking about old folklore and legends, urban myths and stuff like that. 

What bugs me, are the fraudulent morons who want to take advantage of Oak’s naive curiosity to engage us in the most ridiculous tours that were obviously a waste of money. So far, we’d entered three “museums” where most of the so-called relics were made of plastic, and a haunted house with special effects so poorly done, father had discreetly asked for his money back. Only another two of the places we visited were actually interesting, but since the guides spent most of the time flirting with Vivi or me, it had annoyed our father. 

Now though, we are driving behind the car of an old couple who swore their ancestors owned a castle where true vampires had lived once. The sole mention of the word “castle” was enough to make Oak hang from our father’s sleeve begging to go.

I’m not going to lie, it is an intriguing idea. But I remain a little worried about how much money Madoc is ready to pay before he hurries his little son back to his fantasy books and videogames.

“Dad, did you know that vampires like to live in the woods because it allows them to make racing competitions without being interrupted?” Oak asks with enthusiasm.

Madoc gasps. “Do they? Is it because they’re so fast?” 

Okay, he might be willing to pay more than I thought. Next to me, Vivi muffles a laugh and keeps taking pictures for her instagram, occasionally asking for my help.

Upon arriving at the castle I have to suppress a curse. This, now, is a real castle. Nothing like the pitiful buildings we’d visited before. It is huge, made of pure stone and a modest wooden bridge that connects the entrance with the spot where the cars park. A slight fog covers the sides of the castle giving it a creepier look. 

A shiver goes down my back. I turn to find my family who are all equally gaping at the place in front of them. Oak is visibly shaking with excitement. Vivi shoots me an astonished look before taking my brother’s hand and following the couple across the bridge.  

The first thought that pops into my mind is that this place must have been taken out from a movie. Or set up for one. Maybe this is one of those pranks for TV. There is no other explanation for the massive room we find behind the giant front gate. Every inch of the walls is covered by paintings, several images barely recognizable through the dust. Aged furniture rests under dust and spiderwebs, pointing out they haven’t been used in quite some time. The illumination doesn’t help either. Electric lights hang from a few spots on the walls, though not enough for the big space, which I suspect is the reason that long candles are lit up too. 

My next thought is that I should’ve brought my sweater. The damn place is freezing. 

“Phew, sorry about the dust!” The old man says, flashing an embarrassed smile to us. “We were not planning to have any visitors yet.”

“You said this is going to be a museum?” Madoc asks, carefully surveying the walls. Next to him, Vivi tightens her hold on my brother’s hand to prevent him from starting to run around. I swear his eyes are about to pop out of their sockets. 

“It will indeed! This place has been in our family for generations, but since it’s hard to adapt it to modern technology it was abandoned.” He turns to Oak and winks. “Not to mention the creepy things that happen here all the time.”

His gaze widens. “What kind of things?”

“Well, some distant relatives used to try spending their vacations here. But after a couple of days they left in a big rush, claiming some strange force had commanded them to go away.” With a lower voice, he adds. “They also mentioned noises coming out from empty rooms and dark hallways. Steps. Shadows that followed them along the place.” 

For a second everyone remains silent. The only noise I can hear is the wind outside and the start of a slight rain. Somehow my hands are even colder.

“The legend says,” The woman, whose name is Marrow if I remember it correctly, continues while taking one chandelier with her hand. “This was the hideout of ancient vampires, how many, we don’t know. But they didn’t appreciate people trying to live within their domains.”

“So why come here at all?” Vivi asks. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

“It might be.” She shrugs. “But that’s half of the fun, isn’t it?”

“We like to think we’ve found a safe way to open this castle to the public without taking any risks. We will use a part of it as a museum, to show some of the family relics. But be aware, no one is allowed to go further than the marked area.” He signals at the yellow tape stuck on the floor forming arrows.

“If you please...” Marrow says, motioning at the stairs where the markings start.

They get me for a moment, not gonna lie. The surroundings and the way they speak are creepy enough to make me doubt my beliefs for a second. I shake my head to clear those thoughts away and walk behind my family. There’s no such thing as vampires or haunted castles.

We go through passages. Madoc has to remind Oak to not touch anything, constantly. From what I see, he’s living his best day. Several counters line up side by side against the wall. Some of them contain jewelry, others weapons, old writing pens among other things. Most of them carry a family shield, although it’s too blurry to properly identify what it says.

The rain thickens outside and Marrow keeps talking. She tells the story of her so called ancestors, whose family were big enough to fill all the rooms in the castle. Elwen, Eldred… something like that, and his many wives had once lived here. Along with his abounding children. I see in Oak’s face the intention to ask about how that family arrangement worked but Vivi gives him a slight pull of his hair. 

I would have thought our guides would try to keep a proud name for their so-called ancestors. But they don’t. In fact, she seems particularly interested in explaining how Eldred’s cruel and terrible nature brought him nothing but disgrace. His once prosperous castle and assets were gone little by little. He claimed he was under the effects of a curse, but no one dared believing him. At least not until people started disappearing.

I stop listening at some point, focusing my attention on the relics in front of me. I’ve always felt a significant attraction to weapons, but not the ordinary ones like guns or rifles. These ones though, such beautiful daggers and swords. I’d give a kidney just to hold one of them. 

On the next shelf books pile one next to the other, the dust around them a clear sign of how long they’ve been unbothered. All except for one. The navy blue cover has almost no dust at all, yet it looks like it would fall apart with a gentle blow of wind. The title is partially gone, probably through time. 

I turn my head to my family but they’re gone, probably to another corridor since I can still hear the muffled voice of Marrow and my brother. Would she care at all if I check out that book?

I bite my lip. As long as it doesn’t break it’s probably alright. Standing on the tip of my toes I reach for it.

“That is an excellent book.” 

I shriek and whip around, my hand flies to my mouth trying to cover the embarrassing sound. The book falls open next to my feet.

Behind me stands a tall, slender man dressed in black trousers and one of those puffy white shirts men always use in period TV dramas. Raven curls frame the sharp angles of his face and his pale skin resembles marble. I stare at him unsure if my eyes widen because of the scare or how good looking he is. Maybe both. 

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying. “My personal favorite. Too bad the author was a poisonous bunch-backed toad.”

My mouth opens to apologize, but I only manage to let out a strangled. “Shit”

The stranger lifts an eyebrow and chuckles. 

“Sorry, I- that wasn’t what I meant to say.” I stutter. I feel as if my heart has jumped to my throat. “I wasn’t trying to steal the book.”

“I did not say you were.” He answers, his voice is like velvet.

I nod and take a deep breath. “I came in with my family. Marrow is showing us the place.”

His dark eyes wander down my body, but not like one of those rude men on the streets. No. Something in his gaze feels feral, like an animal sizing up his prey. A strange urge to run pools in my stomach, yet at the same time my muscles seem to have forgotten how to do so. 

He looks me in the eyes again and it’s all gone. I let go of the tension in my back and a breath I didn’t know I was holding. When he smiles again, I feel as if I could trust him. Why shouldn’t I?

“And are you enjoying the tour?” He bends to pick up the book I’d dropped before and puts it back on the shelf. His movements are fluid and carefree. I doubt I’ve ever seen such elegance in a simple action. It is unsettling as much as it is attractive. Then I realize I’m supposed to answer.

“Yes, this is amazing actually.” I look around and take in the aged stone of the walls and ceiling. In that corridor there’s only one electric lamp, the rest is only lightened by candles. I can see our shadows dancing along to the flames. “All of this really helps getting in the ‘mood’.”

“The mood?” 

I look at him and notice his tilted head. “Yeah you know, the mood of enchanted castles and old legends. This is well put enough that a credulous person would believe any story. Marrow is pretty good at it too.” Motioning a hand to him I add. “They even have their own actor.”

A thunder roars outside. “I beg your pardon?”

I roll my eyes and flash him a smile. “You don’t really have to keep the charade with me. I’m not some schoolgirl.”

“Yet I managed to pull a scream out of you, didn’t I?” The way he says it feels as if he was talking about an entirely different subject. Heat creeps up my cheeks.

“That was… not the same.” I mumble. “I didn’t hear you approaching. That could scare the living hell out of anybody.”

“I have been told I am quite sneaky, I concede you that.” He nods. “Why don’t I give you the rest of the tour? As an apology, of course.”

He’s doing his job, I remind myself, he’s not flirting with you. 

“You haven’t even told me your name.” I say. “If we’re roaming around a castle together I should at least know who’s guiding me.”

That sounded an awful lot like flirting. Dammit. 

“Cardan, at your service madam.” The tone he uses feels like a caress, he bows his head in a way I’ve only seen in movies. He takes his role seriously. I almost chuckle, but the sound dies in my throat. 

“Cardan.” I repeat, just for the pleasure of doing it. “My name is Jude.”

He straightens. “Delighted to meet your acquaintance.” He answers and offers me his arm. “Shall we, Jude?”  

I can’t believe how far away my family has gone. Cardan and I walk through a couple of corridors and still there is no trace of them. Did we take that long talking?

He’s an excellent guide, I have to acknowledge that. 

While Marrow uses a tone of suspense and mystery, Cardan has this melancholy in his voice that sounds as if he’s talking about a memory. It’s bewitching. He also drops the most ridiculous “facts” about the people on the paintings. I refrain myself from asking if inventing things is allowed for employees, because saying that the girl with the pearl necklace enjoyed to play on the beach while saying she was the Princess of the Sea, certainly sounds like it. 

“If you bite your lip one more time, I am going to do it for you.” 

My heart skips a bit and I let go of my lower lip. I hadn’t realized I was tugging it. It’s an unconscious habit. I turn to him and I find his gaze different, hungry. It sends a shiver down to a place I know it shouldn’t. He arches an eyebrow as though he notices it.

“Is that a thing vampires like to do?” I say, trying to lighten the mood. The last thing I want him to know is that for the last twenty minutes I’ve been listening to him speak wishing he put a different use to that wicked mouth of his.

His gaze doesn’t change. “It is a thing I would like to do.” 

I am pretty sure my expression is giving me up by now. Knowing my traitorous body, I’m probably flushed, my mouth open in awe. Desire coils inside me.

At my lack of answer, he continues. “Why don’t I show you something vampires really like to do?” 

He walks back without letting go of my hand. I notice he steps out from the marked section and into a forbidden corridor. 

The sensation returns, the one that is telling me to run. The problem is that I don’t know whether to run away, or straight to it. My mind wants both and my body, only one.

“You’re going to the restricted area.” I’m partially surprised by how breathless my voice sounds. “You can’t go in there…”

Cardan pauses and a confused expression crosses his face. A second later, it returns to his charming and teasing smile. “Are you afraid?”

I am. 

Yet, I don’t care. I walk into the shadows with him.

As we cross the passage darkened by the lack of chandeliers I tell myself this is a terrible, terrible idea. The way he devours my mouth the moment a door slams shut behind us, convinces me it is the best.

Cardan pushes me against the wall, the cold temperature of the stone goes through my clothes making me gasp. He takes the opportunity and kisses me harder, his tongue explores my mouth with such deliciousness I have to bite back a moan. 

My fingers are tangled in his hair pulling him closer to me, if such a thing is even possible. His hands are everything but still. They roam intensely from my breasts, down my sides and finally to my rear, where he grabs me, pressing me against his pelvis. I hear him groan and the sound makes something clench inside me. 

Before I can double-think about it, one of my hands lowers to rub his hardness, still hidden behind his trousers. His breath hitches. He pulls back a bit and whispers to my ear. “Needy little human.”

I frown a moment, something about his words not clicking inside my brain but whatever it is I forget it the moment he slides his cold hands under my jersey. I yelp at the sensation, not sure if what flutters down my back is a result of the temperature or the eagerness which he’s holding me with. When he reaches my bra I hesitate for a moment. Cardan pauses too and leans back to stare into my eyes. 

“Do you want to stop?” His voice is throaty and charged with desire. Still, he doesn’t make a move, waiting for my answer.

An instinctive part of me knows this is something I shouldn’t be doing. But that’s definitely not any close to me wanting to stop. Without removing my eyes from his I take the hem of my jersey to pull it over my head. The piece of fabric hits the floor, but neither of us pays attention to it. Once again Cardan’s gaze roams me in that predatory way. 

I don’t stagger this time.

When my bra falls to the floor too, I take his hand and guide it to my jean’s button. “Do I look like I want to stop?”

Without hesitation he yanks the button open and slides his hand inside to cup the apex of my thighs. The contrast of my warm skin against his coldness makes my hips buck. Cardan buries his other hand in my hair and tilts my head back. I can feel his lips nipping down my jaw and my neck. A moan escapes my lips as he swipes a finger along my heat. He hums in response, the vibrations of it against my neck makes my eyes roll back.

He continues his ministrations until he feels me wet enough to slide a finger inside, he curls and pulls out. Then back inside. My breath comes out in elaborated pants as he quickens his pace. My hands almost finish unbuttoning his shirt when he slides another finger through my folds, his movements turn fast and punishing. Wet sounds taint the silence around us. As pleasure takes full control of my body I cling to him like a life saver, trying to muffle my moans.

“Let go Jude, let go for me.” He breathes next to my ear. My back arches and I sob a curse, writhing down on his hand. 

He slows down as I come back from my orgasm, but never stops. Despite the freezing surroundings a drop of sweat runs down my chest. My heart beats as if I just ran a marathon. Cardan’s lazy moves continue, frequently grazing that spot that makes me mewl.

I hear him sigh. “You smell so good.” He claims my mouth one more time and bites me hard enough to make me wince. His tongue caresses my lower lip and a warm throb expands through my veins. He freezes and pulls back, releasing me. I stare at him in confusion, or at least as much as I can manage giving my current state.

He pants a couple of times before looking up at me. There’s a fiercess in his eyes that would’ve been scary under normal situations, right now, it only makes me want him more. He swallows before finally speaking. “If we go further, I won’t be able to stop.” His voice is like sandpaper.

My body seems to work on its own account, as I move to cup his face between my hands. “I already told you.”

“Jude…” He warns me, but I interrupt him joining my lips to his.

“I want this.” I breathe into his mouth. Cardan lets out a defeated groan before pulling my body back against his. Either he’s been holding back or it is until that moment that I realize how strong he actually is. He kisses me like a starved man and I can feel my pulse rise once again.

Soon his shirt joins my other clothing. My fingers trace his chest and torso, marveled at the softness of his skin. I mimic him moments before and kiss his neck. A low sound that almost resembles a growl comes out from his throat. My hands travel lower.

Somehow I manage to free his raging erection from his trousers, closing my hand around him. He hisses and then tilts his hips up to my touch. I start pumping him with unsure movements before gaining confidence to do it harder, tighter. Now it’s his turn to curse. Even though it sounds like something taken out from a Shakespeare novel, it makes my core pulse. 

Cardan grips the hem of my jeans strong enough that for a moment I fear he’d rip them away. 

“Take these off.” He demands instead.

I’m not sure of how I manage to do it. My mind feels blurred with a mix of sensations. Disoriented, not sure about exactly how my body is doing all of that, and the bliss of knowing I’m enjoying every second of it.

Before the air hits my skin, Cardan lifts me from the ground. My legs circle his waist in a reflexive move. His lips quirk in approval. Then my back is once again pressed against the wall, making me arch in a failed attempt to avoid touching the cold stone. A sound leaves my mouth, though it is not clear if it’s a protest or a moan. I hear him chuckle in my ear and I turn my head, searching his lips.    

His kiss is slower but still deep. I feel as if small electric sparks are tickling every single one of my nerves. More, I need more. Cardan holds me in place with his hips, letting his hands wander up and down my legs.

The tip of his shaft is grazing my core over the thin fabric of my remaining piece of clothing, with an aching slowness that is not enough to ease my thirst. More.

I might have said that out loud because Cardan’s hips grind faster against me. It feels so good. And yet, it’s not enough.

I whine his name like a plea. 

He continues for a couple of torturing seconds before reaching between my thighs again. There’s no teasing now as he moves my panties aside and immediately sinks his fingers inside me, pumping in and out with a pace that has me gasping in no time. He murmurs something I can’t understand and lines himself up to my entrance.

With soft, deliberate movements he slides through my heat, letting me feel every inch of him until he’s completely filling me. Then he stills. My muscles twitch around him, trying to adjust to the invasion. The exquisiteness of it is making my head swoon. 

Cardan grabs my jaw and locks his gaze with mine. I can imagine what he’s looking at. Hooded eyes and flushed skin, though he doesn’t let me think a lot about it as he starts to move. Slow at first, with careful strokes that quickly evolve into long and deep. My mouth falls open at the sensation and my eyes shut.

“I warned you.” I hear him pant. “That there was no coming back.”

A whimper escapes my lips. I’m not even sure I’m actually trying to say something. He doesn’t seem to care either and leans to whisper to my ear. “You are mine now, Jude.”   

There is something in the way he says it, his words carrying some compelling implication I can’t fully catch. His lips trail down my neck and I want to answer. To tell him that I am, that after the way he’s taking me, how could it be otherwise? 

That’s when I feel a sharp stinging pain on the base of my throat. 

I cry out and try to shake it away but whatever it is won’t let me go. Cardan’s words echo at the back of my mind, Needy little human. 

As if sensing my thoughts he grabs my thighs and opens them wider, he thrusts into me harder and faster. Everything mixes in sensation. Pain leaves as fast as it came, leaving behind it that throb in my veins I can’t really explain. It is more intense now, what I felt as warm now is scorching. My entire body feels like it’s on fire, I’ve never felt so exhilarated before in my life. I don’t want it to stop. 

Cardan sucks on my neck again and I moan his name. Without realizing it, I’m on the brink of another orgasm. I only realize it because he groans when my legs start to shiver around him. I cling to his neck and his hair. If I’m pulling too hard I can’t really know. A familiar swirl comes up from my core to the rest of my body as I spasm around him. It takes me a moment to notice the broken moans and sobs I hear come from my own mouth. 

He keeps going a little longer until his fingers tighten over my skin, surely leaving bruises on both thighs. Muffled moans ring against my skin as he comes, thrusting in a couple of times more before stilling. A warm sensation covers the place where we join together.  His mouth lets go of my neck. I grunt and shiver. 

He puts me down carefully, still holding my waist, which is good considering I don’t know if I’m able to stand by myself. I feel dizzy. Cardan lowers his lips to mine one more time. He’s slow and gentle as though he’s worried. There is a slightly metallic taste in his tongue but I don’t pay attention to it. I trace the fine features of his face with trembling fingers. Little by little my senses start to take in the surroundings, the cold. 

The place rumbles with another crack of thunder.

“You have to go back.” Cardan says, barely pulling his lips apart. Go back. I frown, then images of my family crash in my mind. I look around searching for the door, there is something  on the floor. I realize soon those are my clothes. Shit. The tour, Oak. How much time have I been gone?

I dress in a hurry, not really caring if I put on my jersey correctly. He does the same but with the calm an elegance he has.

Panic must be written in my face because he grabs my chin and turns me to him. “Hey. Calm down.” He soothes me. Then his tone changes, turns commanding. His eyes are darker too. “Listen to me. You are going to do exactly as I say, do you understand Jude?”

I want to ask why, but for some reason I only nod. Cardan grabs my hand and pulls me out of whatever room we were in. “You must follow this passage until you find a way to turn left. Then continue until you see a painting of a black snake then turn right, you cannot miss it or you will get lost. Walk straight, and you will be back to a safe area.”

“But-” I start. I don’t want to go alone. And I don’t understand why but I don’t want to separate from him either. Which is nonsense, I barely know him and still...

He interrupts me. “I cannot go with you, I have lost so much control already and I don’t think…” 

“Cardan, I can’t-” 

A growl echoes in his chest and he pulls me closer to him. While his voice is still hypnotizing it sounds threatening now. “You will not tell anybody about what you saw here. Now go if you intend to leave this place alive.”

Then he's gone. I can’t recall if I blinked or turned, because a moment before I could still touch him and now he vanished.

I take a deep breath and start walking. Focus. Go straight, then turn right. Or was it left? 

All passages look the same, some spaces don’t even have a painting or anything at all to help me differentiate them. Sometimes I whip around, thinking I heard a familiar chuckle behind me. Distant rain is the only sound that is a constant companion, but even with it I’m able to hear an echo of every step I give. It unsettles me more with every minute that passes. Although I feel more in control of my body than before, my knees falter constantly and a sensation of tiredness slides over my mind. 

I find the snake painting just as I’d started to think I would be trapped here forever. 

It’s huge, and despite the years that have probably passed the scales still seem to shine. The head is painted in an angle that gives the illusion of the eyes following the person looking at it. It doesn’t help that the candle’s flames also make the snake look as if it’s moving. Stalking. Before noticing, I start hyperventilating. I shut my eyes close and turn away. Something is terribly wrong with me, I need to get out. 

Turning right, I start running. I cover my ears fearing that if I don’t, I’ll start hearing the snake’s hiss behind me.  

I cross an arch made with the same stone and stop right in my tracks upon realizing somehow I’m back at the room where we first arrived. I blink to adjust my eyes to the change of light, since here’s where all the electric lamps are. The room is empty though. 

I’m not sure of what I am supposed to do now. Sit and wait? Go out to the car?

While I’m weighing my options, trying to choose any that doesn’t imply dropping myself on the floor to have a panic attack, I hear murmurs and steps getting closer.

“Jude!” My little brother yells and runs to me. Behind him, Vivi scans me like she’s trying to find something wrong. I straighten my back and put on my best calmed face.

“Where were you?” She demands. “We lost you hours ago! Are you ok? You look pale.” 

Always such a mother hen, I sigh. “I’m fine. I fell behind and lost y’all. Then... I guessed it would be better to just… return here.”

I try not to frown at my last words, since I didn’t fully intend to say them. You will not tell anybody about what you saw here. 

“Jude knows how to take care of herself.” My father adds. I could hug him, but we’re not exactly the affectionate type. So I just flash him a smile.

Vivi does not look convinced but still stands down. “I guess so. The weather did a mess with your hair though.” A flash of Cardan’s fingers pulling from it to gain access to my neck sends a shiver through my body. Had that really happened just minutes before?

Before I can answer, Marrow calls for us. We turn to find her standing next to a big set of paintings that apparently were covered with a curtain. “You cannot leave without meeting the royal family.”

The canvases are ordered to mimic a family tree. A man with a severe expression rests at the very top. Eldred, I assume. Just by looking at it I feel judged. I can’t imagine what was like to actually live with him. The pictures of his wives look all so different but under them, their sons do have resemblance to one another. A weird sensation tickles my fingers as my gaze continues travelling over the paintings. Finally, I get to the last one. Once more, I cover my mouth to avoid  an undesired sound.

Staring back at me I see Cardan. 

I don’t care if it’s a painting, there is no way I could not recognize those features. Those lips.

“A big family, I see.” Madoc’s words seem so far away.

Marrow hums in agreement. “The Greenbriars always felt proud of their vast offspring. Such attractive sons and daughters. It’s a shame the curse took most of their lives all those centuries ago.” 

“Did he…” I start, without knowing how to continue.

She approaches me to look at the canvas. “Ah, young master Cardan. He was the last one of Eldred’s children.” Then a frown appears on her face. “There was a lot of controversy regarding his death. Some say he died because of the curse, some others say he was the curse. The books all have different versions.”

“That sounds creepy as fuck.” Vivi says. 

“Creepy as fuck.” My brother mimics her, the thoughtful expression on his face makes him look ridiculous. We cackle as Vivi shouts Oak he’s not supposed to say bad words.

By the time we get out of the castle the rain has decreased to a drizzle. 

Madoc carries Oak on his shoulders, listening to his non-stop squeals of excitement after visiting what he calls ‘a real vampire hideout’. This time, I don’t find the words to contradict him. Vivi is the first one to get to the car, shouting back some nonsense about the Greenbriars needing a protection hex. 

The moment I step down from the bridge something shifts in my head and I feel as if I had just woken up. 

Perhaps it is me who needs a protection spell after all. 

Before closing the car’s door, I turn to the castle one more time. Marrow and her husband wave at us from the front gate. 

A dull ache throbs on the base of my neck and my hand flies to the spot. I retrieve it and see blood staining my fingers. 

My heart misses a beat when I lift my gaze to the upper windows, where a tall figure with white shirt and dark hair is looking right back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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The Corpsemouth

Prompt: Sparklers & Fireworks

Fandom: Scarletvision (Wanda Maximoff and Vision, MCU)

Word Count: 2047

Warnings: Mentions of a horror monster and a full smut scene.

***

“Are we sure that this is a wise idea, Mr. Stark?” Vision asked. He trailed behind Tony, dragging Wanda by the hand as she struggled to keep up with his large strides.

Tony scoffed.

“Relax, Mother Hen. This is the best idea ever.”

Only, it wasn’t the best idea ever. Not even close.

When Tony decided that their Fourth of July celebration would close out with a fireworks show conducted by the billionaire himself, Vision knew it wouldn’t end well. And now, here they were in the dark after a rogue firework spiraled out of the perimeter and hit the power lines. Luckily, Thor and Steve were able to put out the small fire that started in the aftermath.

“Well that was fun,” Clint deadpanned, slapping his knees and standing. “Can’t believe I left the family barbeque for this. I’m going home.”

“You’re no fun, Barton!” Tony yelled as the archer disappeared in the darkness.

“You know…” Sam started, his voice low. “This is the perfect time for The Corpsemouth to appear.”

“The what?” Natasha asked, rolling her eyes. “That doesn’t even sound like a real thing.”

“Oh, it’s real,” Sam confirmed, the sound of a beer cracking open piercing through the inky air. “He takes advantage of situations like this. Ambushes when people are at their most vulnerable.”

“We’re never vulnerable,” Thor laughed.

“You say that now,” Sam warned. “But you won’t say that when Corpsemouth is dining on your throat.”

“Dining on… throats?” Vision piped up. He gulped. “This Corpsemouth… how bad is it?”

“Worse than Ultron,” Sam said.

“How so?” Vision asked.

“He won’t spare you time with pointless conversation. He’ll just kill you and ask questions later.”

“You’re full of shit,” Natasha spat. “There’s no such thing as The Corpsemouth.”

“Perhaps he’s right,” Vision said, taking Wanda’s hand. “We wouldn’t want to be caught off guard.”

“Sam,” Wanda warned. She gave Vision’s hand a light squeeze. “Stop it. You’re scaring him.”

“I am not scared,” Vision insisted.

But his grip on Wanda’s hand told a different story. Vision, while tough as nails when it came to battle, was a proverbial school girl when faced with a ghost story. He didn’t even like half of the Halloween episodes of the sitcoms he and Wanda watched together. There was no way the talk of Corpsemouth wasn’t scaring him.

“They call him Corpsemouth because that’s how he kills you,” Sam went on, his voice a low brooding rumble for effect. “With his razor sharp teeth and jaws like an alligator.”

“Excuse me,” Vision said, standing abruptly. He disappeared into the shadows but it was clear he was walking to the compound.

“Dammit, Sam!” Wanda snapped. She stood up and took off in the direction Vision went.

It was nearly impossible for Wanda to see on her way to the compound. She raised her hand up, using the scarlet orb that floated above it as a source of light. It wasn’t much, but it got her to the front door. She pushed the door open with her free hand and slipped inside.

“Vis?”

She searched the first floor, hoping she’d find him in the living room, but no luck. He must have been in his room, hiding away from the teasing tones of Sam and his stories. The thing about Vision is that he probably knew the story was horse shit; that Sam was just trying to have a little fun in a less than stellar situation, but it still scared him. He still had trouble differentiating fact from fiction when it came to the supernatural.

As expected, he was in his room. He sat on one of the large chairs, staring at the wall. Wanda opened the door loudly and coughed, announcing her entrance but approaching Vision slowly. She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze.

“You know he was fucking with you, right?” Wanda asked. “There’s no Corpsemouth.”

“I know,” Vision replied. He stood up and turned to face Wanda. “But at that moment, I was unable to convince myself that Sam’s story was fabricated.”

“Well, it’s over now,” Wanda said, putting her arms out for a hug. “And it’s not real.”

Vision walked into Wanda’s arms, setting his head on top of her head as her arms wrapped around his waist.

“Come to my room?” she asked. “I’ve got candles and we can play with those dice you like.”

“I’d really like that.”

***

The room was illuminated in a soft glow from the candles Wanda lit, the two of them sitting on Wanda’s bed.

“You roll first,” Wanda said. She dropped two black dice into Vision’s hand and waited for the result.

He rolled, letting the dice go between them on the bed.

“Pinch. Ears.” Vision tilted his head in confusion. “I suppose I should do as I’m told?”

Wanda grabbed her ears.

“They’re all yours.”

They laughed and Vision extended his arms, taking Wanda’s earlobes between his thumbs and forefingers. He gave a quick pinch as Wanda giggled and then dropped his hands.

“That was a bogus roll. Mine is going to be better,” Wanda gloated, grabbing the dice from the bed and rolling them. “Bite. Boobs.”

Wanda laughed again, this time a loud guffaw that echoed in the dimly lit, silent room. Vision knew what to do. Slowly, he lifted his shirt to show his chest.

“Please watch the Vibranium,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to chip a tooth.”

Wanda nodded and moved in, finding a spot on Vision’s chest that was skin. She opened her mouth and sunk her teeth in gently, lightly nipping at the spot. Vision shivered under her movements, bringing a hand to the back of her head.

“I need to stop,” Wanda said, allowing Vision to move his hand from her head before she resurfaced. “If I didn’t stop, I would have kept going lower and we only just started the game.”

“Foreplay is an essential component of a healthy sex life,” Vision recited. He grabbed the dice and shook them around in his hand, letting them go in the middle of the bed again. “Massage. Nipple.”

Wanda sucked on her bottom lip, eyeing Vision. It was her turn to lift her shirt and she lifted it and her bra in one quick motion. Her breasts bounced with the force as Vision’s eyes went straight to Wanda’s nakedness. Wasting no time, he reached out and with two fingers pressed the pads against Wanda’s nipple. Slowly, he began to rub circles around the nub as it hardened under his fingers.

“Vis,” Wanda moaned, thrusting her chest forward. “Use your mouth.”

“But the dice-”

“Please.”

Vision complied, moving in on Wanda’s left breast he took the hard nipple in his mouth, sucking on it and swirling his tongue around the nub.

As Vision pulled away, Wanda grabbed the dice from the bed.

“Last roll,” she said, her voice coming out huskier than usual. She didn’t bother pulling her shirt down. Instead, she pulled both garments over her head and flung them across the room before rolling the dice.

“Kiss,” Vision read, his eyes slowly moving to the second die. “Balls/Labia.”

A sudden rush of laughter hit both of them. The dice made it sound ridiculous, but Wanda knew that this would definitely lead to so much more.

“I guess we should listen to the dice,” Wanda said playfully. She crawled on her hands and knees toward Vision, prompting him to lie back on the bed as she got closer.

Without hesitation, Vision phased out of his clothes, leaving him bare and waiting for Wanda to comply with the dice’s command.

Wanda moved closer, taking Vision’s soft cock in her hand and lifting it up so she could get to his balls. She was careful with her movements as she closed in and pressed her lips to Vision’s balls.

It went silent, and then suddenly, they were laughing again.

“That was so weird,” Wanda admitted. “Having to just kiss your balls like that. You’re not even hard.”

“Not yet,” Vision replied coyly, his eyes traveling to where Wanda’s hand was still wrapped around his cock.

For Wanda, the message was clear and she was ready to get to work. She closed back in on Vision and wet her lips before slipping his soft cock into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the head, and across the slit, reveling in the way that she could take him fully into her mouth before he was fully hard. She fell into an easy rhythm, sucking and licking every inch of him.

Vision’s hands fell to Wanda’s head, combing his fingers through her hair as she bobbed up and down on his cock.

Wanda felt Vision getting harder in her mouth, and he was quickly too big for her to fit in her mouth completely. She pulled back, adding her hand to the rhythm. As she worked on him with her mouth, she also pumped her hand up and down his length.

“Wanda…” Vision croaked, lifting his hips and pushing himself further into her mouth. “Don’t stop.”

Wanda had no intention of stopping. She ran her free hand up Vision’s stomach, dragging her fingers along the mixture of soft synthetic skin and strong Vibranium, finding a spot where the two met. Only she and Vision knew it, but he was ticklish where skin met Vibranium. She moved her fingers to a spot just on his stomach and traced the seam.

Vision immediately tensed up, a moan turning into a laugh and back into a moan when Wanda started laughing. The vibration of her amusement against his cock sent him into a spiral of bliss, his hips coming up again, driving his cock into Wanda’s mouth, hitting the back of her throat.

Wanda pulled away, his cock coming out of her mouth with a wet pop.

“You’re eager tonight,” Wanda observed, amusement playing on her face. She changed positions swiftly, going from lying between Vision’s legs to shedding her pants and underwear and hoisting her leg over his body, his cock coming to rest between her ass cheeks. “This might be a better option for us tonight.”

Wanda sat up, reaching back and taking Vision in her hand, guiding it to her middle. When the head parted her lips, she quickly sank down on his cock, sheathing him inside her before lying down flat against Vision’s chest.

“Go for it,” she instructed, letting him know he was free to move his hips and fuck her however he wanted to.

Vision’s arms wrapped around Wanda’s body, his knees popping up as he pressed his feet flat against the bed for leverage. He pulled out halfway, slowly, but when he thrust up, driving himself back into Wanda his movements were quick, rhythmic and relentless.

With their bodies pressed together, they worked as one to find their bliss.

Vision came first. His moan became an apology for doing so, one that Wanda didn’t want to hear.

“Shhh, don’t apologize,” she said,caressing Vision’s face. “I just want to hear you moan for me.”

All words that threatened to fall from Vision’s lips disappeared at Wanda’s request. He let his orgasm wash over him, apologies turning back to moans as he emptied inside her. His next move was quick. He sat up, taking Wanda with him and flipped her onto her back. He pulled his cock out of her and brought his fingers to her clit, rubbing the sensitive nerve with care and determination.

“Yes, Vis! Just like that,” Wanda cried out, swirling her hips underneath him. With a few more strokes, it was Wanda’s turn to come, legs shaking with the intensity of it. She yelled Vision’s name, not caring who heard her in the quiet of the blackout.

As Wanda came back down, her breath evening out and her senses returning, Vision caressed her thighs, helping her calm down.

“The dice win again,” Wanda finally said, laughing. They’d never gotten to use the dice very long, any instruction given to them always quickly escalated into something more. Vision joined in the laughter, the deep cadence of his chuckles was music to her ears and she smiled to herself, knowing that any thoughts of Corpsemouth were now gone from Vision’s immediate memory.

[mushroom-cartel--writing]

begrudging (love-)blindness

Summary: You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

Relationship(s): Gojo Satoru & Reader, Gojo Satoru/Reader

Note(s):

Here’s the link to read this on AO3! (You know the drill, extra tags, different notes, the format I intended, etc.)

Personally, I think this is hot garbage in terms of structure and pacing (it’s loosely all strung together is what I’m saying, but I just needed to get it off my chest before I wrote anything else. Yet... I guess I had fun? Yeah. I did!

There's spoilers from the manga mixed with headcanon.

I still hate spacing and formatting on Tumblr, it sucks. Please, please, please, this is for your own good, click the AO3 link, this fic is such an eyesore on this platform.

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There’s a tug at your chest, sending you hurtling backwards and into something hard. A wall. Tiles. Smooth.

The heavens and the earth view one another through a layer of haze of light at night.

There are thousands of people gathering, their footsteps thundering echoes in your ears. Their chatter is a constant hum in the air. It stinks of sweat.

(“The train will be arriving soon. Please stand behind the yellow line—”)

You sigh.

“Dammit, Satoru! A little warning would be nice,” you hiss to the man. You hear him whisper something back but his voice is swallowed up by the crowds and then he, too, is consumed.

You feel him wander farther away from you; not left with much choice, you follow him. And down, down, down you go.

You pause when there’s an invisible wall blocking your path of his own making. “Hey!!” you shout, starting to scream expletives at him from the top of his lungs and he doesn’t look back.

A few seconds pass. The people, these poor, clueless civilians who just want to go home for the night are like sardines in a can, their bodies pushing and shoving. For space. For air. Requiring neither, you phase through the wall and the remaining levels to catch up to him, the thoughts going through your head solely focused on figuring out why he has let you out. He wouldn’t do something like this without warning you beforehand.

Why now? What now?

You pull out from the shadowed cracks of the feeble curtain set up along the fifth floor underground, suddenly feeling a heaviness you hardly ever experience. You run a cursory swipe over his teeth; the blood in the air is fresh, there are more civilians down here than up above, more sardine-ing (their presence is fading away, the above platforms’ panicked din becomes extinguished, it’s ghastly quiet, a moment frozen in time), but no Satoru. Not physically.

He loves you, you know. (You don’t understand though… Why?)

It’s a burden, draining you of what vigour is left in your soul, barely just clinging on to this plane itself.

His love is a curse in itself, really.

"I don't want you to see me hurt," he had said often, back when you were children, oblivious to the power of those words until you got older.

What they meant.

What they did—to him and you.

Still as the wind, you stand together, hands brushing up against each other's, your fingers infected with poison where his is not; the calloused skin and scars shared between you weaving a tale for the ages that will never be told.

You’re both nineteen at heart but certainly not in spirit.

You lean against him, completely unseen, waiting for him to flick his finger back.

Waiting for him to obliterate the first person he thought he could trust outside.

He doesn’t. You disappear for another time, expectant.

His love is a burden and you're not sure where you would be without it.

If he hadn't looked your way, would you be the same person you are today?

It's frightening, these thoughts of yours, but he usually chases them off when he senses them bubbling to the surface. (You want him to be annoyed.) A casual grin and stance, a flick of his wrist, a rush of wind by your side, then the phantom pressure is gone, yes, gone, however—it's never banished completely. It never can be.

You don't remember the colour of his eyes but there's a memory of you claiming they looked like marbles, buried somewhere (somehow), in the back of your mind. Like the marbles you'd smash glass bottles to obtain, their fizzy contents only drained seconds beforehand; stubby, sticky, small fingers sorting through the shards, squashing ants in the process.

Those very same fingers, now, haven't changed a bit, save for the chipped nails and whatnot duress they’ve sustained throughout his life.

You use them to push the blindfold up to his forehead, taking in the surrounding sights.

Why now? The fact that you can feel them, his fingers and everything else—that’s a bad sign. A very bad sign.

You breathe, inflating the faux lungs.

Finally, you see it. The reason why you’re walking and talking and fully corporeal.

You gulp at the living corpse, its stitches wonky and fresh. Cerebrospinal fluid spills from its face in fat droplets and lands upon the clothes of a dead man. Disgusting.

“So I was right in the end,” you say, more for yourself than anyone else. “You’re not Suguru.”

(Satoru owes you a thousand yen. You told him to burn the body immediately. Or, you know, the usual. But what’d he do instead? He went and passed it off to a third party! Man, why’d that old hag have to kick the bucket so soon… If she was still around she’d probably kick Satoru’s dumb ass for trying to be decent.)

“How are you free?” Not-Suguru asks.

The real Suguru wouldn’t ask about your appearance. He would make a comment about how the temperature has dropped and burrow into his collar. He wouldn’t question things.

The real Suguru never acknowledged you, but he knew there was something in the corner of his eye that took the image of his friend and laughed alongside them when they pulled their antics during missions.

The real Suguru is gone.

Who the hell knows where Shouko is.

Yeah. A little warning would have been nice. Real fucking nice.

There’s a cube with a dozen eyes between the two of you, the crater on the ground betrays its unassuming weight. Satoru’s muted presence, a shrunken pearl of light, emanates from the cube.

Not-Suguru follows your line of sight to it.

Giving him an answer would be a waste of your time.

You can’t, they say.

Young master, please, don’t go there, implores the servants and guards.

The elders, his grandmother especially, tell him not to enter the storehouse tucked away in the garden behind an avenue of camellia trees because that’s something they’ll discuss when he’s older.

He doesn’t listen to them, the curiosity of a three-year-old child cannot be satisfied by mere words. (“Let this be known,” the gardener says in his defense, one cold summer’s day. It is raining outside. His grandmother shoots the only person in the compound that doesn’t treat him like a blind fool with a withering glare. He does not see them again until—)

What’s in the storehouse?

A library of cursed objects? Spiritual remnants, artefacts, texts, poisons, weapons?

Maybe the mummified corpse of an ancestor whom they keep around to ward off evil?

Perhaps a curse, frozen in time forevermore?

Maybe it’s nothing and the adults are all in on some kind of elaborate hoax, he figures. Mm, yeah. Sounds about right. No one else knows about the storehouse.

It’s old and earthen. Wild plants curl the walls to one side and splotches of moss grow on the tiled roof. Where the sun hits least is pristine. Clean. He wonders if that’s where the wards are placed, out of sight, out of mind.

Oh.

Standing in the entrance of the open door with bare feet, at the threshold of the aged structure, fulfilling his desire, he learns why they wanted him to remain ignorant.

It’s a child. (A human…? This whole situation is off.) A kid his age. He can’t tell whether or not they’re older or younger. They might be a bit taller, though.

No, he wants to shout, this can’t be it! He stomps his foot. That’s cliché! Boring, boring, boring! Again, he strikes the ground. Ugh, whatever—

A sigh escapes the emaciated figure sitting in the darkness, hunched over themself against the wall of the bare storehouse.

“Ah, my f̶̥̍r̵̝͐̏i̷̳end,” they start, softly. “M̶̹̦͒y̸͍̮̋̚ f̸͉̓̋r̴͇̦̕ǐ̴̦͇e̵̫͠n̷̢͉̅̓ḍ̸̅, my very dear, old friend. You have returned.

“My e̷̳̭̿y̶͈͂e̷͔̭̎͘s̴̭̄̊, have you come to give them back? Ask for several others?

“I have waited for you, as promised. Come. Closer. Please. I do not know how long has passed since I last gazed upon your visage. Do not be afraid.

“I no longer lust for flesh as fervently as before, I will not ask of y̸͖͔̒o̵̳̍u̵͍̘̓ ą̴͕̈́n̵̫̓d̸̛̳͛ y̵̻͑̎o̵̖̥͒͌ų̴͋̐r̵̦̩̓s a sacrifice to please me.”

Their voice is garbled, the resemblance to a broken radio off-pitch jarring his reaction time, a music box opened underwater gurgling, ghosts beat to the rhythm of the blood in his ears and titter buried mysteries.

In the corner of his eyes distant stars burn, galaxies explode to life and die repeatedly, the vast cosmos is shredded apart. Universes are swallowed whole. The plane he stands upon bends to the will of the one whose gifts he uses carelessly to play the role of a deity and dictate the balance of the world.

People have said [they] reflect the very heavens.

His faith wanes.

.

a trio of ragtag orphans,

escapees, survivors and starved,

on the verge of being

no better than beasts,

happen upon a traveller taking respite from the winding roads.

a foreigner no doubt

they guess from the strange hued garb;

rest, everyone around these parts,

they know comes not

easy to scum, scoundrels, sinners and

deceivers alike.

.

.

.

mad ones, rushing to death

—without protection i must add—

oh my darling children, you are!

consume my flesh,

defend those unseeing,

purge the blight

and you shall witness

my return before long, indeed?!

.

They do not move and neither does he.

What he assumes to be their head tilts ever so to the side, gauging him, this fool of a boy trespassing on their domain. This part of the garden, the little boy realises too late, is theirs.

This, the storehouse and now him.

(—the gardener finds him sprawled out on his back come dusk. They help him to his feet and dust him off, the sparkle in his eyes an unusual occurrence; they ask their precious young master what happened and he points them in the direction of the doors sealed shut.

“I took a peek inside,” he lies. Children are supposed to do that, right?

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing.” The gardener knows he’s a bad liar.

“Good. Now come.” They lead him away from the path of the camellias. “Lady Mitsue has been beside herself over you, mister.”

His grandmother hasn’t. She probably knows what he has done and will instruct him to feed the council what they want to hear. My son was too soft, she asserts before and after every meeting with those windbags.

You have to do better.

And his father is dead, so only time will tell who’s right.)

He starts having weird dreams (memories?) several days later.

Trying to ignore them doesn’t work.

Every waking moment is subject to gore.

He has to resist the urge to scratch his own eyes out while he trains.

In the world beneath his eyelids, there are shadowy figures claiming it best he is blinded and locked away and fed what no other soul could hope to consume without issue. And just as they force open his jaw—every night, every time—he wakes up.

Satoru doesn’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t know what to make of you.

One day, he dreams of years of living without sunlight causing you to screw your not-eyes shut and look away upon the opening of a door into your domain. When you recover, you turn to the door, the emotion of curiosity tugging for your attention out of the myriad of beings you’ve eaten.

Standing at the threshold, ethereal, desperate and short of breath, is a young man. In his arms is a woman, his wife, you presume. They’re stark shades of white, binary stars of a celestial system long dead.

You smile, recognising them in an instant. “Ah, my old friends, children of my children’s children a dozen times over, tell me, what is it you wish for?”

“My wife and our child,” says the man, “please, I beg of you, save them!”

Oh? A healing? It’s been quite some time since that was last requested of you.

You skitter to the pair’s side and shut the door gently behind them, ushering them further in.

You click your not-tongue at the woman’s state, wondering why no one thought to come to you earlier. If they did, the price they’d have to pay would be much less than what you’re about to tell the man. Humans are such prideful creatures, Satoru knows this, but he can’t help but feel tense as you instruct the man to lay the woman down and state your cost.

First, he opens his mouth. Then it shuts. Opens. Shuts. The man regards his dear wife with something Satoru has never seen before in the eyes of those around him.

His reply?

“I accept—”

A harsh smack to the head disrupts the memory; he looks up, unsurprised to meet his grandmother’s gaze, wrinkled eyes so very much like his own piercing his soul.

“Being distracted in the middle of a fight is unbecoming of you, boy,” she says. “What seems to be the matter?”

He can’t tell her.

He stays silent.

“Satoru.” She raises her hand, fingers crossed, indicating the void’s opening. “We Gojou pride ourselves on our ability to adapt. That is why, in fact, I say my son was too soft. He could not accept that he would lose my daughter-in-law and the child she carried in her womb to common illness. He could not accept that it was impossible to cheat death. He could not accept the position he was placed in. And for that, he died and of the aforementioned two, only you lived. Do you understand?”

No. He doesn’t want to understand.

What is adaptation if they’ve yet to rid themselves of and bow down to your constant presence? Is that not their most fatal flaw?

You eat them.

One life in exchange for another; you told his father it was the only way.

You were given the corpse of his mother a hundred days after his birth by the elders.

Every Gojou after death, you grind their bones between your teeth and their flesh rots at the bottom of your belly. Their soulful essence fights for dominance against the forces of the innumerable curses the clans feeds you—the hate, the sentiment, the sheer bursts of techniques and mighty powers clashing, click, click, click—you embody and absorb the aftermath of each childish scuffle, playing the bored jailer adjudicator. Corpses, tools, objects, energy and flesh. It’s how you’ve lived for so long without light or human thought to taint you: the jujutsu world’s dirty little secret, waste disposal.

You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

He loves you for that one reason.

A means to an end, forever.

(The boy, a few days shy of his fourth birthday and inauguration, does not know what love is. He thinks he does, having read the definition in a dictionary in order to familiarise you with modern speech, but love is not a word to be thrown around lightly the way he does.)

“I do,” he lies again, this time, to himself. “I understand everything.”

His sight is black.

He pushes back against the current, against instinct telling him to relinquish control and reaches forward for the dream that he was ripped from.

Your true form towers over his mother’s prone form, dripping ichor and the fluid of loose entrails all over. His father stays seated even when you lift an arm to draw blood, the man facing you without a trace of fear.

“I accept—but on the condition that my child receives your protection.”

“My p̶̹̽r̴̽ͅo̵̠͐ť̷̬e̶̺̊c̶̻̒t̷̙͑i̵̮̓o̶̱n̷̖͂?” Do they not teach the younger generations what that entails?

“Yes. My ancestors wrote that you were a benevolent being in a past life. That you were a kind-hearted human who accidentally drank poison before being found and buried alive, condemned and reviled, forcing you to become what you are now. Does that still not hold true?” His father’s face is hopeful.

It doesn’t. But who are you to tell him that? That ‘benevolent being’ never existed in the first place. You’ve always been this.

The vivisepulture part was true, but the beginning? Debatable. Your memories of ‘being human’ are foggy; you’re not sure if they’re real or someone else’s. Satoru’s is the clearest thus far because you abide within him. And he’s young, there’s little to garner.

What other nonsense has been made truth in the time you have withdrawn from the world?

He wants to go down that rabbit hole.

You grab the cube and run, warping reality in your wake.

You are many things.

Alive, you are first; secondly a parent, a teacher and a friend; cursed thrice times over; quarter something-something or rather by this point; and last, your hollowness complements the damned hallowed.

You are Gojou Satoru but not.

His skin peels off in delicate scales from the speed you’re going.

The first and last time you puppeteer his body, Satoru invokes his father’s contract with you for the second time in his life.

Like the first occurrence, it happens by accident.

(The first occurrence is a stain on your memory.

Mitsue looked her grandson in the eye and tasked him with a futile quest, one that would decide the future headship of their clan. You personally thought such practices outdated but you held his tongue and grit his teeth, faking laughter for the audience they had.

She reminded you too much of your youngest, both in the way she cobbled herself together and how she suspended time long enough to catch a glimpse of you hunched beside him, flickering in and out of her void domain with the ease of a toddler climbing free of their crib.

Beautiful and deadly.

He nearly died.)

He is unaware of the finer details, but where his consciousness ends at getting a scalpel to head, it rouses again with him standing before the man who has the blood of Satoru’s friends on his hands and left him to bleed out undecapitated.

On a high from escaping Izanami’s clutches, he sprouts math and whatever nonsense off the top of his head and ragdolls up, down, across and through the air.

He feels like a being higher than the gods. Doesn’t mean he is, though.

He’s barely in control.

Violent swashes of red and blue fill the sky. He sees beyond his opponent rising from the earth the heavens condemning his breaching unto their space.

“Hey, stranger, did you know purple was her favourite colour?”

“Whose?”

|

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“You are Satoru, right?”

“Yessssss?”

“You… you’ve got a bit of…” Suguru gestures vaguely around the lower half of his face.

“Oh.” You rub the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and see it come back tinged pink. The drying drool on his sleeves is used to rub the rest of the blood away. “Thanks.”

“Have you found her?”

“Amanai? Her body?” Suguru flinches. Your gaze is drawn to the cultists clapping. “Yeah, I did. Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru says. “I feel like killing these people. Should we?”

“Why?”

“I’m still h̸͓̟͐u̴̦͗n̴͇͈̅͛g̵͔̒̕ŗ̴͕͂͘y̸͚͍͘͘.” Two wasn’t even a snack.

“I’m angry that we failed too. But we can’t do anything now, it’s out of our hands.”

|

Several days later finds him back at the entrance of the storehouse, none the worse for wear.

In the shadow of the building grows a lone weed.

“It’s changed.”

“Of course it has.”

“Will I end up like them?”

“Yes.”