#spark and half life and portal and and and

[ethosiab]

you're telling me i have less time to play video games because of my stupid classes teaching me how to make video games. that's crazy stuff.

[graciousdragon]

i've spent the better part of the last few years thinking that hlvrai was a game in the half-life series (i know literally nothing about half-life or hlvrai other than the fact that they exist) and i have only just now found out that hlvrai is not, in fact, a game, but rather a live improv recreation of the game in gmod made by wayneradiotv (who i only know as the "there is no fridge" guy) you learn something new every day i guess?

[noxcheshire]

I am sick, dizzy, and can barely think but you know what would be WILD?

If the DC universe was an echo of Danny’s world. What if the continents of their planet shifted enough where Amity is now in New Jersey and had then become Gotham.

And when Danny died underneath the portal a part of his death fractured and imprinted itself into those various worlds. One of them being Gotham, where Danny’s home ironically used to be where Wayne Manor used to be.

So just imagine it, you’re coming back from patrol, grimy, sweaty, and with questionable intentions by dressing as an overgrown bat when suddenly the lights dim. It dims and brings darkness, only enough light to catch the beady marble eyes of the bats you fear.

And then electricity jumps in the middle of the room, flinging itself around like an agitated snake in wide open circles.

Everyone is backing away, some weary, some cursing, some just half way out of their own suit.

And then a child — barely as old as your youngest now, flickers to life before you, screaming and screaming, wailing in pain as the scent of burning flesh mingles into the air. You can see the boy, black hair and blue eyes that underneath the bright light that burns them is causing black to turn white, and blue to turn green.

The electricity crackles and when the boy is about the drop, limp, certainly lifeless, he vanishes as if nothing had ever been there.

But he comes back, he always comes back, in the moment of calm and in the moment of despair, echoing that painful wailing of death.

It’s so wrong.

It’s very, very wrong.

It didn’t even matter anymore why the boy showed up, only that this moment of pain continues to haunt the cave of heroes.

Continuously haunting, even as some whispered apologizes when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as some provided songs of comfort when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as stories of Gotham are told and promises (though uncertain and flimsy at best) are spoken to the wailing boy who always drops fast and disappears just as quickly.

Always, it was the same.

Until one day it wasn’t.

The electricity crackled like it always did. A spark, and then a calamity of light. And the boy would be there, uncurling himself into a tense position as he would wail.

But not this time.

Instead the boy curled himself in the air, calm as can be, almost as if he were sleeping. Even the electricity that they have learned to dance away from was calm, gentle, like ocean waves.

And when the electricity vanished, the boy did not, instead dropping to the floor where Dick was quick to catch him, grunting in preparation of weight only to show alarm at how thin the boy truly was.

On that face that has haunted them all for months is just a boy, sleeping, and scarred. A boy breathing very slow, slower than what they would like, but here in the physical realm with them.

Dick brushed back bangs of black hair, and slowly, ever so slowly, glazed blue eyes stared back.

[on-the-clear-blue]

What if Danny didn't die? He does open the portal but for the first time in their lives the Fentons followed OSHA regulations.

He doesn't have the powers, but he was right there when the portal opened, he saw the tear in reality and it...it did things.

It wasn't something that a humans mind was supposed to see, while the Infinite Realms are the in-between dimensions, and what is in-between the in-between?

Elder gods, slumbering calamities, fallen angels hid from their gods ever present eye, righteous spirits who reached nirvana, monsters beyond imagination...

The crack before the Realms snapped to his dimension was only open for a mere moment, a single millisecond but to the young boy it was eternity, and he could only watches as all those beings turned their attentions to him, they saw him, observed him as much as he did them.

He had fallen, screaming as he clutched his eyes, his eyes and ears were bleeding, his brain pounded so hard it felt as if it was going to knock out his eyeballs, Sam and Tucker, spared from it all as they had turned their heads when the lightning flashed and rent the portal open could only rush to the boy, trying to help him but all he could do was scream. Because what was beyond had saw him, and gave him a gift.

---

Far away, in a tall tower, a man with a gleaming gold helmet shuddered as the ankh of light in front of him shattered.

He fell to the floor, the minor magic he used failing as the more complex spell fizzled and broke, leaving him painfully wheezing on the ground, clutching at his chest.

"N-no...T-this can not be...T-The order...it...it failed...it can not fail!" Dragging himself across the Tower of Orders floor, Dr. Fate forced himself over to a lone summoning circle, falling onto it with an exhausted groan, the Gaurdian of Order muttered a soft word, and the circle flared, and in an instant he was gone, leaving the Tower shaking it it's wake.

---

On the couch of the House of Magic, John Constantine was feeling as if the world had fucked him so hard in the ass he would never be able to walk straight ever again.

And with the pounding in his skull from a truly deadly hangover wasn't helping either.

Nor was the half dead Dr. Fate puking up his guts in his living room.

"Argh" which translated to "What the bloody fuck are you doing in my house you daft shiny headed prick" but John didn't really have the strength to say that.

"Blugh" was what the ever regal Dr. Fate responded with, which obviously meant "The border between realities have been broken, the Beyond Dark knows of our existence and has seen our world, they have come to either eat upon our existence and reality or defend agaisnt the others that seek to only fill their own unexistance."

John of course, carefully and gracefully pissed himself.

---

In Faccuet City, a young Billy Batson screamed as his head exploded with noise, the gods and heros alike were all suddenly the strongest they had ever been, their powers flooded and overwhelmed his mortal form, and to save his life, the Champion of Magic forced itself into being.

Even in the Champions form the sudden influx of godly might was almost too much, steam charged with lightning billowed off him in great plooms, sparks zapped from his finger tips to the ground, and the air stunk of ozone all around him.

The gods were ranting, each talking over each other, debating in so many dead languages Billy's mind could keep up the translations.

It wasn't until Solomons voice boomed over the others that the voices fell quiet. "ENOUGH! NOW IS NOT THE TIME OF IN FIGHTING, THE BEYOND IS AT OUR DOOR..."

Taking a breath even if he didn't need it, the ancient king looked all the years he had lived and then some, "Young William...oh dear precious boy...our dear son. A great advent has begun, a door which should never been opened has been thrown wide...the beasts you face, the abominations of teeth and tentacles are just the mites that have slipped under the door...waht is to come will make all that you have faced look like mice...we will not have enough time to prepare you with what is to come..."

Solomons voice broke at the end, and he hung his head in the mental image in Billy's head "Seek out others, join forces with any. All those in touch with the arcane shall know of what just happened...as Champion you will be the spear head, the general of them all...you will lead them agaisnt the Beyond."

---

It took a week for Danny to come back to himself again, at least a little bit, he still had a haunted look in his eyes, and was far to quiet. He barely spoke at all, but when he did it was in ramblings of things not understood by any of them.

His parents assumed it had been a ghost that left in this state, their hatred for the ectoplasmic beings growing more and more as their son, their boy grew worse.

Jazz, unlike her parents listened to what Danny described, studied what she could and figured out what she couldn't, at each dead en she pushed, with Tuckers help she gained access to computer systems that held secrets of the occult, and with Sam's freely given credit card? Oh she dived deep into spell, trying desperately to find any kind of cure for Danny's predicament.

As time went on the boy only got worse, he had begun seeing the beings in the Beyond, some whispered wisdom, of long lost ways to calm the millions of mutterings in his gray matter and the pounding of his heart, while others screamed, in jubilation and rage, as it is only in being seen did they become real, and becoming real meant they had a foot hold in existence.

The wise figures, while helping had also steered him to their own goals, some told him to hate the jabbering hordes, others said that the only way to truly to be rid of them was to be nothing as well, to go far past being a person, into being one with the Byond.

Some of the mutterings lead to more questions, they spoke of Gods long forgotten and recent, of their betrayals and what they did to fall, others claimed that they were not fallen, that they were there to protect him from those that were.

The more and more he listened the more and more he saw of them, until Danny began to not understand what was real and what wasnt.

So he didn't even flinch when a group of imposing figures were in his room when he came up to his bed, hoping that the voices of Parathax the Unbeliever would be quiet enough for him to sleep.

Oh he did scream quite a bit when the sad trench coat man with a multi fractured sould reached out and touched him.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #23

The day started like any other in the Ghost Zone: tense, glowing, and humming with the promise of disaster. Danny had only popped by Clockwork’s tower to ask a simple question—something about paradox prevention or whatever—and definitely didn’t mean to touch the ancient, glowing relic perched delicately atop a cursed pedestal of time-forgotten sorrow and screaming. But he did. He touched it. And then everything exploded in green light and dramatic violin music (which might have been in his head).

And just like that, Danny Fenton was five years old again. Five. Chubby-cheeked, wide-eyed, pint-sized kindergarten-age with all the raw ghost powers of his seventeen-year-old self packed into a body no taller than three feet of chaos. Worse, he remembered everything—every awkward high school moment, every near-death experience, every ghost fight, every existential meltdown.

“Clockwork!” Danny shrieked, his voice now horrifyingly high-pitched and squeaky. “What the actual hell?!”

“Language, Daniel,” Clockwork said in the maddeningly serene way only a time god could manage, waving his staff with an infuriating smirk. “Consider this a learning experience.”

“I hate learning! Learning’s for school and people who don’t get turned into toddlers by rogue hourglasses!”

But Clockwork only chuckled like this was all going according to some elaborate cosmic lesson plan. Probably because it was. He vanished mid-scolding, leaving Danny alone in the tower, stomping around in his little sneakers and throwing ghost-powered tantrums that cracked the marble tiles.

Which is when the floor opened.

To be clear, Danny did not jump into the swirling blue portal. He fell. He fell dramatically with limbs flailing and an undignified scream that would later be blamed on the wind. The portal spit him out in the middle of what could only be described as a cathedral on steroids: tall golden columns, floating runes, and people in robes glaring like he’d farted during a funeral.

He crash-landed on a silk-draped table in front of the actual gods.

“…Ow,” Danny groaned, blinking up at a very tall, very unimpressed man with a horned crown and cheekbones so sharp they could cut reality.

The man frowned. “Why is there a child in the royal seidr sanctum?”

“I didn’t mean to be here! I touched a stupid relic and now I’m five and I fell through a portal and—wait, are you Loki?”

There was a pause. “Yes.”

“Cool. Love your work. Big fan. Please don’t murder me.”

Loki blinked. “…What?”

Then the child burst into blue flames and hovered six inches off the table, sparking with ghost energy like an angry firecracker. Everyone screamed. A robed man passed out. Someone wet themselves. Loki, to his credit, looked intrigued.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, circling the small floating menace. “You’re not of Midgard, are you?”

“I’m Danny from Earth, actually! I’m from Illinois! I’m just—also—kind of a half-ghost and currently five and possibly stuck like this forever!”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “You’re an abomination of magic.”

“Thank you?”

“I like you.”

“No thanks?”

But Loki had already scooped him up like some cursed kitten that wandered into his life. Danny screamed the whole way down the palace corridors, zapping walls, guards, and an unfortunate tapestry depicting Odin’s triumphs. Loki just looked delighted. Like this was the best pet he’d ever found. Like this was revenge against Thor just by existing.

“You are now Dánjal Lokison,” Loki declared.

“I AM NOT—STOP—PUT ME DOWN—”

“I shall raise you in my image.”

“I already have a dad and he’s stupid but he’s mine—put me down or I will scream and explode and possess your furniture!”

“You’ll fit in perfectly.”

Thus began the unholy saga of Danny Fenton, age five, accidentally adopted by the God of Mischief and forced into Asgardian nobility under duress. It was, somehow, not even the weirdest thing to happen that month.

Loki dressed him in child-sized black leather and tiny green cloaks. He taught him how to chant spells in Elder Seidr, how to bend illusions with his hands, and how to summon fire with a thought. Danny, in retaliation, taught Loki about Earth cartoons, fart jokes, and TikTok dances. It was a two-way cultural exchange of chaos and regret.

“I’m telling you,” Danny said one day while floating upside down and eating apples he stole from the royal garden, “if you say ‘We’re going ghost’ and then transform, it’s at least thirty percent more dramatic.”

“That’s idiotic,” Loki replied, watching as Danny exploded into white light and ghost form, now slightly glowing with new magic enhancements.

“You’re just jealous I sparkle when I fight.”

“I do not sparkle.”

“You sparkle on the inside.”

“Stop talking.”

“Dánjal Lokison, feared child warlock of the Nine Realms,” Thor once declared when he saw the tiny menace casually phasing through walls and summoning frost giants to play tag.

“DON’T NAME ME THAT,” Danny screeched, blasting Thor into a wall. Loki applauded from the doorway.

“Good aim, my son.”

“I’M NOT—STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

But Danny was starting to enjoy the magic lessons. Seidr wasn’t like ghost powers. It was older, wilder, sometimes alive. Loki was a surprisingly good teacher—equal parts unhinged chaos and genuine brilliance. He explained the threads of fate like they were spider webs and taught Danny how to pull on them without being noticed. He spoke about illusion like it was poetry and destruction like it was art.

Danny, in turn, taught Loki to prank Thor using invisible slime bombs and existentially disturbing hand puppets that whispered secrets in Old Norse.

They became a problem.

Every time the Avengers tried to contact Asgard, they were met with grainy magical holograms of a tiny child in a green cape flipping them off while floating upside down on a summoned ghost-storm cloud.

“Tony Stark looks like a soggy crouton!” Danny shouted once.

“And smells like cheap cologne,” Loki added.

“High five, evil dad!”

“High five, tiny curse.”

Eventually, Odin tried to intervene.

“This child is not of Asgard,” the All-Father declared.

“I’m not trying to be!” Danny yelled. “Please take me back to Earth! I miss McNuggets and not wearing robes!”

“He’s mine now,” Loki said, summoning a massive magical contract written in fire and Loki’s own blood. “Legally and spiritually bound. I did the adoption ritual and everything. It involved a screaming goat.”

“I HATE THAT GOAT,” Danny screamed.

“I love that goat,” Loki sighed.

“You’re both mentally unstable,” Odin muttered, rubbing his temples.

Danny was eventually granted limited “portal privileges,” which meant he could sneak back to Earth and terrorize his friends while still technically being a Lokison. Sam and Tucker didn’t even question the fact that he was a child again. Jazz just nodded like this was expected and handed him a juice box.

“Have you emotionally bonded with your captor yet?” she asked.

“I am not bonding with Loki!” Danny snapped.

“You call him ‘evil dad’ and wear his colors.”

“THAT’S NOT A BOND, IT’S A THREAT DISPLAY!”

Back in Asgard, Danny practiced summoning tiny void rifts, which Loki encouraged.

“Good,” he said, sipping wine as the rifts swallowed another fruit bowl. “Let the darkness consume you.”

“I just wanted an orange.”

“Even better.”

Eventually, Danny grew attached. It was subtle. A twitch of the lip when Loki conjured birthday cupcakes with green fire. A soft “thanks” when Loki wordlessly cleaned his scraped knees with glowing runes. A quiet night where Danny fell asleep reading next to Loki and didn’t wake up until morning curled in a pile of fur cloaks and dark magic.

“Do you miss being big?” Loki asked one night, watching the child version of his adopted problem-child sketch battle plans in crayon.

“Sometimes,” Danny said. “But…this isn’t bad. Just weird. You’re weird.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Take what I can get.”

Loki never asked too much. He didn’t push Danny to call him ‘Dad’ or act like anything other than the feral little ghost-child he was. But he was there—smirking through tantrums, snarking through training, protecting Danny like a dragon hoards gold.

So when some ambitious frost giant tried to kidnap “the ghostling Lokison,” they were met with a five-year-old banshee of death wielding seidr, ghost rays, and an unholy screech that shattered icebergs.

And behind him, Loki arrived in a storm of green fire and fury.

“Touch my son again,” he said, “and I will erase your ancestors from the time stream.”

“I’M STILL NOT YOUR—wait, okay yeah, get him.”

They were a nightmare pair. A chaos duo. A tiny tornado of destruction and his too-proud magic tutor/father/roommate/menace.

Eventually, Danny stood in front of a new portal, Clockwork hovering beside him with his usual smug patience.

“You’re ready to go back,” Clockwork said. “To your age. To your world.”

Danny glanced over his shoulder. Loki stood there with his arms folded, expression unreadable but eyes a little too bright.

“I’ll come visit,” Danny said, voice small but steady.

“You’d better,” Loki replied, voice quiet and sharp as always.

There was a long pause.

“Bye… evil dad.”

“Goodbye, Dánjal.”

Danny turned. The portal shimmered. His small form stepped through, glowing with ghost light and seidr and something else—something new.

Back home, he hit the ground as a seventeen-year-old again. Taller. Older. But he still wore green.

In his pocket, a rune carved with love.

He never said he liked being a Lokison.

Though he’ll never stop using the name.

[cup1drul3z]

★ — It was a bad idea

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3 : 'ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɴᴏᴡ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ'ꜱ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ

ʙꜱꜰꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | 8.6ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : hatefucking, sexual objectification of lesbianism, height difference, porn with plot, dub con, drunk sex, messy, angst, A LOT OF SMUT, strap-on, fingering, oral

A/N : happy friday

Summary : You ghost her again—too overwhelmed, too ashamed, too tangled in your own mess to reach back. A surprise run-in at the diner sends sparks flying under the surface, and a reckless moment in the bathroom reignites everything you tried to bury. But when Riley finds Sevika’s sketchbook, all your secrets start to unravel.

JULY

A few weeks slip by in a slow, messy blur.

You ghost Sevika again.

Not because you don’t want her—but because you want her too much, and everything else in your life is spiraling. The night she climbed through your window still clings to your skin, tucked between daydreams and midnight shame, but you haven’t answered her texts since. A couple were hot. A couple were angry. Then nothing.

Now it’s late afternoon. June sun beating down outside your window. You’re sitting on your bed, laptop open in front of you, the blue glow of an admissions portal burning into your eyes.

You’ve been refreshing it all day.

“Application Status: Waitlisted. Please consider reapplying with a revised personal essay.”

Your stomach drops.

You stare at the screen for a moment too long, then slam the laptop shut, your face folding in on itself. A tight, frustrated sound slips from your throat as you sink lower on the bed, letting your head fall back against the pillows.

It’s not like you’re dumb. Your grades are fine. Your test scores were solid. But your essays—too vague, too careful, too much pretending like your life is fine when it’s not. Every time you sit down to write, you choke.

It’s not helping that your parents are constantly fighting again. Not screaming, not throwing things. Just… cold. Distant. Passive-aggressive slams of cupboard doors. Long silences at dinner. Conversations whispered in the kitchen that stop when you enter the room.

You’ve been keeping quiet. Smoking when you can. Napping at weird hours. Taking long drives just to be out of the house. Ignoring Sevika even when your fingers hover over her name every damn night.

She hasn’t texted you in four days.

Maybe she gave up.

You blink at the ceiling, heart stuck in your throat, and wonder if she’s already moved on to someone else.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the half-closed blinds, painting long stripes of gold across Sevika’s room. She sat hunched at her desk in nothing but a ribbed tank top and boxers, one leg propped up on the chair, a joint burning low between her fingers. Smoke curled lazily around her head, drifting toward the ceiling in slow, syrupy ribbons.

She wasn’t really trying to draw you.

That’s what she told herself the first time, anyway—just warming up her hand, just doodling. A profile. The curve of a neck. A mouth with that stubborn little smirk you had when you thought you were winning an argument. But then she’d flipped the page and drawn you again. And again. Laughing. Eyes narrowed in some cocky comeback. Head tilted, lips parted like they’d been right before she kissed you.

Now her sketchbook was full of you.

She stared down at the latest one, thumb smudging the shading under your jaw. You weren’t even looking at the viewer in this one. You were turned slightly away, glancing over your shoulder, one strap of your tank top falling down your arm. She hadn’t meant to make it so soft.

Her chest ached.

The weed wasn’t helping. If anything, it made you harder to ignore—ghosting through her thoughts in flashes: your breath against her neck, your legs around her waist, the little moan you let slip the first time she kissed you like she meant it. Sevika blinked hard and took another hit.

The door burst open without a knock.

“Jesus—fuck!” Sevika hissed, coughing as she scrambled to slam the sketchbook shut. She swiveled in her chair too fast, knocking over the ashtray, the joint dangling forgotten from her lips. “Riley, what the hell?”

Riley stood in the doorway, arms crossed, the glow of the hallway light backlighting her like an angel of judgment. “You’re so dead. You know Grandpa hates the smell. And you’re gonna be stoned in, like, five minutes. You’re not even trying to hide it.”

Sevika rolled her eyes, still clearing her throat. “Didn’t know we were having family bonding time tonight.”

“Well, we are. And Mom already made all the food, so if you’re planning on being a useless baked potato through dinner, she’s gonna sign at you so fast you’ll wish you were high enough to ignore her.”

As if on cue, their mother called out something from the kitchen downstairs—just the tone, muffled and sharp.

Riley looked back over her shoulder and signed quickly: Coming!

Then she turned back to Sevika and narrowed her eyes. “Put on a shirt. Wash your hands. Maybe spray something not Axe. And don’t bring that sketchbook to the table if it’s full of whatever the hell it is you keep hiding.”

Sevika glared. “It’s nothing.”

“Sure.” Riley smirked. “Just like it’s nothing how you’ve been weird as hell since that party.”

She disappeared before Sevika could answer, her footsteps fading down the hallway.

Sevika let out a groan and leaned back in her chair, blowing out a shaky breath. She looked down at the closed sketchbook in her lap. Her fingers hovered over the edge of the cover… then opened it again.

Your face stared back up at her from the page.

The dining room was too quiet for how many people were crammed around the table. Forks scraped against plates, someone coughed into a napkin, and Sevika just stared down at her food like it might rearrange itself into something worth caring about.

She wasn’t hungry. Not for this, anyway.

She sat wedged between Riley and their uncle, one thigh pressed uncomfortably against the edge of a chair that had definitely come from the garage. Her hoodie sleeves were pushed up to the elbows, her palms still faintly stained with ink from the sketch she’d rushed to hide before coming downstairs. You, of course. You in half-shadow, bare skin and cigarette smoke and that look she couldn’t get out of her head.

Their mom raised her hands, catching everyone’s attention with a flick of her wrist and the jingle of her bracelet.

“Eat while it’s hot,” she signed, a little sharper than usual. “I didn’t spend all afternoon cooking for you to play with it.”

Riley didn’t bother translating out loud—they all knew what she said. Their dad rolled his eyes as he scooped potatoes onto his plate. “We’re eating, aren’t we?” he signed back with one hand while balancing a beer in the other. “You always say that.”

“She always has to say it,” Riley signed. “Because Sevika’s over here pretending to be a statue.”

Sevika didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. Just pushed her green beans around with her fork.

“Is there a reason you look like someone kicked your dog?” their dad signed at her, his expression unreadable.

“I’m fine,” Sevika finally signed, shoulders stiff.

“You don’t look fine,” their mom signed, slower this time. “You haven’t said a word all evening.”

“Did you eat already?” Riley signed, tilting her head. “High already?” she smirked

“I’m not high,” Sevika snapped, her signs sharp, elbow bumping the table hard enough to rattle a glass.

“Could’ve fooled me,” their dad signed, lips pursed. “You’ve been acting like a ghost for days.”

Sevika set her fork down and leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on a spot across the table. Her jaw worked, but she didn’t answer. What was she supposed to say? That she’d been drawing you like a fucking obsession? That she was pretty sure she could recreate the shape of your mouth from memory alone?

That she couldn’t stop thinking about what your lips tasted like—and how mad she was that you kept running hot and cold like she didn’t matter?

“Is this about that girl?” their mom signed suddenly, narrowing her eyes. “Riley said something about you sneaking around.”

Sevika looked at Riley sharply, but her sister just shrugged. “She didn’t say who. I guessed.”

Their dad groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “You brought a girl to the house again? When your grandparents are staying here?”

“No,” Sevika signed. “No one came over. I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy doing what, exactly?” he signed a little too quick, eyes narrowing.

Sevika didn’t answer.

Her phone buzzed in her hoodie pocket. She felt the vibration straight through her ribs. She shifted slightly and pulled it out under the table.

Just a message from Jayce.

When u gonna finish this tattoo?

Sevika sighed and slipped the phone back into her pocket, her appetite gone.

Across from her, Riley watched her too closely. She didn’t say anything—just smirked a little like she knew exactly what Sevika was thinking. Or who she was thinking about.

Sevika leaned her elbows on the table and stared down at her plate again. The mashed potatoes were starting to dry at the edges. The gravy had gone cold.

` The shouting wasn’t new.

It rose from downstairs like smoke—thick and clinging and impossible to ignore. You sat at the edge of your bed, arms wrapped around your knees as your parents’ voices collided again. Sharp words, low groans, the sound of a dish hitting the sink just a little too hard.

You didn’t flinch. Just sighed through your nose and stood, grabbing the nearest pair of sweatpants off your chair. You yanked them on, followed by a black tank top and your old zip-up hoodie with the fraying sleeves. The yelling kept going. You tried not to listen.

Instead, you padded across the hall and tapped your knuckles gently against the door with the space stickers still peeling off.

“Luca?” you called softly.

There was a shuffle, a pause, then a voice: “Yeah?”

You cracked the door open and leaned your head in, half-smiling.

“Wanna go to the diner downtown with me?”

He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, a Pokémon game paused in his lap. When he looked up at you, his face lit up. “Really?”

You nodded, tilting your head. “Yeah. My treat. You want pancakes for dinner?”

Luca grinned wide and scrambled up, tossing his Switch to the side. “Hell yeah—can I get extra whipped cream?”

“You better.” You laughed, stepping inside to ruffle his messy hair. “Get your shoes, champ. I’m already dressed like a slob, so you’re not allowed to look too cute. We gotta match.”

Luca snorted and darted past you toward the closet, already pulling on his hoodie. Downstairs, your mom’s voice cracked hard, like she might cry—or throw something.

You didn’t look back. You just held the door open for your little brother and whispered, “Let’s go.”

The cheap diner lighting flickered a little over your booth, giving everything that greasy, yellow glow. You stirred the condensation on your glass with a straw while Luca chomped on a chicken tender, happily dipping it into a puddle of ketchup like it was the highlight of his week.

“Mrs. Caldwell says I’m good at math,” he mumbled around a bite. “She gave me a bonus worksheet.”

You smirked, leaning your elbow on the table. “What a little overachiever.”

He grinned with that gap-toothed smile and kicked your shin under the table. “I’m better at math than you ever were.”

“First of all, rude. Second of all… fair.”

The laughter died down a little as the quiet buzz of the diner filled in. A low murmur of clinking forks and half-heard conversations around you. Luca’s expression turned smaller—fiddling with the hem of his hoodie.

“I heard them last night. Again.”

You didn’t ask who. You didn’t need to.

He looked at you, hesitant. “I don’t want them to split up.”

Your chest tightened. You looked at him—ten years old, already carrying the weight of things he shouldn’t have to. And all you could think about was how you did want it. How you wished your mom would stop pretending and your dad would finally pack his bags and leave. How the silence that followed each screaming match made your skin itch.

But you didn’t say any of that. Instead, you reached across the table and gently ruffled his hair.

“They love you, Lu,” you said softly. “Whatever happens… that’s not gonna change.”

He nodded like he believed it. You weren’t sure you did.

Then—

“OH MY GOD.”

Your head whipped around.

Riley.

You froze. She was standing just inside the diner entrance, waving enthusiastically like this was some cute coincidence. And behind her—

Sevika.

She was backlit by the glow of the diner sign, hoodie on, hands jammed in her pockets, dark hair messy and half-covering her face. But her eyes were on you. Locked. Unblinking.

You sucked in a breath, suddenly way too aware of the heat rising to your cheeks.

Riley practically bounced over. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your head, voice a little higher than usual. “Parents too busy arguing to cook dinner.”

Riley raised her eyebrows like she didn’t not relate.

You cleared your throat, heart beating faster, eyes flickering toward Sevika then away. “What—what are you doing here again?”

Riley smirked, glancing over her shoulder. “Wanna answer that, Sev?”

You could feel Sevika’s eyes on you. Could feel them burning through the side of your face like she was trying to read every thought behind your expression. Your lips. Your body in that sweatshirt and tank top that suddenly felt like too little and too much all at once.

When she didn’t say anything, Riley laughed awkwardly.

“She’s not—well, whatever. She and my dad started arguing again. Politics. It got heated. Mom kicked us both out. So… shitty crackhead food for the win.”

Luca raised his fries like a toast. “Hell yeah.”

Riley plopped down in the seat next to him without hesitation, already stealing one.

That left Sevika.

She moved slow. Stalked, almost. Shoulders tense, gaze never once drifting away from you. And when she slid into the booth beside you, her leg brushed yours under the table. She didn’t pull away.

Neither did you.

You swallowed. Hard.

Luca didn’t notice. He was too busy reciting the stats of his baseball card collection for Riley, who egged him on with teasing questions.

But Sevika?

She didn’t speak. Didn’t look at anyone else.

And your skin was burning.

Riley popped a fry into her mouth and nudged Luca with her elbow. “So what grade are you in now? Fourth?”

“Fifth,” he corrected with a full mouth. “But I’m already doing sixth-grade math.”

“No way,” she grinned, wiping her hands with a napkin. “You’re gonna be a tiny little genius. I bet you’ll have a scholarship to some fancy private school by, like, next year.”

You pretended to listen. Pretended to smile.

But Sevika’s thigh was still pressed against yours. And when she leaned in—casual, like nothing was happening—you felt the brush of her breath against your ear, warm and low.

“You wore that shirt on purpose,” she murmured.

Your spine straightened, but you didn’t pull away.

“It’s laundry day,” you whispered back.

Her voice dropped darker. “Yeah? Guess I’m lucky then.”

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth. Glanced at her. Her face was turned away just enough, hood casting shadows, but her jaw was set. And her fingers were twitching slightly against her knee, like she was restraining herself.

“You’re not supposed to be looking at me like that,” you whispered.

She smirked, still not looking directly at you. “You’re the one who sent me the photo.”

You shoved your hand under the table, gently hitting her knee.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Her tone was quiet but sharp, laced with something unspoken—something dark and wanting.

You dared a glance beneath the table. Her hand was there. Close. Knuckles resting just a breath away from your bare thigh.

Your heart hammered.

“You didn’t even reply right away,” you murmured, not really meaning to admit that, but the words slipped out anyway.

“I was high,” she said softly. “Didn’t wanna say the wrong thing.”

You tilted your head, whispering back, “You? Careful? That’s new.”

Sevika chuckled under her breath, a low sound you felt more than heard.

Above the table, Riley gasped at something Luca said and threw her head back in laughter.

“She’s got no idea,” Sevika said under her breath.

You swallowed, eyes flicking to Riley’s bright smile. “She can’t find out.”

“You gonna stop ghosting me then?” she asked, voice like smoke. “Or are you just gonna keep pretending I don’t exist ‘til you’re horny and bored?”

You inhaled sharply.

“Fuck you.”

“You’d like that,” she whispered, finally glancing at you, her gaze laced with heat.

Your cheeks burned.

Luca waved a napkin in the air. “Can we get milkshakes too?!”

Riley laughed. “You’re gonna explode. But yeah—vanilla, right?”

You nodded silently, still stunned and flushed, hand clenched in your lap as Sevika’s knuckles grazed your leg just one more time before she turned her attention back to the surface.

To everyone else, it looked like nothing.

But under the table, something dangerous had already started to unravel.

Riley stood, brushing crumbs off her jeans. “Alright, kiddo. Come help me order these milkshakes so you don’t complain when they get it wrong.”

Luca bounced up, still hyped from the fries and soda. “Can I get sprinkles?”

“Only if you say please in five different languages,” Riley teased as they walked toward the counter, their voices trailing off into the low hum of the diner.

The second they were out of sight, the air between you and Sevika shifted. Heavier. Sharper. Your breath caught when she didn’t say anything—just stayed still for a moment, still watching the counter like she was waiting to be sure they were really gone.

Then her hand slid across the vinyl booth. Slowly. Fingers brushing your thigh, light and casual at first, like she might stop at any second. But she didn’t.

She kept going.

You glanced down, your heartbeat spiking.

"Sevika—" you whispered, a warning that came out thinner than you meant it to.

“Missed you,” she murmured, her voice low and not even pretending to be innocent. Her hand rested now on the inside of your thigh, palm heavy, her thumb drawing small circles through the fabric of your sweats.

“You’re insane,” you breathed, squeezing your legs together—but not moving her hand away.

“You love it.”

You glared at her, but the heat in your chest betrayed you. Her fingers flexed, just barely, and your breath hitched.

“You ghost me for weeks,” she whispered, finally turning to look at you. Her eyes were dark and hungry. “Then send me that picture like you didn’t wreck me the first time. What, you think I’m not gonna touch you when you sit this close?”

Her fingers inched higher, and you flinched—half arousal, half panic.

“Riley could come back—”

“Then maybe don’t look so fucking pretty when you’re miserable.”

You were flushed, pulsing, frozen and alive all at once.

Her fingers traced the waistband of your sweats.

"Tell me to stop," she murmured, leaning in so close her breath warmed your cheek. Her voice was rough now, full of restrained want.

You didn’t say a word.

Her hand dipped just under the waistband—only an inch—knuckles pressing lightly against your skin.

Then—

“Two milkshakes! One with sprinkles!” Riley’s voice cut through the heat like a blade. Sevika’s hand jerked back instantly, her arm resting over the back of the booth like nothing happened.

You sucked in a slow breath, trying to steady your heartbeat as Riley and Luca returned to the table.

Riley furrowed her brows, looking between the two of you. “Everything alright?”

You forced a shaky smile. “Yeah. Just—warm in here.”

“Diners always are,” she shrugged, sitting back down. “Anyway, Luca says he’s gonna be a scientist.”

Sevika smiled, a lazy curl of her lip. “Smart kid.”

But her hand was still resting behind you.

And the ghost of her touch burned hotter than anything.

Sevika stood up suddenly. No warning, no explanation. muttering something about needing the bathroom before disappearing around the corner.

You watched her go, heart still racing, thighs still tingling from her touch beneath the table. Your fingers gripped the edge of your drink. Riley and Luca were deep in conversation again—something about third grade math and how it was totally stupid that you couldn't just use a calculator.

You stood. Too fast.

“I’m just gonna… pee,” you mumbled, not waiting for a reply.

You hesitate for a second outside the bathroom door, heart thudding. Then you push it open.

Sevika’s already there—leaning back against the far wall like she owns the place, one boot hooked over the other, arms crossed over her chest. That smirk on her face is pure sin.

“Seriously?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Did you run in here just to wait for me?”

“I had to pee,” she says flatly, then tips her chin at you. “Didn’t expect you’d follow.”

You scoff, brushing past her, trying to ignore how your stomach flips when her eyes follow you. “I didn’t come for you,” you bluff as you walk toward the row of stalls.

“No?” Her voice is low, mocking. “Then what are you here for?”

You shoot her a grin over your shoulder as you reach the stall. “Just peeing.”

“Uh-huh,” Sevika murmurs, pushing off the wall. She takes slow, deliberate steps toward you. “Cute.”

You slip inside the stall and leave the door half-open—just enough to test her. And of course, she doesn’t hesitate. The second you step back, she follows.

It’s cramped. Tight. Her presence fills the air like smoke. She shuts the door behind her and the lock clicks, your breath catching.

“I don’t think this is allowed,” you whisper, even as your back hits the wall and her fingers hook into the hem of your sweatshirt.

“No one’s stopping you from leaving,” she says, one hand already sliding up under your tank top, palm warm against your ribs. “Door’s right there.”

You tilt your chin up, biting your lip. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

Her mouth crashes into yours before you finish the sentence. You gasp, and she takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss—hot, hungry, desperate. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, palming your ass.

Your hands tangle in her hoodie, yanking her closer as her thigh slips between yours. The stall is small and everything is loud—the rustle of fabric, the soft thump of your back against the wall, your breath hitching when she grinds into you.

You shouldn’t be doing this here.

Which is probably why it feels so good.

The kiss turns messy, teeth dragging, breath ragged. Her hoodie smells like smoke and mint and something that’s just her, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t care about anything except how badly you want her hands on you.

She groans against your mouth as your hips roll into hers, her thigh perfectly placed between yours. The friction sparks like static—hot and low in your belly. You grind again, a little more desperate, and she laughs softly, lips brushing your ear.

“God, you’re so fucking needy.”

You grab her wrist and push her hand higher beneath your shirt, guiding her right to the edge of your bra. “Shut up,” you whisper.

“I love when you tell me what to do,” she murmurs, voice husky as her hand cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through the thin lace. You gasp, hips jerking. “So sensitive…”

She kisses down your neck, slow and teasing, until her teeth graze just under your jaw. You whimper, nails digging into her shoulder.

The stall creaks faintly as you shift together, her knee hitching up to press between your thighs again, grinding you just where you need her. Your moan gets swallowed in her mouth as she kisses you again, rougher now.

“You gonna come like this?” she mutters against your lips. “Rubbing that pretty pussy on my leg like a fuckin’ pillow princess?”

Your breath catches—humiliation and heat flaring through you. But it only makes you wetter.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, voice cracking.

“Thought you were,” she grins, biting your lower lip. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”

She slides her hand down between your bodies, under your sweatpants and past your underwear, finding how soaked you are with a low, satisfied growl. “Jesus. You’re dripping.”

You dig your teeth into your bottom lip to muffle the sounds as she strokes you—slow at first, just enough to tease, then faster. Two fingers slide in, curling perfectly, her palm grinding against your clit with every movement.

Your head falls forward against her chest. You’re already shaking.

“That’s it,” she whispers, mouth close to your ear. “Come for me, baby. Make it messy.”

You do.

You shudder around her fingers, mouth open in a silent cry as your whole body trembles. She holds you through it—steady and solid, her lips pressing into your hair as your knees go weak.

You collapse against her chest, panting, limp in her arms.

She chuckles low in her throat, still stroking you lazily. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

You grin breathlessly, eyelids fluttering. “You’re worse.”

You’re both quiet for a beat—your body still trembling, her fingers slick where they rest against your thigh. The high hums under your skin like a second heartbeat, everything sensitive and raw. Sevika kisses the corner of your mouth once more, then pulls back, hands smoothing down your sides as if to steady you.

“Fix your hair,” she mutters with a smirk, already adjusting her hoodie.

You huff a laugh, tugging your tank top down and trying to ignore the wet mess between your legs. “Fix your ego,” you whisper, cheeks burning.

“I’d rather not,” she grins.

You peek out of the stall first—heart pounding louder than the music still playing out in the diner. Empty. You motion her forward. “Go first.”

“What, scared someone’ll catch you?”

“Scared someone’ll catch us,” you hiss, shoving her shoulder lightly.

She laughs under her breath and ducks out of the stall, striding toward the sink like nothing happened. You follow a second later, head down, splashing cool water on your face and fixing your mascara as fast as you can. Sevika watches you in the mirror, biting back a grin.

When you both step out of the bathroom, you nearly run into Riley and Luca coming back from the counter, milkshakes in hand.

“Dude,” Riley says, furrowing her brows. “You were in there forever. Did you—oh my god, Sev, you too?”

Sevika shrugs, totally unfazed. “Line was long.”

You nod quickly, cheeks hot. “Yeah. Just… girl stuff.”

Riley makes a face. “Gross.”

You all shuffle back to the booth, and Sevika slides in next to you like nothing happened—her thigh brushing yours just enough to make you squirm. Riley and Luca are too busy unwrapping straws and arguing about whipped cream to notice the way Sevika's hand casually drops to rest on your knee under the table again.

You don't dare move it.

A few hours later, the house was still.

Luca had fallen asleep on the couch mid–movie, half-buried in a blanket, popcorn crumbs scattered across his chest. You’d carried him to bed, turned off the lights, and now you were alone again in your room—door shut, window cracked, the soft whir of the ceiling fan the only sound.

You were supposed to be writing.

The college portal was still open on your laptop, blinking gently with that same message you’d been avoiding for hours: “Waitlisted. Reapply with a revised essay.”

You stared at it for another few seconds before slamming the lid shut and rolling over onto your side. Your phone was already in your hand.

It opened right to her.

SEVIKA 3:02am:

"I’m not good at this shit, but you make it hard to stop."

SEVIKA Last week:

"You gonna keep pretending that night didn’t mean anything?" "Fine. I’ll stop texting." "Unless you want me to come over."

SEVIKA A few days ago:

"The way you looked at me under that sweatshirt… fuck. I can’t sleep."

You read them over and over, thumb hovering, eyes burning.

You hadn’t replied to any of them. Not really. A ghost emoji here. A late-night “lol” once. But nothing real. Nothing honest.

Still, she kept sending them.

Until she didn’t.

You hadn’t gotten anything today. Or yesterday. And that was somehow worse than the flood of guilt that usually followed her name lighting up your phone.

You stared at the message from Cody sitting unread just below it. Still bolded, still glowing. You didn’t open it.

Your heart ached—not with romance, not exactly. But something needier, something messy. You missed her. And hated how much you did.

You flipped onto your back and stared at the ceiling.

Then, without thinking, you opened the photo you’d sent her. The one in your underwear. The one that had changed everything.

You zoomed in.

Then shut your phone off and slid it under your pillow, curling into yourself, eyes wide open in the dark.

You weren’t ready to admit it out loud.

But you kind of hoped she’d text again.

Even if she shouldn’t.

Riley flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, fingers already digging into her back pocket for her phone. Sevika had been a nightmare the whole ride home, snapping over nothing, storming off the second they walked in like the world was personally conspiring against her.

“Get a grip,” Riley muttered, unlocking her screen.

But as soon as her weight settled, something sharp pressed into her spine.

“Ow—what the hell…” she groaned, twisting around and shoving a hand into the couch cushions. Her fingers caught on something hard. Spiral-bound. Thick.

She pulled it out.

Sevika’s sketchbook.

Riley stared at it for a second, brows pinching. “Are you serious?” she muttered, flipping it in her hands. This was what Sevika had been freaking out over?

She turned toward the hallway. “Hey, Sev! Found your sketchbook!”

No response.

Rolling her eyes, she started to toss it onto the coffee table—but the corner bent as it landed, and a few pages slid open.

Her hand hovered over the cover.

Just close it. Get up. Hand it back.

But curiosity prickled. Sevika was secretive, yeah, but she'd never cared who saw her art before. What the hell was in here?

She flipped the page.

And froze.

It was a face.

Your face.

Eyes half-lidded. Hair messy. That small smirk you always did when you were teasing someone—Riley had seen it a thousand times. But it looked different here. Like Sevika had spent hours memorizing it. Worshiping it.

“What the fuck…”

She flipped another page. Then another.

There you were again. Sleeping. Laughing. Curled up with your hands under your cheek.

In a tank top Riley recognized from sleepovers.

Her throat went dry.

Then another. One of you from behind—your spine traced delicately, the curve of your hips barely covered by what looked like underwear.

“No,” Riley whispered. “No fucking way.”

She turned another page and her stomach dropped.

Breasts. Detailed. Shaded.

Yours.

She slammed the sketchbook shut like it had caught fire, heart hammering, face flushed. Her pulse roared in her ears.

She didn’t think you were sleeping together—if anything, this looked one-sided. Private. Obsessive.

Dark.

Riley sat frozen, the weight of the sketchbook still in her lap, one hand pressed to her mouth like it might stop her from being sick.

She didn’t know what Sevika was doing.

But it wasn’t normal.

And it sure as hell wasn’t okay.

Sevika was sitting at her desk, pretending to read the same panel of a comic book for the last ten minutes. Her jaw ticked as she stared at the page, but her mind was spinning.

She still hadn’t found the sketchbook.

And Riley had been quiet. Too quiet.

She exhaled slowly, about to get up—when the bedroom door creaked open.

“Found your emo Bible,” Riley said casually, holding out the sketchbook like it was no big deal.

Sevika blinked.

Her sister stood in the doorway, one hip cocked, the sketchbook balanced on her palm like a dirty dish she wanted gone. Her expression was unreadable.

“Where was it?” Sevika asked slowly.

“Couch,” Riley shrugged, too fast. “You probably kicked it under there or something.”

Sevika narrowed her eyes.

Riley didn’t meet her gaze.

Instead, she just dropped the sketchbook on the desk and turned toward the door. “Anyway. I’m gonna go crash. Try not to light anything on fire.”

She left before Sevika could say anything else, shutting the door a little too gently.

Sevika stared at the closed door, then at the sketchbook. Her fingers hovered over it. The tension in her gut twisted tighter. She flipped through it slowly.

All the drawings were still there.

Of you.

Fuck.

Had Riley seen?

Her jaw clenched. She reached for her phone.

SEVIKA 1:11am:

"Still awake?"

The screen stayed dark.

Then buzzed.

YOU 1:13am:

"Maybe. Depends who’s asking."

Her lip curled into a smirk. She sat back in her chair, fingers flying.

SEVIKA

"The person who hasn’t stopped thinking about you since the diner."

A pause.

YOU

"That all you’ve been thinking about?"

SEVIKA

"No. I’ve been thinking about your thighs around my head. That little noise you made in the stall. The way you grabbed my hair."

The typing bubble popped up almost immediately.

YOU

"You’re gonna make me wake my brother up."

SEVIKA

"You didn’t seem so shy when you were grinding against my hand with your mouth on my neck."

YOU

"I was desperate."

SEVIKA

"Be desperate again."

YOU

"Tell me what you’d do if I was in your bed right now."

Sevika leaned back, exhaling smoke as her free hand slipped low on her stomach, heat coiling tighter.

Her reply took a moment—but it came with force.

SEVIKA

"I’d pull your shirt up with my teeth. Make you beg while I kissed down your stomach. Slide your panties down slow just to hear you whine. And then I’d make you come on my tongue until you couldn’t remember why you were ignoring me in the first place."

There was no answer.

Yet.

She could practically feel you blushing through the screen.

And she wasn’t about to stop.

The morning sunlight hits your face like a slap.

Too bright. Too warm. Too real.

You groan and throw an arm over your eyes, trying to pretend the world doesn’t exist for a few more minutes. But your phone’s still on the pillow beside you—screen dark, battery nearly dead, Sevika’s last message still burned into your memory.

Touch yourself for me.

You don’t know if you did it for her or for yourself.

But you remember how shaky your fingers felt. How hot your skin got. How empty everything felt when it was over—when the screen didn’t light up again. When she went quiet.

You roll onto your side and sigh, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

You hadn’t even said goodnight.

Just stared at the ceiling, hand limp at your side, chest rising and falling too fast and too slow at the same time. Your thighs still ache. Your nerves are shot. Your brain is stuck in some kind of slow-motion replay loop, echoing her voice even when it wasn’t there.

Sevika.

Sevika, Sevika, Sevika.

You groan louder and drag yourself out of bed, barely glancing at your reflection as you pull on sweatpants. Hoodie still clinging to your frame—her hoodie. It smells like smoke and shampoo and sin.

You should take it off.

But you don’t.

You pad down the hallway toward the kitchen, stomach hollow and brain foggy, hoping your mom isn’t in the mood to talk. The house feels too quiet.

You sit down at the counter, pour yourself some dry cereal, and tap your phone back on.

No new messages.

Your heart sinks a little.

And then rises just as quickly—good. It’s better this way. You’re supposed to be ghosting her. You’re supposed to be in control.

Even if last night felt like the exact opposite.

You chew slowly, legs curled up under you on the stool, the spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl loud in the silence.

And then your phone buzzes.

Once.

You snatch it up like it might vanish again.

SEVIKA 10:07am:

“Morning, angel. Dream about me?”

You suck in a breath and stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

God help you.

You want to say yes.

Sevika sat on the edge of her bed, hoodie pulled over her head, bare legs sprawled out in front of her. The laptop balanced on her thighs cast a pale blue glow across her stomach, the silence in the room broken only by the occasional scroll of her trackpad.

“Studio near Silver Lake, pet-friendly, no smoking…” she muttered under her breath, eyes scanning rental listings.

Every new tab made her stomach twist tighter.

She wasn’t just looking—she was planning. Scheming. Trying to claw her way out before anyone figured out the truth: that she wasn’t in town for summer break. That she wasn’t going back to college in the fall.

That she’d dropped out months ago.

The sketchbook sat closed on the desk nearby. Her eyes flicked to it every so often, jaw tight. She hadn’t asked Riley if she looked through it. Didn’t need to. The awkward handoff. The way Riley couldn’t meet her eyes. The weird tension since last night.

She knew.

And Sevika couldn’t afford to give her more reasons to dig deeper.

Not now.

She leaned back against the wall and clicked on another listing, this one in a cheaper part of town, eyes half-lidded and body still buzzing faintly with the ghost of you from last night. The way you texted. The way you teased. The fact that you finally answered again.

She rubbed her hand down her face.

Then—

BANG.

Her door flew open without warning.

“Breakfast is ready!” Riley shouted.

Sevika jumped, slamming the laptop closed with a loud snap.

Riley blinked, eyebrows lifting. “Damn. Paranoid much?”

Sevika cleared her throat and shoved the laptop onto the bed behind her. “Just don’t like people barging in. Maybe knock next time?”

Riley folded her arms. “You’ve been weird as hell lately.”

“I’m always weird.”

“Sketchbook weird,” Riley said slowly. “Late-night-lurking, slam-your-laptop-shut weird.”

Sevika met her eyes for a beat too long.

“Breakfast,” Riley repeated, backing out of the room with narrowed eyes. “Before Dad eats all the bacon.”

“Yeah,” Sevika muttered, already reaching for a hoodie to throw over her hoodie. “Be right there.”

The door clicked shut again, and Sevika sat in silence.

Then exhaled through her nose.

She reached for her phone.

Her thumb hovered over your name.

She didn’t send anything.

Not yet.

The kitchen smelled like bacon and burnt toast.

Sunlight streamed through the window above the sink, catching steam from the coffee pot and the shimmer of butter on stacked pancakes. Their mom was already seated at the head of the table, signing something to their dad about how the eggs were overcooked again.

Sevika slid into her usual seat, nodding politely and grabbing for the orange juice.

Riley was already there.

Her smile was too sweet.

“Morning,” she signed, almost aggressively cheerful. “Sleep okay?”

Sevika gave a curt nod, pouring herself a glass without making eye contact. Careful. She could already feel something coiling under her sister’s grin.

Their dad looked up from the newspaper. “You’re quiet,” he signed to Sevika.

“Just tired,” she signed back. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Riley’s fork scraped too hard against her plate. “Busy night?” she signed, eyebrow arched slightly.

Sevika’s jaw ticked. She didn’t answer. Just took a bite of bacon and chewed slowly.

Their mom looked between them, oblivious to the layers underneath. “Girls,” she signed, “Don’t start.”

“Who’s starting?” Riley signed with a bright smile. “I’m just wondering what Sevika’s been drawing lately.”

That did it.

Sevika’s hand froze mid-reach. Her eyes cut to Riley, sharp and narrow. Her sister sipped her coffee like nothing happened.

“I haven’t been drawing much,” Sevika signed coolly. “Too busy helping Dad fix the garage like I said I would.”

“Oh right,” Riley signed. “You’re so helpful. Always have time for everyone else.”

Their mom laughed. “You two are worse than when you were teenagers.”

Their dad rolled his eyes and focused on his plate. Sevika shoved her fork through a piece of pancake, knuckles white.

She could feel Riley watching her. Measuring her.

Not accusing.

But knowing.

And that was worse.

Because Sevika had no idea what her sister would do with that knowledge

You stood in the doorway, hands curled around the sleeves of your sweatshirt, heart sinking lower with every word.

Your mom and dad sat on opposite ends of the couch, stiff and uncomfortable like two strangers forced to share the same air. Luca sat between them, small shoulders hunched, eyes darting nervously between them like he already knew what was coming.

Your dad cleared his throat. “Luca, buddy… your mom and I need to talk to you about something important.”

You didn’t need to hear the rest. You already knew.

The words were practiced, clinical. Like they’d read them off a parenting blog about how to gently ruin your child’s world.

“This isn’t your fault.”

“We still love you.”

“We’re just… better apart.”

Luca blinked at them like they were speaking another language. His lip trembled.

And when your mom started crying, your dad looked away.

And that was it.

No yelling. No emotion. Just… detachment. Cold and empty, like this had been decided weeks ago and they were just now getting around to making it real.

When they stood up, Luca reached out like he didn’t understand they were done. Like he thought this was a conversation still in progress. But your parents were already walking into the kitchen, their voices low and sharp as they immediately started arguing again—like he wasn’t still in the room, heart breaking in real time.

You crossed the living room before your brain even caught up, dropping to your knees in front of him and pulling him into your arms.

His face crumpled the second he buried it in your shoulder.

“I don’t want them to,” he cried, voice muffled.

“I know,” you whispered, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “I know, Luca. I’m so sorry.”

His little body shook in your arms.

You closed your eyes.

And held him.

Because you had no idea how to fix it.

But at least for now, you could keep him from falling apart alone.

Sevika sat at the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, sketchbook closed for once and laptop finally shut. The apartment was hers. A tiny, overpriced box with cracked tile floors and paper-thin walls — but it was hers. The lease was signed. The deposit was drained from her savings. There was no going back now.

All that was left was telling her parents.

She let out a slow breath, rolled her shoulders back, and stood.

Her feet were bare against the hardwood floor as she padded out of her room and down the hall. The smell of cooked meat and parsley hung in the air. Something rich. Hearty. Comfort food.

That was the first red flag.

The second was the rustle of plastic.

As she turned into the kitchen, she stopped short.

Her mom was at the counter, smoothing a sheet of saran wrap over a still-warm casserole dish. Her hearing aids were off, hair neatly pinned back, her face calm and composed in the way only her mother could be in a crisis.

Riley stood next to her in jeans and a crop top, freshly glossed lips sipping from a thermos. She was dressed like she had somewhere to be.

Sevika furrowed her brows and signed, “Where are you guys going?”

Their mom didn’t look up from the casserole, but she signed back clearly, “Beth and Matt just got divorced. Last I heard, Matt left town. I'm taking this over to support Beth.”

Riley grinned, pulling her vape from her bra and tucking it behind her ear before signing, “I’m going for Y/N. Apparently, Luca’s having a hard time.” She gave her sister a pointed little look, almost daring her to react.

Sevika blinked. She hadn’t even heard.

The divorce was real now. No more fighting down the hall, no more slammed doors or muffled arguments behind closed windows. Just done.

She shifted on her feet, fingers flexing.

Then signed, “Can I come?”

Riley’s head snapped toward her so fast you could practically hear the bones in her neck crack. Her smile vanished.

But before she could say anything, their mom turned with her hands already moving.

“Of course, sweetie. That’s a great idea.”

Riley’s lips twitched into a smile that was anything but sweet. She didn’t sign anything. Just grabbed her purse and turned for the door.

Sevika followed, jaw tight, stomach doing weird, sour flips. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. She was supposed to sit them down. Tell them the truth. Finally say out loud that she wasn’t going back to college. That she dropped out. That she got a fucking apartment.

But now?

Now she was heading to your house.

To a room full of grief, divorce, and you.

She clenched her jaw, glancing sideways at Riley as they slid into the car. Her sister didn’t speak. Didn’t sign. Just turned up the music.

Sevika stared out the window, heart crawling higher in her throat.

You didn’t expect the knock.

You especially didn’t expect the doorbell.

Nobody used the doorbell anymore—except delivery guys and strangers. Your mom got up to answer it with a tired sigh, and you barely glanced up from the couch, where you were helping Luca dig through a plastic tub of LEGO bricks he hadn’t touched since Christmas.

“I think we lost the windshield piece,” he mumbled, brow furrowed. “The one for the spaceship.”

“We’ll find it,” you said gently, even though you’d been looking for ten minutes. “Maybe it’s under the couch.”

The front door opened.

And then—voices. Familiar ones.

Your body tensed.

You sat up straighter just as your mom came back down the hall, arms already gesturing as she waved her best friend inside. Beth—your mom—was visibly exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, hair tied back in a limp ponytail.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Rileys mom signed, you didnt know as much as your mom pushed you to learn but you knew some sign language. but your attention had already shifted.

Because right behind her was Riley.

And Sevika.

Your mouth opened just a little. You blinked.

Riley looked done—like she'd rather be anywhere else, like she hadn’t spoken a single word during the car ride over. Her sunglasses were perched on her head and her jaw was locked so tight it looked painful.

And Sevika…

She looked just as surprised to see you as you were to see her.

You held her gaze for a second too long. Long enough to feel it in your stomach. That familiar jolt. That burn you swore you were getting over.

Then you turned, forcing your face into something softer.

“Lets go upstairs” you said, standing and brushing invisible lint off your leggings. 

Riley gave you a tight smile and followed. Sevika started to step forward too, but Riley caught her with a look—something sharp, heavy with warning. You noticed the flicker of confusion cross Sevika’s face… and then her step back.

“I’ll just stay here,” Sevika said awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck before glancing at Luca. “Wanna show me what you’re building?”

Luca brightened instantly. “It’s a spaceship. But I lost the windshield.”

Sevika sat down next to him on the carpet, folding her long legs underneath her. “We’ll find it,” she said gruffly, already digging through the pile.

You watched her for half a second longer.

Something about the way her shoulders curled slightly inward. The way she didn’t meet your eyes again.

And then you turned and led Riley up the stairs.

You didn’t ask about the look.

But you were already filing it away.

You shut the door to your bedroom with a soft click and let out a sigh you didn’t even realize you were holding. Riley flopped down dramatically on your bed without asking, like always, arms crossed under her head, gaze trained on your ceiling like it might hold answers.

You didn’t sit at first. You stood at the foot of the bed, eyes tracing the edge of your desk, the soft glow of your lava lamp, the shelf of childhood photos you suddenly couldn’t stand to look at.

“He left,” you said, voice thin.

Riley turned her head. “I heard”

“Matt. My dad. He… just left. Last night, I guess. After the divorce talk with Luca. Took his truck and didn’t say anything to me. Or Mom.”

Riley sat up a little, eyes narrowing.

“She didn’t even cry,” you added. “Just poured herself a glass of wine like it was any other night. Except it wasn’t wine. It was vodka. She drank half the bottle and passed out in the den.”

“Jesus,” Riley muttered, running a hand through her hair.

You finally sat, legs crisscrossed at the edge of your mattress, picking at the loose thread on your sleeve. “Luca keeps pretending he’s fine, but he’s not. He’s been asking to sleep in my room every night. And I’m just supposed to… be normal. For him.”

Riley nodded slowly, her face full of sympathy. And then, like a switch flipping: “Yeah… my mom’s been weird too. She made that dumb casserole she always makes when she’s stressed. The one with the crunchy onion things on top that taste like sadness. And Sevika’s being super cagey about something, like she’s hiding something major, and I swear to God—”

You blinked, unsurprised by the sudden shift, but didn’t stop her.

“—like, she’s barely even talking to me, and the other day she was in her room all weird and secretive, and I found her sketchbook shoved into the couch cushions.”

Your chest tightened.

Riley turned to face you, legs curled under her, voice dropping. “Y/N… it’s full of drawings. Of you.”

You froze.

“What?”

“She’s drawn you. Like, a lot. Your face. Your hair. Your boobs, dude. I thought it was just one page, but the whole sketchbook is you. I—” she scoffed, like she still couldn’t believe it. “I don’t think she’s, like, doing anything. But she’s obviously obsessed. You’re my best friend, and she’s—she’s being a fucking perv.”

You stayed silent too long.

Riley narrowed her eyes.

“…You’re not surprised.”

You forced your voice into a whisper. “I didn’t know about the sketchbook.”

“But you knew something.”

You looked away.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. 

“Riley—”

She stood up.

“I—”

“Holy shit, are you guys sleeping together?”

The words cracked through the room like a whip.

You looked down, and that was all the answer she needed.

“Oh my fucking God,” she shouted. “You’re sleeping with my sister? My college dropout, ‘I’m-too-cool-for-real-life’, weed-smoking, secret-sketching, emotionally constipated sister?!”

You stood, chest tight. “You think I planned this?”

“You should’ve told me!”

“When, Riley?!” you snapped, voice finally breaking. “When should I have told you that the girl I had a crush on for years showed up at your party and wrecked me the first night she was back? Before or after I was on my knees in her bedroom trying not to fall in love with her?!”

Riley stared at you, like she couldn’t recognize your face anymore.

Your voice dropped, raw and tired. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. But it did. And I’m not going to sit here and let you treat me like I was some innocent little victim she preyed on. I’m not stupid. I wanted her.”

Riley swallowed hard.

Then shook her head. “I don’t even know who you are right now.”

You looked away, heart hammering.

The silence between you felt like an earthquake no one wanted to acknowledge.

comment to be added to the taglist! @l4dyf1ngers @barelykiramman @sevikasrightboob @clydethesnake @bunnslittlecottontail @spritelova @hotmusclebabe @sevikasprincesss @lonerslug @ijustgroovy @h2pinky @vxtanne31 @riotstemple29 @wishingonjellyfish @furrytaesss @luvg1s3l1e @mommyissuesismypersonality @unnamedbe1ng

[tinydefector]

Who's portal is this? 2

DC X DP X SPIDER-MAN

[Decided I was working on and editing this instead of dealing with my emotions over finding out what happened to my mum and over the fact I legally still can't talk to any of my friends over it]

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: swearing, mention of wounds, mention of death.

Masterlist

PREV

______________

The tension in the warehouse was thick enough to cut with a knife. Constantine still looked like he was trying to process his entire life’s choices, Peter was glaring at anyone who moved too close to Danny, and Batman stood silently, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the summoning circle.

"Alright," Danny finally said, breaking the silence. His voice still carried that layered, eternal echo, but his tone was casual. "Can I come out without you guys freaking out? Because, like, I could’ve escaped this thing five minutes ago. But I’ve been too baffled by this whole ‘Pariah Dark booty call’ situation to bother. And I'm pretty sure he's bleeding out” Danny states while pointing at Peter 

Batman’s gravelly voice cut through the bickering. “If you could’ve escaped, why didn’t you?”

Danny gave him an incredulous look. “Uh, I just said why. I was baffled, Stunned this feels like the Electric boogaloo part two ” He gestured vaguely to the summoning circle. "Also, this thing you guys slapped together? It’s not exactly Ghost King-proof. I mean, it’s good, don’t get me wrong—it would’ve probably stung like hell to break through it earlier, but it wouldn’t have actually held me. It’s like trying to hold a bear with spiderwebs. Annoying, sure, but not impossible. No offence Spiders"

Peter makes a noise of offence followed by Constantine groan, muttering something under his breath about how he hated kids.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Look, I’ll make it easy for you. I promise not to destroy anything, melt anyone’s face off, or turn Gotham into a ghost dimension. Just let me out, and we can all chill. Deal?”

Batman stared at him, his expression unreadable as always. After a long, tense pause, he gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

Danny grinned. "Cool. Thanks, creepy Gothman." With a casual step, Danny walked out of the summoning circle like it wasn’t even there. The sigils flared for a brief moment, sparking angrily, but Danny seemed unbothered. His aura dimmed as he left the circle, and in a flash of green light, his older, regal form disappeared.

In his place stood a very unimpressive 16-year-old kid in a black T-shirt, jacket and jeans, his hair now messy and black, his eyes bright blue with a green shimmer to them. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he looked around the room with the kind of awkward energy only a teenager could pull off.

"Ta-da!" Danny said, grinning. The silence that followed was deafening. Constantine’s cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth. Batman’s stance shifted slightly, just enough for anyone who knew him to see that he was recalculating everything he thought he knew about the situation. 

Peter, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered. "Yeah," he said nonchalantly, “Fun, right?" His jaw clenched as he tries to move, his shoulder aches like no tomorrow and at this point all he wanted to do was sleep off his injuries from before this mess.

Constantine blinked, pointing at Danny like he was trying to make sense of a bad joke. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re the Ghost King? You’re a bloody child?!"

Danny frowned, crossing his arms. "Okay, rude. I’m sixteen, thank you very much. And technically, I’m only half-ghost."

Batman’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife. "Explain."

Danny shrugged, his casual demeanor making it clear that this wasn’t the first time he’d had to explain his situation. "Alright, fine. So, hi, my name’s Danny." He raised a hand in an awkward little wave, like he was introducing himself in a high school classroom. "When I was 14, my parents—who are kinda nuts, built this weird ghost portal thingy in our basement. I decided it’d be a great idea to mess around with it, and, well…" He gestured to himself. " tada! Half-ghost."

"Anyway, long story short, I spent the past two year fighting ghosts, saving my town, blah blah blah. Then, a while back, I accidentally dethroned Pariah Dark. don’t ask, it’s a whole thing and now I’m the Ghost King. Which, honestly, is way more responsibility than I signed up for."

Constantine rubbed his temples, looking like he was on the verge of a breakdown. "So, let me get this straight. You’re a 16-year-old half-ghost who somehow became the ruler of the Infinite Realms because you… what? Got lucky?"

Danny grinned. "Pretty much!"

Constantine groaned, looking at Batman. “You’re hearing this, right? It’s not just me?”

Batman’s expression didn’t change. "I’m hearing it."

Danny clapped his hands together, clearly trying to move things along. "Alright, now that we’re all on the same page, can we focus on the important stuff? Like the whole ‘us being stuck in your horror city thing? Because I’d really like to get out of here before Mr. Soul Whore over there starts trying to sell pieces of himself again."

Constantine bristled.

The bright, sterile light of the Batcave flickered faintly across its rocky walls, illuminating the room in a pale glow as Alfred worked with calm precision on Peter’s injuries. The young man sat on the edge of a medical table, his spider suit pulled down around his waist. His face was a mess—black eye swollen shut, cheeks scraped and bruised with pieces of concrete and glass shards in bedded, and lips still lined with dried blood. His body wasn’t much better. 

His torn suit had shown a litany of injuries before it had been pulled down: fractured ribs that had already started showing the deep purple, green and yellow bruising up hid torso, the nasty red handprint of a chokehold bruising his throat, burn marks left by an explosion, and countless cuts and lacerations. The most pressing concern, however, was the bullet wound in his dislocated shoulder.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he hissed, pulling his arm away instinctively before Alfred gave him a stern look.“Hold still, please,” Alfred said firmly. “I can’t help you if you’re squirming.” as Alfred pulled the bullet free with a pair of forceps, the sound of metal hitting the small surgical tray echoing through the cave.

 He exhaled sharply as the butler pressed a clean cloth to the wound to staunch the bleeding. “It’s better out than in, young man,” Alfred said softly, his voice calm but tinged with concern. “Though I must say, you’ve been through quite the ordeal.”

Danny leaned against the edge, his expression softening slightly as he took in Peter’s battered state.

“You look like crap,” Danny said bluntly.

“Thanks,�� Peter deadpanned. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

Danny grinned faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You gonna be okay?”

Peter shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. “I’ve had worse.”

Danny gives a small nod before ghosting away over to where Constantine stood impatiently waiting for Danny.

Alfred’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression betraying his worry. His hands moved with expert care as he cleaned the wound. “This is far more than just another day, young man. You’re concussed, your ribs are clearly fractured or broken, and you’re covered in burns, bruises, and lacerations. Frankly, it’s a miracle you’re still conscious.”

The butler begins readying a needle and thread so that he can stitch The bullet hole closed. “Forgive me this will hurt, I don't currently have local anaesthetic on hand. Do hold still, young man,” Alfred apologies as he begins the stitching process. 

Peter winced but didn’t argue. “It's fine, it wouldn't help anyway, and you don't have to stitch it, it will seal itself in two days, I have an enhanced healing factor” Peter explains but it doesn't stop Alfred.  

“And give your injuries the chance to get infected, not a chance”  He knew Alfred was right, despite having enhancements it didn't stop Peter from getting sick, and he knew if he got an infection it would be hell having to cut it out again. It makes him shiver remembering the last time he had to cut out infected flesh. 

His Spider-sense was still buzzing faintly at the edges of his mind, a constant reminder of just how close he’d been to death tonight. 

“I’m almost finished.”

“Feels better not having the bullet grinding against my shoulder every time I swung,” Peter muttered through gritted teeth. His voice was thick with exhaustion, and his words slurred slightly from the concussion. “But, uh, yeah… still hurts like hell.”

Alfred gave a small, dry chuckle as he worked. “I imagine it does. Though I must say, I’ve seen soldiers in better condition than you after a battlefield skirmish.” His tone betrayed a trace of worry, his sharp eyes scanning the young man for further injuries. 

Peter didn’t respond, too focused on managing the pain and the throbbing in his head. He winced again as Alfred moved to examine his ribs. The bruising spread across his chest in ugly shades of purple and yellow, and every breath came with a faint wheeze.

“This is unacceptable,” Alfred muttered under his breath, though his words were clearly directed at someone else. His sharp gaze flickered briefly to where Bruce stood a few feet away, stoic and silent as always. “This boy is barely standing, and yet you brought him here in this state? I thought better of you. This young man is barely standing, and yet you saw fit to fight him as if he were one of your rogues.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his arms crossed as he watched from the shadows. He knew better than to argue with Alfred when the butler was angry, and right now, Alfred was rather angry.

Peter tensed slightly, his good hand clutching the edge of the table as his gaze flickered toward Batman. He still hadn’t forgiven him for the fight and, frankly, he wasn’t sure he ever would. Batman had outmaneuvered him, taken him down like he was nothing more than a common thug, and Peter’s pride still stung almost as much as his injuries. 

 he knew that if he hadn't been through dealing with all the villains that had ended up in his world, then being thrown about by the portal he had jumped into, swung halfway across a city with a bullet in his shoulder he had dislocated, and then getting slammed into a wall by Batman before spun up in his own web. He winced when the older man took a cautious step closer. He knew if he was in a better state he would have whooped the goth furries ass. 

Peter, despite his condition, couldn’t resist shooting Bruce a glare. He tensed visibly when Batman stepped closer, his entire body going rigid like a cornered animal. “Don’t,” Peter snapped, his voice sharp despite the hoarseness in his throat. “Stay the hell away from me, we’re not friends.”

Batman stopped in his tracks, his expression unreadable beneath the cowl. “I didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “You were a threat.”

“A threat?” Peter scoffed, glaring at him with his one good eye. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, man! I was trying to protect Danny. He's been the only thing I've had since I got thrown into this hell hole, so forgive me for not asking questions when you trapped him”

Batman didn’t respond, his silence only fueling Peter’s frustration. Alfred, however, gave a pointed look at his employer before turning back to Peter, his voice softening once again. 

Peter’s shoulders slumped slightly, though he was still visibly tense. He muttered something under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor as Alfred resumed his work, carefully stitching the bullet wound closed.

---

Danny and Constantine’s argument had been steadily escalating, their voices growing louder with every passing second. The two of them were standing by one of the Batcave’s many monitors, their gestures wild and exaggerated as they bickered.

“Would you shut up for five seconds?!” Danny snapped, his glowing green eyes narrowing as he threw his hands in the air. He was back in his human form, looking every bit like the irritated teenager he was, but his aura still flickered faintly with ectoplasmic energy. “Look, Cults do crap, that's kinda their gimmick, there's not much I can do about it, I'm still learning how to keep my Core from spinning out of control! There's only so much I can do, you should be grateful you got me and not Pariah!”

Constantine scowled, jabbing a finger in Danny’s direction. “mate! You’re the one prancing around as the bloody Ghost King, drawing attention from every creep and cultist this side of the multiverse. You think I wanted to deal with you? Hell no!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault for being a baby ghost. you’re apparently the guy everyone in the Infinite Realms calls ‘Soul Whore’ why don't you go sell another piece of yourself ” Danny shot back, crossing his arms. 

“You little—” Constantine cut himself off, taking a deep drag from his cigarette as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. “Listen here, kid. I don’t care what kind of fancy crown you’ve got floating over your head or how many ghostly kingdoms you rule. You’re still just a snot-nosed brat playing dress-up—”

Danny’s aura flared, and he took a menacing step forward. “You wanna say that again, John? Because I don’t think I heard you the first time.”

“Boys,” Alfred called out sharply from the medical table without even looking up from Peter’s wounds. His tone was clipped, the kind of calm authority that immediately demanded obedience. “If you’re quite done arguing like a pair of schoolchildren, I’d suggest you find a way to help this young man and yourself get home.”

Danny and Constantine both froze, exchanging sheepish glances before muttering simultaneous, reluctant, “Sorry.”

Peter snarls again when Batman takes another step into the small medical area Alfred had set up to treat Peter, the young man bares a tiny set of fangs at him. 

Bruce paused, his unreadable gaze meeting Peter’s. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone react to him with hostility, but there was something different about the way Peter looked at him. It wasn’t just anger, it was defiance.

“Calm down, mate,” came Constantine’s voice from the background. The magician was leaning against the Batcomputer, a cigarette dangling from his lips despite the faint protests from the Batcave’s air filtration system. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s got to count for something.”

“Shut up,” Peter snapped, not even looking at Constantine. “I don’t want to hear it from you, either.”

Constantine raised an eyebrow, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Touchy, aren’t we? Must be the concussion talking.”

“Can you guys take your argument somewhere else?” Peter grumbled, his voice dripping with irritation. “I don’t need a commentary track while I’m getting patched up.”

Alfred turned his attention back to Peter, his face softening slightly as he began picking the glass fragments from Peter's face. “You should be in a hospital,” Alfred said quietly, his tone more gentle now. “You’re in no condition to be running around rooftops, let alone fighting.”

Peter gave a weak chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince as his ribs protested. “Yeah, well, hospitals aren’t exactly Spider-Man-friendly. Besides…” He shot another glare at Batman. “I wouldn’t be here at all if someone had left us alone.”

“This young man was clearly in a life-threatening battle. Concussion, fractured ribs, glass embedded in his skin, burns, a bullet in a dislocated shoulder and God knows what else. And yet here he sits, instead of in a hospital bed where he belongs.” Alfred sighed heavily, his gaze flicking to Bruce. “I trust you’ll handle this properly, sir. Because if you don’t, I’ll be having words with you later.”

Bruce gave a small nod, his attention still on Peter. 

“I don’t do hospitals,” Peter repeats, his voice hoarse as he glances at Alfred. “They’d ask too many questions. I’ll heal. I just… need time.”

Peter groaned, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the table. This was shaping up to be one of the worst nights of his life.

Alfred sighed, clearly unhappy but unwilling to press further. Instead, he focused on carefully removing a shard of glass lodged in Peter’s arm. Peter hissed again, his body flinching reflexively.

“You’re lucky,” Alfred said with a softer edge. “The bullet in your shoulder didn’t hit anything vital. Though how you managed to swing around with it still lodged in there is beyond me.”

Peter gave a weak, humorless smile. “Yeah, well… adrenaline’s a hell of a drug.” he tenses again as Batman walks past the table trying to take a Proper look at Peter's injuries.  

 

Alfred glanced between them, his brow furrowing. “I assure you, he only wishes to help.”

Peter’s laugh was bitter, almost feral. “Yeah, sure. I've already been shot at by a SWAT team, and been beat to shit. So go nuts, it's not going to keep my Spider-Sense from blaring like a tornado siren. Your a threat to me Even if your trying to help, ”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

It wasn’t just the fight that had Peter on edge, it was the way Batman moved, the way he loomed over him like a shadow, the way his presence filled the room with an authority that made Peter’s stomach churn. It reminded him too much of Osborn. The cold, calculating gaze. The unrelenting drive. The willingness to go too far to get what he wanted. 

It made Peter’s skin crawl.

Alfred, sensing the tension, shot Bruce a pointed glare before speaking again. “ I understand your hesitation, but I assure you, he is not your enemy.”

Peter scoffed. “Yeah? Tell him to stop staring at me like I’m some kind of science experiment, and maybe I’ll believe it.”

Before Alfred could respond, a loud crash echoed from the far side of the cave, followed by raised voices.

“I’m telling you,” Danny’s voice rang out, “you don’t need to keep babysitting me! I’m not gonna blow up Gotham or whatever you think I’m gonna do!”

“Oh, forgive me if I don’t take your word for it, Your Majesty,” Constantine shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re a bloody half-ghost kid with the power to wipe out entire dimensions. Forgive me if I’m a little cautious!”

“I’m not gonna wipe out dimensions!” 

“Once is enough, mate.”

The argument continued, growing louder and more heated as Danny and Constantine bickered like a parent and child who had been stuck in the same car for too long. 

Peter turned his head slightly, watching the chaos unfold with a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. “What’s their deal?” he asked, wincing as Alfred cleaned another wound on his arm.

Alfred sighed, clearly unimpressed with Danny and Constantine’s antics. “ Mr. Fenton and Mr. Constantine appear to have different approaches to… resolving conflict.”

“Yeah,” Peter muttered. “I can see that.”

Bruce, who had remained silent up until now, finally spoke. “ Constantine is trying to prevent a larger catastrophe.”

“By yelling at him?” Peter quipped.

“Look, I get it, okay? I’m scary or whatever. But I’m not Pariah Dark, and I’m not gonna start some ghost apocalypse, plus I'd rather not hurt my Human friends. What I actually want right now is a burger!”

Constantine raised an eyebrow. “Mate, you’re a walking bloody nuke.”

"Ignore them, it is for the best, I'd like you to take these, you're not allergic to Oxycodone?" Alfred asked gently, handing Peter a cup of water and what looked like a handful of painkillers. Peter doesn't answer, just throws them into his mouth along with taking a massive mouthful of water to wash them down. 

"If it’s alright with you, I’d like to know how you ended up in this dreadful state." Alfred paused, glancing up at Peter's battered face. "You don’t have to say anything if you’re not comfortable, but it might help you calm down and rest."

Peter hesitated, his shoulders tensing slightly as Alfred reached for another piece of glass embedded in his arm. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly. "It’s… complicated," he said softly, his voice hoarse and raw. The handprint on his throat made every word feel like gravel scraping against his vocal cords.

Alfred gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I’ve found that most things are, Mr. Parker. But I’ve also found that talking about them can make things a little less so."

Peter looked at Alfred for a moment, his guarded expression softening slightly. There was something about the older man’s calm demeanor, his steady hands, and his genuine concern that made Peter feel… safe, even here, in the middle of a cave owned by a man who had beaten him in a fight.

Peter exhaled slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on the table. "Alright," he said quietly. "I guess it’s better than sitting here in awkward silence."

Alfred gave a small nod, continuing to work. "Take your time, lad."

Peter swallowed hard, his throat aching. "I was trying to fix something I messed up. My life it was a mess. Everyone I cared about, everyone who knew I was Spider-Man, they were in danger because of me. Because of something I did."

Alfred’s hands stilled for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking up to Peter. "Go on," he encouraged gently.

Peter took a shaky breath. "There was this… spell. A way to make everyone forget who I was—forget that I was Spider-Man. It was supposed to fix everything. But something went wrong, and it broke the multiverse open. Villains from other worlds. Worlds that weren’t mine, started showing up. People who knew Spider-Man, but not my Spider-Man. I fought them, tried to send them back, but…" He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly. "It didn’t matter. They kept coming."

Alfred’s expression softened, but he said nothing, letting Peter continue at his own pace.

Peter’s fists clenched. "The worst part was… I thought I could save them. I thought I could fix them, make them better, so they wouldn’t go back to their worlds and die fighting Spider-Man. And maybe I did. Maybe it worked for some of them. But…" He swallowed hard. "It cost me everything. My aunt—she—"

His voice broke, and he looked down at his lap, his hands trembling. "She died. Because of me. Because I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, smart enough to stop it."

Alfred’s hand rested gently on Peter’s uninjured shoulder, "I’m terribly sorry for your loss," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine sympathy.

Peter nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to continue. "After that, I didn’t have a choice. I had to go through with the spell. I made everyone forget me. My best friend. The love of my life. Everyone. It was the only way to fix it."

Alfred’s hand lingered on Peter’s shoulder for a moment before he returned to tending to his wounds. "And that’s when you ended up here?" he asked gently.

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I thought it was a portal to take me somewhere safe, one of the wizards I was working with tried to get me away before they forgot. One minute I was in New York city, trying to figure out where I'd go, and the next thing I knew, I’m falling through some portal and landing in Gotham. And then Danny caught me" He shot a look towards Danny. 

Alfred finished cleaning and stitching the last of Peter’s wounds before stepping back, wiping his hands on a clean cloth. "There. That should hold for now. But you’ll need rest, young man. Proper rest, not whatever adrenaline-fueled nonsense I imagine you’re used to." Alfred hands Peter a set of clothes. “Forgive me the closest to your size of clothes is Red Robin, he will most likely be here later” Alfred explains to Peter. 

Peter gives a small nod before slowly moving, pulling the cover across so he could get dressed in something more comfortable. He still tenses and watches Batman like a hawk after he had dressed, not wanting the older man too close to him while he was in the state he was.  

Batman reminded Peter of two people: Norman Osborn’s manic intensity lived in Batman’s ability to dissect everything with cold precision, in the way he always seemed to be two steps ahead. That same suffocating control, that same aura of dominance it put Peter on edge, made his heart race and his fingers itch to fight or flee. 

But then there was Tony. The way Bruce carried himself, the unrelenting drive to fix every problem, the subtle weight of grief behind his every word and action, it was so much like Tony Stark that Peter’s heart clenched every time he looked at him. It stung, deep and raw, like an old wound being torn open.

And that combination, Osborn’s menace and Tony’s absence, was too much for Peter to handle.

Batman took a slow step toward him, his cape brushing the floor like a shadow reaching out. Peter stiffened instantly, his body going rigid, his breaths coming faster. His good hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

"Peter," Bruce said, his voice low and steady. "I need to ask you a few questions. I need to know—"

"Don’t," Peter hissed sharply, his voice raw and filled with tension. He flinched back, his eyes wide and wild. His Spider-Sense wasn’t buzzing, but his instincts were screaming at him to move, to escape, to run. 

Batman stopped, his expression unreadable behind the cowl, but Peter could feel the weight of his gaze. It bore down on him like a physical force, and Peter couldn’t stop the way his body shook under it. 

Peter’s voice rose slightly, his tone cracking. "Don’t come any closer."

Bruce frowned, his jaw tightening. 

"I said don’t!" Peter snapped, his voice trembling. His entire body was trembling now, his chest heaving with shallow, uneven breaths. He looked like a cornered animal, his eyes darting between Batman and the exit, like he was calculating how quickly he could escape if he needed to.

Bruce raised his hands slightly, a gesture of calm, but the movement only made Peter shrink back further. His mind flashed with images of Green Goblin’s twisted grin, of Tony’s lifeless eyes, of his own failures piling up like bricks on his back.

The tension reached its breaking point when Peter let out a sharp hiss of pain, clutching his ribs as his body twisted instinctively away from Bruce. The sudden sound drew Danny’s attention like a shot.

In a blur of green and black, Danny darted to Peter’s side, standing between him and Batman like a shield. His eyes glowed faintly, his aura flaring just enough to be intimidating without being outright threatening. He was back in his human form, but the protective energy radiating off him was unmistakable.

"Hey, back off," Danny said, his voice sharp and firm but not angry. He placed a steady hand on Peter’s shoulder, grounding him. "Give him some space, okay?"

Peter flinched again, his good hand gripping Danny’s wrist as if to anchor himself. His breaths were still shallow, his eyes flicking between Bruce and Danny. "I’m fine," he muttered, but his voice was shaky and unconvincing. "I’m fine, just—just stay over there."

Alfred, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of concern and anger, finally stepped in, his tone clipped. "perhaps it would be best to give the young man some time to recover before bombarding him with questions. He’s clearly been through enough."

Bruce hesitated, his gaze lingering on Peter for a moment longer before he gave a curt nod and stepped back. He turned toward the Batcomputer, his cape sweeping behind him as he moved. Constantine muttered something under his breath about "bloody drama" and returned to fiddling with a spell book, but Danny ignored him, his focus entirely on Peter.

"You good?" Danny asked quietly, his glowing eyes dimming slightly as his aura softened.

Peter exhaled shakily, leaning back against the table. "Yeah," he said, though his voice was still weak. "I just… he reminds me of someone. Two people, actually. And it’s—" He broke off, shaking his head. "It’s stupid. Forget it."

Danny tilted his head, his expression calm but curious. "Not stupid," he said simply. "But you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to."

Peter gave a small, grateful nod, his grip on Danny’s wrist loosening. "Thanks."

Danny smiled faintly, stepping back but staying close enough to be reassuring. "No problem. Just let me know if you need me to, like, phase you out of here or something."

Peter huffed a weak laugh. "I’ll keep that in mind."

The Batcave was a strange mix of eerie quiet and low mechanical hums as computers whirred and analyzed data in the background. the two teenagers currently sitting on one of the metal tables.  

Danny and Peter were engrossed in their food, wolfing it down like they hadn’t seen a meal in weeks. Neither of them seemed to care about the pressure in the room or the watchful eyes of Batman, who stood at the far end of the cave, his expression unreadable as always. Constantine was somewhere off to the side, muttering curses under his breath and chain-smoking like it was his last day on Earth.  

For Danny, this was just another weird day in a long line of weird days. For Peter, however, it felt like his entire world had collapsed in on itself.  

He sat there, shoveling fries into his mouth with the speed of someone too exhausted to bother with manners, his usually sharp mind dulled by the overwhelming weight of everything that had happened. His Spider-Sense had been buzzing like a never-ending alarm the moment he’d arrived in Gotham. It hadn’t let up. not for a second, and it was starting to fray his nerves.  

Peter was cranky, tired, and emotionally wrecked.  

It wasn’t just Gotham. It was everything.  

The other Peters. Aunt May’s death. Strange’s spell. The portal that had dumped him here. It all felt like one gut punch after another, and now, on top of everything, he’d been bested, humiliated, really by Gotham’s caped crusader.  

Batman.  

Peter glared at the man from across the room, his jaw tightening as he bit into his burger. It wasn’t just that Batman had captured him—it was *how* easily it had happened. Less than 24 hours in this city, and the so-called “Dark Knight” had already gotten the better of him.  

Peter was *Spider-Man.* He’d gone toe-to-toe with aliens, super soldiers, and literal gods. Sure, Captain America had gotten the drop on him once, but that was different. That was Cap. This was a guy in a bat costume.  

And yet, here he was.  

The weight of it all made his chest ache, a cold, hollow feeling settling deep inside him. It reminded him of when he’d been dusted in Tony’s arms, helpless and scared and completely out of control. He hated it.  

Danny, sitting next to him, didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he was too busy enjoying the food to care. He shoved the last bite of his burger into his mouth, licking his fingers clean before leaning back on his hands.  

"Man," Danny said, finally breaking the silence, " the food’s not bad."  

Peter turned back to Danny, his frustration still evident. "How are you so calm about all this? Aren’t you even a little freaked out?"  

Danny shrugged again. "Eh, not really. I mean, have been in strange situations”  Danny had moved on from his burger and was now lazily sipping a soda, his feet kicked up on the table as if they were just two kids hanging out in a diner.  

But Peter? Peter was done. He was exhausted—no, more than that. He was emotionally wrecked. Everything had gone wrong. Aunt May was gone. The other Peters had disappeared back into their own worlds. Doctor Strange’s spell hadn’t fixed anything, and now Peter was stranded in this grim, alien city that radiated danger. His Spider-Sense hadn’t stopped buzzing since he got here, and it was driving him to the brink of insanity.  

It felt like every nerve in his body was on fire, like there was a constant whisper in the back of his mind telling him something bad was coming. When Batman stepped closer, Peter glared at him, his lips curling back in a warning hiss like a feral animal. He didn’t care how ridiculous it made him look. He just wanted the man to stay away. 

“Don’t,” Peter snapped, his voice low and dangerous. His body was coiled tight, ready to spring. “Just don’t.”  

Danny raised an eyebrow “Alright. Sheesh. Someone needs a nap.”  

Peter didn’t respond. His hands clenched into fists, his breathing shallow and uneven. He hated this. He hated feeling cornered, trapped, and helpless. He hated that he couldn’t even turn to Karen for comfort.  

His suit’s AI had been offline since he’d arrived in Gotham, and every time he reached up to tap his earpiece, hoping to hear her calm, familiar voice, he was met with silence. It was a small thing, but it made the ache in his chest worse. Karen had always been there for him. Always.  

And now she wasn’t.  

Peter stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He needed to get away. He needed space, somewhere to breathe, somewhere to escape the weight pressing down on him.  

His eyes darted upward to the high, cavernous ceiling of the Batcave. Without a word, he shot a web and launched himself up, his movements quick and fluid.  

Peter didn’t care what they thought. He swung up to one of the higher ledges, far above the main area of the cave, and began weaving his webs. His hands moved automatically, the repetitive action calming his racing thoughts as he constructed a makeshift hammock.  

It wasn’t much, but it was something familiar. Something safe.  

When he was done, he collapsed into the hammock, the tension in his body finally easing as he stared up at the jagged ceiling above. For the first time in hours, his Spider-Sense dimmed to a faint buzz.  

Peter curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around himself as he closed his eyes. He didn’t cry. He was too tired for that but the ache in his chest didn’t go away.  

He missed Karen. He missed May. He missed home.  

[alexanderlightweight]

the same sky follow up?

here we go, it has been a bit and I hope you enjoy! (last bit here)

<3 lumine

the same sky

Magnus sighs, pressing his brow against the cool glass of the shower and letting himself finally breath.

Ragnor is safe.

Ragnor is protected.

And now Catarina and Madzie are as well.

Not only that but Rouse has been taken care of, the nearby leylines have been locked down and corralled under his control and his warlocks have been reminded to update their own protections to their abodes.

And Alexander’s here, his cool fingers rinsing the last of suds off Magnus’ back under the hot water.

“You better not be planning how to sneak away and work while I sleep.” Alexander says as the water turns off and Magnus uses magic to dry them both.  Too tired to bother even as Alexander turns to him with a towel, looking betrayed as if he’d been looking forward to drying Magnus’ hair for him.

“Not in the slightest, if anything we’re both sleeping in.  We have the time now.”

They meet again in bed and Alexander curls into Magnus’ arms as easily as he breathes, curling into him and settling with a sigh, as if finally home.

“We do need to talk about one more thing.” Alexander murmurs, half-asleep and nuzzling closer and closer, as if they aren’t already pressed as close as can be and he wants to tuck himself beneath Magnus' skin.

“What’s that beloved?” Magnus asks, letting his magic ensure that he’ll remember Alexander’s point in the morning.

“We need to make sure your signature is erased from Clary’s mind.”

Alexander says it with a soft little snore signalling his sleep. As if he hasn’t just given Magnus a shot of adrenaline to his mind.  It’s with a twitch of his fingers that Magnus almost summons a notepad.

Then Alexander kisses Magnus’ skin in his sleep and the spark settles.  First he sends a quick, magically scribed fire message to Ragnor for help creating a distraction, even from far away, and sends himself a message to his desk.

With that, he curls his arms around his consort and sleeps, Alexander tucking closer the more Magnus turns into him and it’s truly like being home.  Holding Alexander and being held in turn.

—

Whatever message Ragnor sent to Dot — and therefore Jocelyn — had both women running out the door looking terrified and in the direction of the Hotel Dumort.

A rather dangerous endeavor this late at night. 

Magnus has a feeling Ragnor has let them know what they’ve done with his book and that he’s not pleased.  

Meanwhile, that leaves a young, high school Clary asleep and protected by Dot’s magic and her mother’s runes and Luke’s scent but ultimately unguarded, for once.

Magnus bypasses all of that, Alexander with him and none will notice a trace of them, not magic or scent.  Alexander keeps watch as Magnus carefully extracts and mends where his signature once held together the fragments of Clary’s memories. He smoothes over what was taken, layering magic to forcibly heal until the seams are mended so thoroughly that the memories it once yearned for will now be rejected if found.

Clary’s own mind no longer remembers the trauma of her memories being gone and when the Silent Brother’s and anyone else try to look, they’ll find nothing.  Better yet, Jocelyn cannot speak about it without the geas Magnus has on her being lifted. Something he did in the first timeline so that she could explain things to her daughter and will not be doing this time.

Lucian and Dot will also be held to the promise, despite the fact that he’d released them also.  Magnus is not taking any chances for his people to be targeted or to be drawn into conflicts this time.  Or for his name to be blasted across the shadowworld drawing him into so many conflicts that wasted his time and energy. 

The Mortal Cup is less protected than Clary Fray and to have her alone, without a protector is rare. Magnus finishes and opens a portal, Alexander in step with him and Magnus wonders if this will make Clary’s life easier, or harder. And how her introduction to the shadowworld will be affected without ever finding out that such a large betrayal from her mother ever happened.

—-

“Now that that’s out of the way, shall we take something of a vacation?” Magnus brushes imaginary dirt from his hands and opens another portal. “If we have to start the roof from scratch, why don’t we check out a few various climates, we can have whatever you’d like.”

Alexander hums thoughtfully and steps through, not even surprised when magick redresses him to fit the environment they enter. 

“How long is this vacation going to be?”

“At least six months, I want to see how things unfold for a little while before we finalize our strike.” Magnus knows exactly how he’s going to ensure things are done far differently and it’s also going to shake the shadowworld at the same time, once his actions come to light along with the lies he and Alexander will weave.

“Almost enough time to relax—” his darling teases him, knowing that Magnus will undoubtedly be ready for action far sooner.  However they won’t be idle even while they rest and travel and that’s more than enough for Magnus.

[invis-o-william]

Dannymay 2025 - Day 15: Stars

It was a quiet Saturday morning in the Fenton household when Danny noticed it. The stars on his bedroom ceiling were starting to lose their glow. It had been years since his dad had initially stuck them to the ceiling, the nonsensical constellations and patterns to them sparking his imagination as a child. They had been a source of comfort to him, the cheap glowing plastic reminding him of his hopes and dreams. They still did now, though his dreams had a more somber edge to them these days.

The next day he had a new pack of stars, and once he was sure that his parents were busy in the lab (when weren’t they?) and that Jazz was studying, he locked his door and let his feet leave the floor. 

He floated up to the ceiling, still in human form but accessing his powers. It was a little harder to float like this, it took more concentration, but some part of him wanted to stay human for this little task.

Carefully, he began to peel the old stars from the ceiling, the old glue sticking firmly to the back of each star. He found that in some places, the stars covered up small cracks in the plaster. His dad had hid the imperfections of his room, instead covering them with whimsy.

Once Danny had gathered all the stars, he touched down on his carpet once more. He carefully stacked the stars together and put them in his desk drawer. He should probably throw them away, they didn’t work anymore after all. Still, he found that he couldn’t part himself from them. They were a reminder of who he was and of times when his parents weren’t always consumed by their work.

He floated back up then, with the new pack of stars in hand. There were many ways he could arrange the stars now, but what should he do? He could put them up in the same pattern his dad had, after years of looking up at them he had long since memorized their layout. He could also model his ceiling after different parts of the night sky.

He was tempted to put them up in the same order again, but as his hand moved to place the first star, he found he couldn’t do it. Things had changed. He had changed. He wasn’t the same kid anymore who jumped on the bed while his parents hung a model rocket from his light fixture. He wasn’t the excited middle schooler who carefully laid out his life’s ambitions, who learned about what scholarships and which schools would help him with his dream. He wasn’t the kid who would one day be an astronaut. 

It was still something he wanted, something he dreamed of. While he loved being half ghost, he still yearned for the vastness of space. All he had ever wanted was to explore the stars, but now? Now that path had all but vanished for him. His grades had tanked freshman year, and while he was doing better as a sophomore now, he was still nowhere near the GPA required to get into the colleges he needed. Even if he did somehow make it into one of those prestigious schools, how would he become an astronaut now?

He knew for a fact that even in human form, he couldn’t go through the required tests that places like NASA would run. His heartbeat was too slow, his blood was tainted with ectoplasm, and of course, his weight was completely off. The last one had been an unexpected shock for him in the days following The Accident, but when he thought it through, it made sense. He had died, and parts of his body which had been too damaged to survive the portal were replaced with ectoplasm. As a result, if he were to be weighed by a doctor, they would probably suspect he was malnourished. No matter how much he ate now, it never seemed to change.

So that was it. His dream, his childhood ambition would forever be just that. A dream. A dream that died with him in that portal, one that he buried with the remains of his strange half-there corpse, deep in the woods outside Amity Park.

So he placed the stars, matching the constellations to the night sky over Amity Park. If a few tears were shed while he mourned his dream, his future, then nobody had to know.

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Mythic Phantom

This is a little something I whipped up over a while thinking about merging the DP and Riordanverse universes together, and I thank @geraldmariaivo for helping me think my way through it. If you want the ao3 version you can find it here, and I hope you enjoy the fic!

Most Underworld Gods felt it when Vlad’s current permanent Portal opened, but they all Felt it when Danny’s accident happened. A child’s death throes is hard to ignore after all. Pantheons world wide decided that was America’s problem, and Hel decided it was Persephone’s problem, and Haides felt it would close on its own. No gate to Khaos can stay open for long after all.

When Ember went globally live, Muses and Music Gods and Hypnos heard the way she sang, called out to the mortals to never be forgotten. Danny and Tucker dealt with her swiftly enough that she was remembered, noted even, but disregarded.

When the Fright Knight’s sword was drawn, many Fear Gods turned toward Amity, but Danny dealt with it swiftly. Most regarded it as an anomaly but Phobos and Deimos sent subordinate spirits to investigate the town and report anything interesting.

Hades and Persephone noted the invasion of Ghost Cops and saw that Danny had it handled in only a few days, which they would count as a quest fulfilled. Clearly, Amity Park was a contained issue, and the Master Bolt had gone missing by now so they have other things to deal with. The House of Life have some reservations but agree.

Then Pariah Dark got out, and the Gods scrambled to do something about that. In only a week however, He was dealt with too.  A closer eye was warranted. By everyone, not just the Observants.

Whoever these agents were, be they half-bloods or spirits or even minor gods, most wouldn’t see Young Blood and thus would fear Danny was losing it too. When he calmed down, they’d sigh in relief. The two future Ghost Villains who show up outside of the do-over would raise alarms at how fast ghosts can progress, but hey, it’s handled.

When the Hellenic spies are pulled back home for safety during the winter solstice, pleasantly surprised by Ghost activity dying down at the same time, Artemis and Luna, Khonshu and more felt something wrong happening as the Ghostwriter possessed the moon to speak.

When Duul Amon returned to the land of the living, the House of Life sent agents to the town, and Tucker Foley was immediately offered magic lessons. His is power over stone and steel, glass and gems, as well as an ear for the voices of machines. Between terrakinesis and technopathy, Tucker’s limits with his staff became only what he understood about technology.

Then entire copies of the Ghost Boy (Prince? King?) appear, attacking him, manipulating him for the elder, but he lets her go free after he’s rescued? Truly fascinating. Psychopomps keep an eye on Elle wherever she goes - she’s always very close to melting after all. The titan army also keep an eye on her, a powerful being both like and unlike the Gods, much the same as a Titan, Giant, or Monster.

Then the Reality Gauntlet is found by a mortal man, a rogue Magician, while the boy is busy trying to stop it and save the world, Lydia is keeping House of Life magicians and even Odin’s Ravens from finding Freakshow, so some Camp Jupiter heroes are being sent on a quest to deal with him. Then he gets the fucking gems and turns the world into a circus for 10 minutes.

Before the Boy tricks him, takes the Gauntlet, resets the world to before his identity was revealed to the world, (though perhaps not quite fooling the memories of Gods, who Are the world) and destroying the Gauntlet and gems in a single blast.

An artifact presumed by the Ghost Investigation Ward to be powerful enough to destroy the Infinite Realms, reduced to molten ash by one burst of power.

What to do about the young Phantom is a matter of discussion during the solstice meeting on Olympus.  Hades is sent to investigate the boy and finds that he is a godling of Kaos Themself, which sparks yet further debate on what to do when Artemis goes missing.

But then the Son of Hades stumbled upon Elmerton and witnessed a duel between Gods firsthand.

Danny Phantom faced off against Vortex, the ghost of all weather and sky and storm gods who had faded over the millennia, all on his own.  Even in defeat, Danny stole half of Vortex’s power, and less than a week later, he defeated the calamity that even two pantheons worth of gods could not.

The Titans would be horrible for humanity as a whole, and the Olympians were bad for half bloods as well.  Danny Phantom, however, could be just what most half bloods were after.  He needed training in mortal form, clearly, but that could be an angle for Nico to use.

[stars-obsession-pit]

Jack and Maddie enlist Danny’s help in putting in some final parts in hard-to-reach places of their portal. Jazz joins them to supervise (and just hang out as a family).

Then, unexpectedly, the portal sparks to life.

With all of them inside it.

So now all four of them are half-ghosts and are working together to try to figure out what the hell that even means for them…

[spicybunni]

Yandere Dark Wizard x Maid!Darling

Little Dark Wizard blurb ! I’ve had this idea for like all of October and had to get it out of my system, enjoy! 🌙

WARNINGS!! ⚠️ : NSFW IMPLICATIONS, YANDERE TENDENCIES, OBSESSIVE, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You swept the floors clean by 8AM this morning, and now it was time to start on dusting this horrid tower again. Even though you dusted a week ago there are somehow a buildup of cobwebs and thick layers of dust on almost everything! It’s almost as if he uses his magic to make the tower more dirty, keeping you busy with work while he is away. He is Faris, the dark Wizard. About a year and a half ago you came to him, as a castle maid looking to give assistance to either a Witch or Wizard in exchange for lessons in magic wielding. He told you off the bat that it would take time and patience since you didn’t have the gift of magic to begin with.

When you first met him, you certainly did not expect him to be so…handsome, to say the least. With the rumors you’ve heard around the kingdom and castle, you thought he would look scarier. But he did have an intense look on his face giving you his full attention. Long black curls piling in the hood of his cloak, his robes gray and colorless, and his eyes were sage green. No wonder the other maids gossiped about him constantly when he visited. But for your sake you pushed your attraction for him to the side, just trying to make a business deal to better your life.

Through the months it was harder and harder to push your feelings down. He was stern but never had an outburst or became violent like the royals you used to serve. The only thing damned about your position is that he never lets you leave the tower without him. Needing to buy food? He’ll escort you through a portal to the nearest Market place. Need new clothes? No need for travel when he special order them for you.

He’s so stingy whenever you ask him about the “business” he takes care of during the day. 4 days out of the week, he leaves the tower from morning until late evening doing heaven knows what. You had gathered a technique in finishing your chores early. Which he absolutely despised. It’s not that he hated you having free time. He just doesn’t want you roaming into certain quarters of the tower. He kept such dangerous artifacts in certain rooms that if you explored, you just might hurt yourself. Which was the last thing he wanted. But usually when you did finish early you kept busy with either cooking dinner or doing some crafty hobbies you liked in your chambers. If he didn’t spot you in the kitchen he would either teleport to your room to knock or just peak to see you if you're there from afar.

Over the past year, unbeknownst to you, Faris has actually depended on you being here at the tower. At first he labeled it as just being reliant on a maid or a housekeeper to keep the place in order. But something sparked within him when you had the courage to speak to him outside the Royal Palace. You were a mistreated maid there and wanted a better life, a magical one. Who was he to refuse a future apprentice? Unfortunately for him now, he see’s you as more than a beloved maid. You were his.

Teaching magic to non magical humans did take time, but it was easy. You start with the basics of elemental magic, then energy magic, and if you asked him, he would teach you dark magic to defend yourself.

But teaching you to become your own Witch meant you would leave eventually…And these feelings of loneliness have swelled over the years before you came into his life. Perhaps he can push it a few months, making more excuses that you weren’t ready, or that his work requires his full concentration. He found that getting in close proximity to you and simply saying “Not now, Y/N.” when you asked questions made you stop for a few days. He found it so endearing that you would blush madly for him and be so shy to be close to him when he did stuff like that.

But you on the other hand we’re ready to take your lessons into your own hands now. You’ve done your part of the bargain. You just won’t ask anymore. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission right? Putting your broom and other cleaning equipment in the kitchen, you head over to the library with many anxious thoughts in your head. ‘Maybe he’ll be impressed when you show him- No, no don’t show him! He’ll find me out sooner if I do that- Ughh’

Finally coming up on the massive door, you bring out the spare key you borrowed from Faris. You only took it because he kept it in the same office drawer of a desk you clean every week. You knew it was for the library because it shared the same symbol of a skull that the library doors adorned on the wood. Obviously he didn't think you were such a curious darling. Plus it’s still midday, you’ll have plenty of time to browse and put things back where they belong.

With a click, the door unlocks. You push the doors open, revealing a massive collection of books with towering shelves holding them. Right when the doors opened a spark flew from the torches at the entrance to light all candles in the library. You gasp in amazement, quickly putting the key into your apron’s pocket. You step in further, glancing at the book spines, reading their titles. Some were just regular story books while others were encyclopedias, dictionaries, How-To’s and much more. There was a particular book that caught your attention. It was a faded purple color that shined in certain lighting. You pull it out reading the title ‘LOVE SPELLS AND POTIONS’. The book obviously stayed untouched for years, the spine wasn’t worn and the pages were crisp. You can tell by the color and feel of the paper that it’s an old book though. You had no need for any spells or potions within this book, but taking a peak is almost harm right?

You opened and flipped to a random page. The potion was for fertility and love making. But before you could even read the details a black swirl of mist appeared in the middle of the library, making the shelves rumble. It opened up like a portal, making you tremble holding the book to your chest like a shield. You panic thinking it’s an entity of some sort coming into the tower but then you see Faris walking through, looking around until he spots you. His face looks both displeased and amused at the same time. He takes languid steps towards you. You gulp, not having expected any of this, to be caught so red handed by your Wizard most of all.

“I did not expect this, my darling maid. You actually had the gall to trespass into my library and get ahead of yourself.” He chuckles, removing his coat as he comes to you.

“And I see the thing you’ve decided to learn from first is?..” He raises his hand with his palm down, turning it up and flicks his wrist back, making an unseeable force take the book hiding within your arms. “W-Wait! Faris I-“ he pays no attention to your cries of embarrassment. As the book floats into his grasp he holds his other hand out in a stop motion, making the invisible force block ho. He marks the page you were at with a finger before looking at the front cover.

You can see his eyes read the title, creasing slightly by his grin as he looks back to you. “Really Y/N? Love Potions?” His magic releases its hold on you. You’re fidgeting with your hands with a face as red as rubies. You were about to speak your truth before you see he’s about to see the page you were on. Your mortified expression fuels him to carry on with his torment. You didn’t really think you were going to be unpunished for sneaking into a forbidden room of his tower?

He looks over the potion ingredients with the…expressive.. illustrations on the page. He chuckles at you begging to stop and trying to grab the book. “Oh dear, a fertility potion huh?” He looks back at you now, making you freeze in your actions.

“Listen Faris, I just thought the book looked pretty! Stop drawing it out like this! You know I didn’t-”

You were pulled to him by his magic, your front against his. A hand rests itself on your lower back. You look up at him, hands on his robes. You’ve never embraced him like this before. It was making you flush so warm against his body.

“If you’d like, my dear Y/N, your first magic lesson can be from this book…”

~~~~

Part 2??

[haleswallows]

DC x DP Dead on Main (Jason Todd/Danny Fenton) Teen Soulmates AU

Surprise! Danny POV 😈

Teaser:

He can't think of a single fucking thing worth saying to Jason.

"So what happened?" Jason breaks the silence. He looks out the window - late afternoon sun streams in, turning the room a warm golden hue. Jason's beautiful where it shines on his hair, lights up his eyes. It hurts he won't look at Danny. "That day in September four years ago."

That day. That day Danny was remade. Walking into a machine, crawled half a creature, half of something other. As much as Phantom is Danny, and Danny is Phantom, there's always a separation.

Danny is alive.

Phantom is dead.

It hurt. It hurt so much, Danny still dreams about it. It never left his mind, he sees the spark — a bright flash of electricity as the machine abruptly sprung into life around him — in his eyes every time he changes, every time he shrugs on Phantom like a well loved coat. His signature look.

And Jason felt that. The realization hits all over again, the pain and memory of the portal accident suddenly fresh and raw. As if it had just happened instead of years ago. A phantom pain - hah.

Phantom pains.

Jason felt him die and die and die like a record skipping its track. Jason felt him in those first fights, a lesson in how to get his ass kicked. Jason felt him nearly drain himself to a second death in that fucked up ecto-suit as he fought Pariah Dark —.

And some sick little part of him is glad. Because he's never been alone. Not really. There was always someone there, sharing in the hurt. Even if he didn't know about them. Even if Jason didn't know it was Danny on the other side.

Danny can't believe himself. Disgusted he'd be glad for that.

"I," he starts, clears his throat. It's never easier to say, how does he say it? What's the word for 'I'm not sure I'm human anymore' or 'I'm scared of myself sometimes'?

"I had an accident. I died."

Finally, there's an expression on Jason's face that isn't outright resentment or derision. A tilt of surprise. But it smooths out into a blankness that's more remote than the moon.

It's a cold expression. Danny couldn't tell what he was thinking if he tried.

[kissingraine]

not to be dramatic but i’m lying in a shallow grave whispering “she sang to him” over and over. this feels like band of brothers meets fragile civilian in the snow, and now i’m unwell. when’s chapter 3 for sun bleached flies? i need more frostbitten war trauma bonding before i freeze completely. pls, i’m begging you 😩

UHM???? band of brothers mentioned????😧 yall clearly have taste and im struggling to meet the expectations. here's ch3🫴🏻

Sun Bleached Flies — TF One Seekers x f!Reader (3)

While their weapons power up, Thundercracker's comms fizzle back to life—half-expecting it's Starscream's voice that comes through but Sky's panicked warbling neither disappoints or surprises him. He expected that one of them would notice he was deep in the Pit, their link making itself known and equally making him aware of their positions across the globe. Thundercracker cuts it off deliberately, can't bear to hear or know what Star wants to say about his situation. Worse, what the air commander won't say. Because he'll still feel it.

And that's much, much worse.

Skywarp portaled as fast as he could. Their link reconnected, somehow, after an entire decivorn. He had been minding his own business, about to start another mindless fight—until this spark-wrenching feeling of eternal dread comes over him, and he's spiraling. He's in danger. No, he isn't. But somebody else is. Starscream? Thundercracker? Come to think of it, he hasn't come back from his usual patrol. And they may have suppressed the neural link for an increasingly long time, but Sky knows in himself he would never tuck tail and turn to run when his brothers need him most.

Reckless as he was, the last one thrown into the battlefield and not giving him enough time to fully develop like Star and TC, barging in unannounced was his entire aesthetic. Only this time, his fellow trine needed him. And it's only due to his infamy that the pair of Auto-scum flee when they sense his EM field enter their processors. Skywarp shifts his plating to his mech form, landing on the ground with a rumble while his pedes slide through the snow. Thundercracker glances up and groans.

“Don't start.”

“I haven't said anything!” Skywarp raises both servos, noticing how the blue Seeker's repair protocols were working overtime to fix internal damage. The wing? Not so much. “Yet,” added Thundercracker, his hand remaining circled around you but not touching.

It's only when the other mech notices that there's one of those tiny organic natives just peeking out from behind his brother's ghosting hold. Thought he was just seeing things until the heat signature registered. Thundercracker's internal comms spring to life with his brother's voice box: “Are you going to keep that thing?” Skywarp immediately receives a glare. “She's not a thing. She's a native of this planet.”

The purple mech frowns behind his battle mask. “Exactly! Who do you think is gonna have our afts when Star finds out and he will?”

Thundercracker manages to roll his optics at Skywarp's valid worrying. He knows this was a mistake. Dragging another species into it always was. Earth became a temporary base to recuperate from the Prime's growing army and they had been fortunate enough to establish their headquarters on the ball of dirt. The supreme leader hated your kind, still new and young. Impulsive. He's half the reason why Starscream's been working so, so hard for the trine. And if the air commander ever found out, so will Megatron. Contrarily, if Thundercracker decided to let you go there's no telling if you won't squeal to your race's militia. And he could leave you for dead but he kind of owes you his life after acting like his meat shield.

• You have absolutely no idea what the two are talking about. Not sure if it's a them thing because all these two giants were doing was staring into each other's souls, maybe an exaggerated movement here and there. You could be hallucinating now that you were steadily losing a lot of blood. And feeling a lot colder than before actually. Or was it warmer? Whichever it was, your eyelids were growing heavier. Everything felt slow. Distant. Like trying to remember a dream while still half inside it. It's only the unfamiliar sound of choral dissonance between your new robot companions that keeps you barely aware. It bypasses your ears—you don't just hear it; you're perceiving it vibrating through your molars, bones and in your bloodstream. Not exactly a pleasant experience, not painful either just somewhat bothers you.

He's switched to Cybertronian because speaking in your tongue might spook you accidentally, “TC, look, I don't know if you've noticed but your tiny organic's temperature is slowly dropping.”

“Better to just leave it here. Doesn't look like it's going to survive much longer anyway.” He gestures to you and you don't even react, leaning against the palm of his brother's hand with a faraway look in your downcast eyes. Bruised and battered like Thundercracker was. He wonders if that's why the blue Seeker was so attached to you. Even if his brother won't say it out loud, he can feel it. What he can't understand is why though.

The blue mech ex-vents. Maybe Sky's right. As part of the Decepticons, leaving you to your own fate without dying at their hands is the most logical option. The most logical option and yet, he feels his energon lines prickle against his plating at the thought. He doesn't move. Not yet. Just watches you shiver against the curve of his servos while he flicks away the snow that's gathered on the roof of your tiny head using a servo—and he tells himself that the way his spark twitches is because of the cold.

Previous

[yuriosakawa]

Obsession

Even after all this time—through the hunts, the scars, and the decade of blood and fury—Danny still remembers the day he died.

Or... half-died.

He remembers the blinding light. The electric burn ripping through every cell. The deafening hum of the Fenton Portal roaring to life and consuming him whole.

And most of all, he remembers the last thought that seared itself into his consciousness before the world went black:

"I don’t want anyone else to suffer like this."

That wasn’t just a fleeting wish. That was the spark that ignited his transformation.

When people die, their last thought—no matter how fleeting—often becomes their obsession in the afterlife. A drive so potent, it shapes their very soul as a ghost. For some, it becomes vengeance. For others, longing. Regret. Power. Fear.

For Danny, it became protection.

That final, desperate plea became the core of Phantom. The embodiment of his obsession to save others, to shield them from pain, to stop the suffering he had tasted in that moment of death.

But obsessions, by nature, are not gentle things. They're all-consuming.

And so, that obsession didn’t just give birth to Phantom—it condemned them both.

Because when a ghost fails to live up to their obsession… they spiral. They unravel. They panic.

And Danny, even before the split, felt it.

If he failed to save someone—even if it was just a scraped knee, a broken arm, a tear in someone’s eyes—he’d feel that pull. That tremor in his chest. That quiet, rising terror that he’d let someone down.

Phantom would grow frantic. Desperate. Haunted by the fear that their very existence was faltering.

After Vlad separated them, that obsession didn’t vanish. It fractured. It lived on in Phantom as an untamed force, and in Danny as a weight he could never quite set down.

Even now, as the Lost Hunter, Danny fights not out of vengeance alone—but out of that same obsession.

To protect. To save.

And whenever he fails—even slightly—he still spirals.

Not because he's weak.

But because that was the day he died.

And that was the wish that birthed a ghost.

[wyldeking]

I've rewatched the Owl House dozens of times now and my favorite scene (excluding season 3 because that shit is magical, pun intended,) is Hunter and Amity's fight at Eclipse Lake.

Earlier in the episode, Amity and Hunter have a chat where Hunter proclaims that they both have a lot at stake, unlike Eda and King. She attempts to argue but is interrupted by the sound of her Tamagotchi-Text thing, as Luz sends a text that Amity misinterprets as Luz threatening her with leaving if she doesn't return with the Titan Blood. Hunter almost directly after takes off and gets a massive head start to Eclipse Lake.

While Eda deals with the scouts and Kikimora, Amity chases after Hunter with King by her side. She enters the room to have this exchange with Hunter.

"Don't worry. I won't pick a fight. There's no Titan Blood."

"Then why are you digging?"

"Oh, it's simple really. Belos needs Titan Blood to make a new portal key. Can't get to the human realm without it."

"There's blood in the key?"

*Amity tightens her grip around the portal key.*

"Since I failed my last mission, I thought, 'Hey, a chance to make up for it.' But I can't go back empty-handed. Not again."

Hunter is noticeably hysterical, laughing between almost every sentence he speaks.

"Long story short, this is my grave. Want me to make you one too?"

"This is really bumming me out." King says simply.

"That's just life, rat. Everyone has a use, and if you don't pbtpbt bye-bye! Your friend gets it."

With the help of King, Amity finally learns how to interpret the text. Luz had never even thought of leaving her awesome girlfriend. Almost immediately after realizing, she becomes almost as bright and sunny as Luz is. With a burst of inspiration, she decides to give Hunter the best message she could think of.

"I grew up thinking that everything was an opportunity to justify existing, but there are people out there make you feel worthless. You just have to let yourself meet them."

She offers her hand, but unfortunately, Hunter notices the key sticking out of her coat, and a battle ensues. Hunter is sweating and incredibly anxious, which shows with the way he fights. Hunter keeps dashing around, making magical sparks fly everywhere. Meanwhile Amity is holding a poker face as she almost effortlessly dodges and blocks every one of his attacks. Every attack that she throws out has a very obviously calculated plan attached.

Hunter eventually tears the key away from Amity and they end up cornering each other. Despite that, Amity still very clearly has the upper hand, with a blade pointed at the neck of the battered Hunter that is caked in abomination goo. Hunter desperately thinking of a way out to give the blood to his uncle, tells Amity, quote;

"Listen, you're strong, and I'm tired. if this continues, you'll probably escape, but here's the thing: We know where to find you and your human. So just hand over the key."

Hunter's threat to kill Amity is completely empty, as they just displayed, Amity clearly has the upper hand. But Luz? The last time she saw her she was sick out of her mind and incredibly delirious. So Amity finally slips, the key cracks as her grip tightens, spilling half the blood. Hunter wins and slips away with the key.

This scene is so damn great because the emotions of the characters make perfect sense and intertwine with everything, we've known about them up until this point. Not to mention the music in this scene absolutely slaps ass and the animation is top-notch.