#I think the notice of Phantom finally released to the outside world because of the bounty hunters

[nelkcats]

Bounty hunters and misunderstandings

After Vlad's failure with the million dollar hunt, the GIW and many interested in the "weird ghost boy" decided to give the idea a try and put various bounties on Phantom's capture. Since Amity was a ghost-infested town, most of them didn't go there and sent their own bounty hunters, some were interested on study the creature further, others wanted to prove his existence.

Danny realized that he could capture "Phantom" and escape multiple times to collect the money for all the rewards with his friends help, after all, the prizes seemed to be offered in cash. He had a good idea of ​​where he could spend the money and was so excited about it, he used a box to put the various envelopes and hide it on his room.

Jazz got mad at Danny for getting caught by bounty hunters to repeatedly collect the prize money. She didn't think it was safe and her annoying little brother kept talking about a new video game.

She saw him excited about the new game that had come out but she didn't see the point, he could play online! There was no reason to risk that much. That's why when Danny was very tired, out of ectoplasm and someone finally hold him with no chance of escape, Jazz refused to rescue him from his own mistakes.

But while visiting Danny's room, she noticed that the money was not for a video game but for her college tuition and future life. The box she found was decorated with small drawings of ghosts and a "For my older sister" written with a green marker.

Now Jazz has 24 hours to save Danny from Deathstroke's prison before he hand him over to his contractors. On his side, Deathstroke had successfully captured the strange creature; the inventions of the weird scientists who dragged him to their house had worked, and since he pushed up his deadline he would just wait for his contractor until the next day to collect his payment.

[astermacguffin]

What if the Mark of Cain manifests differently when it's imprisoning God and not the Darkness? If the Darkness makes the Mark bearer go insane with unbridled want for destruction, then what does sealing God make you do?

An obsessive desire for creation? Creation to the point of corruption? (Think of the Shimmer from the film Annihilation. Continuous reproduction to the point of begetting alien, cancer-like entities. A refracted, distorted notion of creation.)

Okay, so canon divergence from The Trap. They successfully seal away Chuck, then Castiel bears the Mark. (Jack won't be back until later episodes, so he's not here yet.)

At first, they think he's fine. Cas says he's not feeling any bloodlust just yet. (He does feel a certain itch under his skin. Not a desire to murder, but a desire to do...something. He doesn't tell this to anyone.)

His grace is getting stronger, almost archangel-like (if not more). It's incredibly helpful for hunts, and Cas is happy to feel his wings healthy again after a long time. Sam is happy for him, but Dean is suspicious of things (especially since he's a previous Mark bearer).

After a while, Cas starts feeling...burdened, almost bloated by grace. (After all, he does have access to an infinite supply of it.) He needs to have an outlet for it.

Cas tells them so and Sam suggests healing people. Dean gives the green light on the condition that he remains invisible and he doesn't go Godstiel on them again.

It's a great outlet, and for the first few weeks they start feeling normal again. But unfortunately, healing stops being enough to relieve Cas of his excess grace anymore. The mass healings start to pile up all across the globe and it catches everyone's attention. Some think it's a blessed miracle, some think it's a sign of the end times. They make him slow down on the healings after that.

Without an outlet, however, Cas starts feeling antsy and pained. They brainstorm on possible alternatives. Cas suggests going to Heaven and saving it from collapse by healing his brethren's wings and creating more angels out of consenting souls in Heaven.

He explains Heaven's endangered and dwindling numbers. Sam agrees that it would hit two birds in one stone: relieve Cas from excess grace and prevent the extinction of angels. Dean doesn't like the idea of more winged dicks so he shoots down the idea. Eileen says that since Cas is the one in pain, he should be the one to decide.

Ultimately, Cas defers to Dean's judgment (as always). Sam protests, arguing that he can't just shoulder that pain. Cas replies: "I've suffered worse, Sam."

Cas doesn't complain about the pain for about a week, so for a while, everyone believes him when he said he can shoulder the pain. One day, Dean finds him outside the bunker, groaning in pain as he bleeds himself out, his grace pouring into the ground and sprouting plants. Dean sees this and is finally convinced to allow Cas to make more angels.

What follows then is a series of escalating events:

While Sam and Eileen are practicing their witchcraft for spell they need in a hunt, Cas suggests to enhance Sam's physical and magical abilities using his grace. "It will make the process faster and safer," he reasons. He agrees, but Dean eyes this suspiciously.

During one of their hunts, they encounter a young and freshly-turned vampire. The boy begs them not to kill him, and Cas gives him a proposal. "Promise not to feed on humans ever again and I shall cure you of your hungers and your pains. Pledge your allegiance to me and you shall never be afraid of yourself ever again." The boy agrees, and before Dean could even protest, Cas slices his palm and feeds the vampire his grace.

They argue about the grace-feeding in the Impala. Dean notices Sam's pointed lack of complaints and figures it out. "You're in on this, aren't you? How long has Cas been doing this? He's going Michael behind our backs and you're letting him?"

Sam argues that it's different because Cas isn't making super monsters; he's making them less "monstrous" (whatever that means). Sam's obsession with his own "purity" is key to understanding him here.

One time, Dean catches Cas in his "garden" ("forest" seems more apt with how lush the greens already are) creating butterflies and bees out of thin air using his grace alone.

Reports of the miraculously healed people suddenly gaining new abilities like increased strength, heightened senses, and prophecy start popping up. Some are experiencing phantom limbs, talking about their sprouting "wings."

Sam is becoming addicted to Cas' grace to the point that he willingly lets himself be hurt in hunts just so Cas can cure him. Dean confronts him about this, but Sam just argues that he's "never felt this pure before." Eileenn shares the same concern as Dean.

Hunts are becoming less frequent the more monsters are being "cleansed" by Cas. The world is becoming disconcertingly quiet.

Cas' "garden" is starting to emit this strange aura. The plants and creatures growing inside it are starting to look more...alien.

One of the original angels goes to Dean and tells him of Heaven's affairs. The Host is stable again, but the angels he created are...not exactly angels. They're graced up and they sustain Heaven, but their true forms are "horrifying and incomprehensible, even to an angel." The angel adds that more than 60% of Earth's creatures have already been touched by Cas' grace.

The final nail in the coffin is when Dean catches Cas in the garden fiddling with his angel blade. It's emitting a strange glow, vibrating a subtle hum and looking as if it's liquid, flowing and distorting here and there.

Dean asks him what he's holding. "Oh, this?" Cas responds. "This is the Last Blade. Last, not in terms of time but in concept, for no other blade shall ever compare to it. The spark of creation. Fiat lux."

Dean's heart sinks. Of course. The First and the Last, Alpha and Omega. "Cas...the Mark, I think i-it's scrambling your brain, man."

"I know," he replies, eyes wet and apologetic. It's a small moment of lucidity amidst weeks and months of...whatever that was.

"Okay, okay, so you're still you, that's... that's good. Okay." Dean doesn't know how to approach this. Give him a fight and he'll know what to do, but this? Watching his best friend, the love of his life, be distorted into something incomprehensible? Yeah, this is totally beyond him.

"You know, I used to hate Chuck," Cas says. "How could the Father of All Creation be this angry, petulant child? But," he continues, "knowing what I know now, it's either regressing into a petty child or being reduced to insanity."

"Cas...what are you talking about, man?"

"No mind should bear this burden, Dean. No matter how infinite they are," he says, voice trembling in exhaustion.

(more below the cut)

He continues. "The awareness of everything is the awareness of nothing at all. Imagine perceiving every possible piece of information about the world all at once. Seeing light in all its forms all at once: ultraviolet, infrared, etc. Sensing all the neutrinos zip by, sensing gravitational waves, sensing the slighest bit of seismic activity."

Dean doesn't know how to respond, so he lets him go on.

"Knowledge can only ever be a slice of the Totality of Truth. Truth is absolute chaos, and Knowledge is the partial ordering of this chaos. One can sanely approach Truth only through organized paritions of Totality. Why do you think Chuck is so obsessed with stories? Stories are linear and finite; they're sensible snippets of the endless sea of possible worlds."

"So, what? Are you trying to—"

"I'm not trying to justify Chuck's actions, Dean," he interrupts. "I just want to contextualize them. Chuck's simplistic and repetitive narratives are what they are: manifestations of a chaotic Totality, gone insane trying to understand itself. Looking for simple things to hold on to."

Cas takes a deep breath. He speaks with a shaky voice. "I'm barely holding myself together, Dean. I can feel the universe beneath my skin."

He doesn't know what possesses him to ask, but he does it anyway. "What are you holding on to?"

Cas smiles at that. "You."

They stare at each other for a while, frozen where they stand. Cas, with unrestrained affection in his face. Dean, struck by shock and indecision. It's Cas who first breaks the silence.

"I think we both know what needs to be done, while I'm still lucid enough." Cas slices his palm and lets his blood drip down the soil. He then thrusts the Last Blade into the ground, lifting it when the soil glows.

Dean stared in awe as the ground erupts and a familiar shape rises from the hollow. "Is that.."

"The Ma'Lak box, yes. I also enhanced it with the Blade to be able to house things as powerful as me."

"Cas, wait, maybe we can think of another way to—"

"Dean," he says, calmly. "You know there's no other way. I wouldn't ask this of you if there was."

In any other scenario, Dean would've kept arguing, but even he knows that they're running out of time. Sam's grace addiction is getting worse and all the creatures touched by Cas' grace are slowly mutating into eldritch horrors. Dean offers a shaky nod. "Okay."

Tension visibly releases from Cas' body. "Thank you, Dean." He opens the box and enters it with ease. "When you lock this, bury me with the garden's graced soil. Once I'm under, my influence over the world should dampen."

Dean gives a wordless nod. For a while, they just stared at each other, Cas lying down and Dean trying to memorize every inch of his face while he can.

Cas presses his hand into Dean's left shoulder where his mark used to dwell. "My untainted grace," he whisper gently. "Some of it is still inside you. That's probably why you're not as affected by me."

Dean wants to say, I'll always be affected by you, but he holds himself back.

He takes his hand back, a bloody handprint now on Dean's jacket. "I love you, Dean," he says, breathless.

"Cas..."

"I probably would've built up to that if we had more time but," he makes a surprised laugh, "I am, as you would say, already 'losing my marbles', so."

The air quotes would've been funny and endearing in any other scenario, but it just makes Dean's vision blur up with tears.

"Thank you for everything, Dean. I know we've done nothing but repeatedly hurt each other these past few years, but I don't want to spend a deathless eternity with that as my memory of you. I forgive you, even for the things you haven't forgiven yourself for yet. And I'm sorry for everything, especially for ending things like this."

He should probably wipe away his tears to clear his vision, but Dean can do nothing but stare at Cas in awe, in fear, in grief, in reverence. They're both fully crying now.

"Goodbye, Dean."

"Wait, Cas."

Cas looks at him, waiting.

"Can you...can you say it again?"

He doesn't need to clarify what 'it' means. They both know.

With one last mournful smile, Cas says: "I love you, Dean."

And with that, Dean finally gathers all the strength he needs to shut the lid and lock the box. He stares at it for a while, unblinking. He forgot to ask, Can you hear my prayers down there? But it's too late now to ask.

The box automatically lowers itself into the hole it arose from. Now all that's left to do is to cover it again with soil.

Dean doesn't bother with a shovel. He gently buries the box with his hands deep in the soil, some of it getting trapped under his nails. He continues the mindless task, whispering a tireless series of I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I hope you're okay I'm sorry, over and over between his quiet sobs. Cas is quiet inside the box. No screaming or crying. Dean doesn't know if that's better or worse.

When the final clump of soil is pressed into the mound, he suddenly feels it: a visceral shift that echoes throughout the world. The alien glimmer of the garden dims, and the world corrects its axis. Dean screams his agony into the air.

That's how Sam finds him: sprawled over a mound of soil, crying his heart out. Dean doesn't need to say anything: he knows what happened. He pulls his brother off the ground and brings him inside the bunker.

For the first two weeks, Dean cycles through drinking and passing out in various places in the bunker. If he's not wearing the jacket, he's holding it with close to him. Sam gives him a considerable space to grieve while he monitors the world grace problem with Eileen. The grace mutations have significantly dropped since then and everyone's going back to normal.

Unfortunately, that means monsters are getting hungry again. Sam doesn't want to leave his brother alone after going nonverbal with grief and dysfunctional due to alcohol. Eileen assures him that she can handle hunts on their own and that the hunter network that they're building will lessen the workload.

Sam's attempts to sober Dean up finally work, mostly due to the latter having very little strength to protest. Dean remains sober an entire day for the first time in weeks, and all he can think about is: I haven't prayed to Cas in a while. The longing might have reached him, but never a coherent prayer.

The first time he goes out of the bunker in a while, he heads straight to Cas' garden. Sam's glad that he's finally going out because "the sun is good for you" or something, but he's really only here for Cas. He kneels in front of the burial mound (where a patch of an unknown species of flowers is already growing).

The first prayer he says to him in a while is: I love you, Cas. I should've said it while you were still here. Not saying it out loud and just strongly thinking about the words somehow bolsters him to get the words through.

He's crying again, and he knows he's losing coherency. In his mind, he's explaining about his hangups and his regrets and his continuous denial of his own joy, but one constant remains: he's beaming all his love and affection into this prayer.

He's halfway through explaining all the traits that he finds endearing in Cas when suddenly, he feels it like a snap. If the glimmer dimmed when he buried Cas, now it's as if it was never there in the first place. With an unsettling amount of certainty, Dean just knows that Cas is gone. For real, this time.

"C-cas...?" It's the first thing he's said in a while and it sounds rough in his long unused voice.

"CAS! CAS!!! " He's now screaming, ripping away the flowerbed with his bare hands and scratching the soil away. Tears are obstructing his vision, but he has no time to wipe them away. He needs to make sure that is really gone. His hands are bleeding and he doesn't give a damn.

Eventually, Sam comes running towards him. "Dean! Dean, stop!"

He tries to hold his brother back, but Dean just keeps on clawing away soil. "Sammy, Sammy he's gone, he's not there anymore, Sammy I have to see, please, let me see Cas again, I need—" he breaks into sobs again, and like a puppet with its strings cut off, he slumps into Sam.

"Dean, it's okay, it's okay..." he says softly to his shaking brother.

Eventually, when Dean calms down, he looks at the carnage he's done and starts sobbing again. The flowers, his last evidence of Cas being here, are all destroyed. Now Cas truly is gone.

. . .

When Cas first heard Dean's confession prayer, he was overcome with joy. When he realized what that means, however, his stomach suddenly sinks.

He hears before he sees the Empty arrive, slithering like black goo.

"Wow, were you excited enough for eternal slumber that you wanted a preview?" The Shadow teases in Meg's voice.

At first, he was dreading the Empty, but now that he thinks of it, it's actually the perfect prison for him: a vast, endless nothingness for him to fill with his creations.

And if Jack wasn't in Heaven, that only means that he's in the Empty, and he can't wait to see his son again. Even when blinded by the madness of the universe, he can never forget the joy of being a father.

"Yes," he replies, "I'm actually glad you're here now."

. . .

Somewhere around the globe, Billie drops Jack back.

"Don't worry, kid. You'l reunite with your father very soon."

(to be continued)

[nicknellie]

Wow, it’s so crazy that Noel Gallagher released a song about Sunset Curve and Julie and the Phantoms! Title and lyrics from We’re On Our Way Now by Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds.

Good Luck In The Afterlife

Remember what might have been,

Had I walked you home,

And said, “I’ll see you later,”

You were living the dream,

But when the morning come,

You’d gone to meet your maker.

Bobby couldn’t count the hours he spent wondering what might have happened if he had stopped to think for just one second. If he had reminded himself that the boys were pretty much clueless if he wasn’t there to knock the occasional bit of common sense into them. If he had thought, just for a moment, that maybe they should have all gone to get the food together.

In every scenario that came to his mind, his boys were still alive. Because if he had gone with them that night instead of staying at the Orpheum, he would have noticed that the street-dogs tasted strange. He would have told them it was a bad idea, made them stop eating them, taken them somewhere else to get food. Maybe he would have had to put up with Luke’s grumbling (“They would have been fine, Bobby, it’s not like we’ve ever got sick from street-dogs before.”) but at least his boys would have been safe. Maybe the pizza they ended up getting, or the burgers, or the cheap takeout wouldn’t have been as familiar as a pre-show ritual, but at least they would have still performed together that night. At least Bobby wouldn’t have had to cancel the show, had to identify his best friends’ bodies, had to go through that painful shift to realise that now he was going it alone.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. If he had been there things would have been so different. If he had simply walked them there at the very least and said goodbye to them properly. Maybe then he wouldn’t be feeling so guilty, so struck with this devastating grief. At least that way their last memory of him wouldn’t have been him flirting with some girl instead of hanging out with them on the biggest night of their lives.

It had been stuck in his head for days. All those different what-ifs, those wasted potentials, the moments that could have been the best of their lives. It was so unfair – that night had been setting them up for greatness, possibly the most important night of their careers, and it had come crashing down along with Bobby’s entire world. It was all he could think of. They had been so ready, so excited, so full of life, and in a few short hours it had been snuffed out like a candle burning too brightly.

He remembered waking up the morning after, absently wondering if it was some cruel nightmare, but knowing it wasn’t. That night he had slept in the studio, wanting to be close to his boys in any way he could. Waking up there without them wasn’t the same – if anything it just made the loss hurt more. No matter how brightly the sun was streaking through the windows or how happily the birds outside were singing, Bobby couldn’t make himself believe that it would be a happy day. That any day, from then on, could truly be happy.

He kept thinking about it, everything they could have had, to the point where it felt as if he was remembering a past life or an alternate reality. It was like he was drawing memories from another Bobby’s brain, feeling the fame and freedom they would have held together. It was at that moment that he decided he needed to carry on. He needed to do whatever he could to achieve their dreams alone, to make his boys proud. He was sure that they were out there somewhere, watching over him, cheering him on. They could have had everything, and Bobby was determined to get it for them.

Good luck in the afterlife,

I hear the morning sun doesn’t cast no shadow,

You chose to drift away,

But look at you now.

It was Trevor Wilson who left his mansion that day. It was Trevor Wilson who got in his car and gave his chauffeur the directions of where to go. It was Trevor Wilson who climbed out at the destination, head hooded and bowed to avoid recognition. But it was Bobby who sat in the grass in front of the graves of his three best friends, the boys he had loved and never forgotten, and felt tears pricking at his eyes in the bitter breeze.

He knew he didn’t visit their graves as much as he should have. It always hurt, seeing the three of them together when he couldn’t join them himself, knowing that they were completely unreachable. It was the closest he could get but it just made him feel far away. But when he did visit, he spoke to Luke, Alex, and Reggie. He told them about his music career and how he wished they were building it with him, he talked about his new-born daughter Carrie and how she was the best thing that had ever happened to him, he talked about his memories of them and laughed over stories they wouldn’t hear.

But it was alright. If he imagined it hard enough, Bobby could almost hear them laughing along. Like they were listening to him and keeping him company even from far away.

He wondered what they were doing at that moment, if anything. Ever since they had died Bobby had been curious about the afterlife. Was there one at all? Were his boys all together or had they been separated? Was there a heaven and a hell, or just one place where all departed spirits went? Most importantly, were they alright? He didn’t think he could bear it if he ever found out, somehow, that the boys were unhappy. If they couldn’t have their lives then all he wanted for them was happiness.

He found himself wishing them luck sometimes. Good luck for whatever would come their way. He wished that good things would happen to them, that they would all find their happiness, something that made their souls sing the way they had when they were alive. Something that made Alex’s heart beat like his drums, Reggie’s thud like his bass, Luke’s riff like his guitar.

Over time, Bobby had come to terms with their deaths. It had taken years of therapy, learning to accept that he wasn’t to blame, realising that they would never come back and working out how to be okay with that. Now, he saw it less like they had been ripped away from him and more like they had simply flown the nest, their time up, ready to move on. It wasn’t necessarily true, he knew, not when they’d had so much ahead of them, but thinking about it that way helped.

When he spoke to the gravestones, he would imagine how the boys would reply. Whenever he told them about a new song he had released he heard Luke’s enthusiasm as he told him he’d done a great job, Reggie’s excitement and desperation to hear it and jam along on his bass, Alex’s quiet appreciation of the music and the way he would have hummed the tune under his breath for weeks afterwards. When he had first told them about Carrie he imagined the jokes about him getting old because he was the first to have a kid, and each of them holding her with varying levels of terror and adoration on their faces.

Most of all, he imagined them being proud of him. Proud that he had carried on and persevered this long. Proud that he had built a family from the wreckage he’d been left in and got his confidence back. Proud that even if he was Trevor Wilson now, he was still Bobby at heart.

We’re on our way now,

The truth can be so hard to swallow,

Hey now, ‘cos you’ve got the love, you’ve got the love, lady,

I’m worn out, ‘cos with every little trick they try to drag you down,

You don’t know why.

Luke hadn’t slept since the night they had played the Orpheum. Ghosts didn’t necessarily need sleep, but it was possible – Luke hadn’t even bothered trying. He simply couldn’t believe their luck. They’d struck gold and none of it seemed possible. The whole thing, this entire journey they had been on with Julie in the past few weeks felt like a dream and a nightmare, but he never wanted to wake up.

It had been difficult to begin with. It wasn’t the easiest thing, getting to grips with death and being a ghost, especially when he had apparently missed twenty-five whole years of life on Earth, everything moving on without him and his friends. It had put into perspective how much each individual life really meant – the world didn’t stop when a person died, and there was so much that could be missed in such a short time. There had been the empty space he was greeted with whenever he turned to tell Bobby something, the hollow feeling in his heart whenever he thought of his parents, the conflicted feelings he got whenever he thought about the people he had met in death. The whole thing, this monumental transition, had been harder than anything he’d ever done.

But then there was Julie. Julie, who was light a ray of sunshine to light up his darkest days. Julie, who had talent beyond measure and a heart the size of a planet. Julie, who brought him back to life. She had made it so much easier with her love and her reassurance and her strength. The way she made him feel was like nothing he’d ever felt before, and he couldn’t attribute all of it to her power when she made him, Alex, and Reggie visible. His soul sang for her, a leaping melody of rich highs and gentle lows, composed for her by him. Without her, he wouldn’t have been nearly as happy as he was.

Although he missed Bobby and performing as Sunset Curve, he was glad he got this second chance as part of Julie and the Phantoms. This really felt like their big break, like they were finally on their way to achieving their greatness. In a way, everything would start to feel complete once they put themselves out there and rose to great heights. Bobby had made a name for himself, and it was time for the rest of Sunset Curve to join him, along with one incredibly talented girl who Luke would risk it all for.

But all that didn’t mean he wasn’t frightened. If anything he was even more scared. Now they had so much more to lose – each other and their second chance. He wasn’t sure they’d get a third.

There was only one person that really had a chance of ruining it all again, getting in their way. Caleb. Luke hadn’t seen him since that night and he was glad of it, but also wary. They had no idea where Caleb was, what he was planning, how he was going to get back at them this time. Caleb Covington didn’t seem like the type of ghost who knew when to leave an issue alone. Luke was sure that he would be back.

All that confused him was the fact that Caleb had never really explained why he wanted the boys as part of his band. It seemed like very extreme lengths to go to just because they were good musicians. It made him wonder if he, Alex, Reggie, and Julie had some untapped well of power deep inside each of them. If they did, and if they could harness that strength before Caleb could get to them then Luke was certain that their futures as legends would be cemented. As they deserved.

Good luck in the afterlife,

I hear the morning sun doesn’t cast no shadow,

You chose to drift away,

But look at you now.

Julie thought about her mother a lot. She knew that Rose was looking down on her, that much was certain. If she hadn’t been, then Julie would still be locked away, trapped by her grief, struggling to face each day as it came. She wouldn’t have had the boys, she wouldn’t have been playing music, she would have been quiet and empty still like she had been for so long.

It was Rose she had to thank. When she was alive, Rose would always build Julie up, tell her how much she was worth, that she was loved unconditionally and forever. Julie had thought that would all go away when she passed, but Rose – in her wisdom – had found a way to Julie still. She had carried on sending those messages and signs, showing Julie she loved her rather than telling her, urging her to carry on and be the star she was meant to be.

In return, Julie tried to find ways to thank Rose. She would talk to her because she was certain that she could hear. She would sing for her because Rose had always adored Julie’s voice. She would wear Rose’s old clothes, decorate rooms with dahlias and butterflies, sing along to the songs they had loved to duet while leaving Rose’s part free as if she would sing along too. It wasn’t a lot, but Julie knew that her mother would see it as enough. Julie’s private, quiet ways of honouring her mother would always be worth more than anything.

Sometimes, when she felt pensive, Julie would let herself think about how far she had come. She would stop being modest, just for a minute or two, and admit that she was strong, she was powerful, she was talented, and she deserved every good thing she had got. Julie hated thinking about the darkness she had been stuck in for so long, but when she thought about how she had created her own light and pulled herself out she felt nothing but pride. When she thought about what she was creating with the boys, she felt joy. When she thought about Rose, she felt a pleasant contentedness, knowing she was still there, rather than that damned hollow feeling she’d held for so long.

She could imagine how Rose would have reacted if she had still been there. After the performance at the Orpheum, Rose would have rushed backstage even if she wasn’t allowed, swept Julie up in her arms, twirled her around with a delighted laugh and told her that she was magnificent. She would have been so proud, Julie knew, so Julie felt that pride for herself.

“Look at you,” Rose would have said, straightening Julie’s jacket or running a gentle thumb across her cheek. “You’ve done so well, my little butterfly. You’re a star.”

She would have worked on songs with Julie, sang with her, prepared and supported her for her next gigs with the band. Just thinking of it made Julie realise that she had to do that herself, but it was alright. She could be her own cheerleader – her mother had taught her well and she could see that she had come a long way and deserved to be recognised for it. Besides, she had her dad, brother, and aunt there to remind her of it, as well as Flynn, Luke, Reggie, and Alex.

It wasn’t the same as having Rose, not really. Nothing ever would be. But the feelings Rose gave her would never go away – the confidence, the giddy joy, the focus, the feeling that everything would be alright eventually. Rose and her signs made sure Julie knew that. Julie schooled herself, made sure that she knew it no matter what. She always knew how far she had come and she was nothing less than proud.

*

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[atmilliways]

Dethentine’s Day 2

February 9th - In the Style of Disney/Studio Ghibli

Inspired by but not closely following The Little Mermaid. Charles is a merman, Nathan is a human, they... meet and stuff. 

Blood Ocean

When it storms over the open sea, flashes of lightning illuminate the upper reaches of the depths in a pale facsimile of sunlight. It lasts for only an instant, and below the surface the sound of thunder feels like the impact of whale sonar. But when the lightning comes thick enough, it takes on the strobe effect of a stop-motion picture show. 

A man falls into the water, followed by the downed mast of a wounded ship. 

Impact. 

The man is sinking faster than the debris around him, weighed down by his heavy boots and coat. He moves his limbs, but sluggishly. Too slow to make any difference, at the rate he's going. 

Impact. 

Tiny bubbles stream from the man’s mouth as he fights a losing battle to hold his breath. In the inky blackness below, just at the outside range of the storm’s light, something is beginning to dart upwards. 

Impact.

The man is gone. 

~

Charles doesn’t know what possessed him to do this. He hadn’t liked the Water God’s order to destroy any ships that ventured through their waters. That’s what the rest of the patrol are off doing, and tearing the throats out of any sailors trying to swim to safety besides—he can taste it in the water even at this distance. 

But he swims on, balancing the necessity of speed with the difficulty of keeping an airtight seal between his mouth and the now-unconscious human’s, sharing oxygen and releasing the creature’s exhales through his gills. This one must have been smart enough to try and climb to safety, and fell with the mast when the ship finally capsized. If Charles hurries, he can throw the man up onto the nearest accessible bit of shore and race back before he’s missed. 

The place he finds is rocky, but not so shallow that he can’t swim up to it or too steep that the human won’t be able to climb back to its people. Getting the man onto it takes some effort—he’s very broad, and overburdened with approximately the same amount of muscle as a blue whale. No wonder you nearly drowned, Charles thinks with an irritated frown, and gives one final heave—there, he’s up. Should be fine. The tide isn’t due to come in for another hour. 

He prods him, just to make sure, with the heel of one hand. The human groans and coughs up sea water. Yeah, he’ll be just fine. 

Suddenly a big hand closes around Charles’ wrist. “Hey,” the human he’s just rescued mumbles. “Hey, you . . . saved my life. . . .”

Charles feels his dorsal scales prickle in alarm. This isn’t good, the human wasn’t supposed to wake up. Humans aren’t supposed to know that merpeople exist, let alone go around thinking that they’re particularly friendly towards them. In spite of what Charles has just done, it wasn’t because he liked humans, it just . . . didn’t seem right, clawing holes in the bottoms of their ships as the Water God had ordered. It was like shooting birds in an air bubble. 

“No, I didn’t,” he hisses, panicking and yanking his wrist free. “And, ah . . . don’t tell anyone about this!”

The surf is trying to push him past the rocks into tide pools but Charles kicks off hard, both hearts hammering and doesn’t slow down once he’s out over deeper water. He still feels a phantom of that hand on his wrist, and he doesn’t understand why any more than he knows why he saved the man in the first place. 

He does not see the pale shape following at a distance. 

~

It takes Nathan a while, but he does manage to make his way up the rocky incline. Doesn’t help that it’s February, and that between his already wet clothes and the rain he’s shaking almost too hard to stand by the time he reaches the nearest town, but still, he gets there. 

No one believes him when he tries to explain how he survived the wreck. 

He spends the next several days in bed, still shivering. From time to time he rambles about shapes in the water and being rescued by a man who had a tail in place of legs, and people are pretty nice about it but they clearly think he’s touched in the head. By the time the fever breaks even he isn’t sure if what he thinks he remembers is actually what happened. 

Once he’s recovered enough to move on, Nathan decides to stay. It’s a nice enough town, and he’d been on that ship in the first place because he was leaving his parent’s home to find his place in the world. The town butcher needs an apprentice and has a room to rent above the butcher’s shop for cheap. He makes friends with the town drunk, who knows some guys who’re great on string instruments. They’re thinking of putting a band together. There are a lot of things that make hanging around worthwhile. . . . None of them are why he actually stays. 

Every night, Nathan dreams of his mysterious rescuer. Of hazel eyes and a blur of skin and scales. Of a mouth on his, breathing life and a heavy taste of salt into him. 

“‘Course ya dream about it,” Pickles tells him one night, when they’re both wasted past the point of Nathan being embarrassed talking about what might just be a vivid remnant of fever dream and possible head trauma. “Yer the sole survivor of that shipwreck, dood. If someone or something saved you, yer connected to it now. Gonna be until that debt is repaid. So, y’know, meybe that is why yer still here, yer all . . . connected to somethin’ by one’a those strings of fate or whatever.”

Nathan squints in conversation as he slowly absorbs this new idea. His hair falls across his face—it’s getting long, but it doesn’t bother him much so who knows when he’ll bother to cut it. “You mean like . . . an anchor?”

“Sure, either that’r survivor’s guilt.” Pickles shrugs, belches, and signals for the barman to bring them new pints. “I’d say it’s a fifty fifty chance that one’a those is true.”

That percolates in Nathan’s thoughts for a while, and in the meantime he finds himself picking his way back down to the rocky beach every day, rain or shine, and looking out across the water. 

Where are you? Nathan wonders. What are you? It had spoken to him with the voice of a man, so it, he, obviously had some reason. Nathan wonders if he has a name, and if so, what it is. 

He knows he’s obsessing. But if it’s fate or whatever, then what choice does he have?

~

Charles is going about his business, updating the abacai records for his patrol, when a great white behemoth of a merman crashes through the shell-curtain door of his office cave. Only a last minute dive saves him from being barreled into, but not before he gets a good look at the gnashing rows of teeth that belong to one of the Water God’s watchsharks. This one looks to be half Great White, and is wearing a misshapen piece of welded metal as a mask over the top half of his face. 

Fuck. This is because of that damn human, he just knows it. He’d thought he’d been so careful, and in the days since nothing had happened, reinforcing his sense of relief. . . . until now. 

The other merman has a crude knife, one of his own long teeth strapped to a handle with. After the first miss he turns—slowly, Charles notes—and lunges again. 

Everyday patrol schools are usually only taught minimal hand-to-hand combat skills, focusing mainly on hunting outer ocean game, targeted destruction of ships, and techniques for drowning struggling humans. But Charles had mastered the latter skills years ago and had, out of boredom and perfectionism, made a thorough study of the former in his free time. It’s something his colleagues often tease him about. 

Who’s laughing now?

He waits until the last second before darting to the right, counting on his own agility—and catches the arm with the knife, kicks into a spin, and pushes the razor-edged tooth into his attacker’s own side. The sand-rough skin scrapes at his palms, but if that puts any of his own blood in the water it’s definitely covered by the red gout billowing from the other merman, who Charles shoves ruthlessly into the wall before slipping out of the cave and swimming for his life. 

~

Leaving as quick as a riptide, for Charles, isn’t simply a matter of skipping town. It’s not just that he left without any of his personal effects until all this blows over. He knows his absence will be quickly noticed, and that means goodbye career. Between that and the watchshark—who could be dead or could have survived, there’s no way to know now, but even a corpse would tell a damning story—it’s goodbye colony as well. If the Water God has it out for him, no one will dare to take him in, not in any colony. He’s completely alone. 

Charles tries not to think about this, focusing instead on more immediate problems such as shelter and food. The further he gets from the colony’s heat vents, the colder the water becomes, so he’s forced to stick to the relative shallows along the coast, where there’s less chance of something spotting and ambushing him from below. 

Where he’d left that human. 

Somehow he proves harder to avoid thinking about than all the rest; when Charles floats awake at night in whatever new crevice he’s found to hole up in, he pictures the man’s face. Strong, stubborn jaw and high cheekbones. Heavy brow overshadowing eyes that are a deeper green than seaweed, with the dark depth of an ocean except without a trace of blue. Black hair that had streamed straight back during the hurried swim. Charles’ hand had brushed through it when first grabbing him and again when grappling to get him onto the rock, but out of the water it had clung to the man’s head and shoulders like an oil slick. 

He can still feel where the man had grabbed his wrist, an indelible handprint. Sometimes he catches himself rubbing at it absently. Still has no idea what possessed him to save someone only to lose everything, but for some reason he can’t move past that blankness of not knowing into being angry about it—at himself, at the human, at anything, because it just feels so . . . inevitable. As though he’d had to do it, no choice in the matter. 

This does not help him sleep, but eventually he does drift off. 

~

In some underwater caves there are pockets of air that were trapped tens of thousands of years ago when the sea levels rose. They sit, without light or wind, and do not wait because they expect nothing. 

But this one has light. This one has wind, and a smooth beach of solid rock against which Charles wakes, half out of the water. Using his lungs instead of his gills, which is more odd than uncomfortable. The air tastes clear and he smells the greenness of above-water plants. He has no idea how he got here; it’s definitely not where he fell asleep.

A human man stands above him. Not his human—Charles realizes he’s thought this an instant after doing so and feels his dorsal scales prickle—but an old man dressed in dark red and black robes. 

Somehow the old man knows that Charles is alone, an outcast in hiding. He introduces himself as Ishnifus Meadle and offers a way to escape pursuit for good. 

Naturally suspicious of both the offer and this whole set-up, Charles asks what the price is. 

Ishnifus tells him. 

Charles listens in dawning horror. It’s not the answer itself, but the scope of it; a coral outcrop that, upon further inspection, has formed an entire reef that he had until now mistaken for bedrock. Ishnifus knows things that no human should know. He knows things about Charles’ own life that no one could have possibly told him. Somehow it’s all connected, and the feeling of inevitability rises in Charles again like bile—but ultimately what Ishnifus is offering is an explanation. 

“Do you accept?” Ishnifus asks in his whispery voice. 

Impact. 

Charles takes a deep breath, slides down the rock shore briefly to wet his gills one last time, and says, “Yes.”

Impact. 

The merman is gone. 

~

On his daily visit to the rocky beach, Nathan finally sees something. He makes his way carefully but as quickly as he can down to the edge of the water, where a figure is sprawled on one of the rocks. It is in fact, he realizes when he gets there, the same rock he’d found himself on after the shipwreck, unexplained miles from where the ship actually went down. 

The naked figure is pale and hardly moving, cold and clammy to the touch, but Nathan helps him sit up because he recognizes him. Except for having legs instead of a tail, it’s the same mysterious hazel-eyed stranger who saved him from drowning. 

“It’s you,” Nathan says stupidly. He hesitates, but the guy is so weak from cold that before he even realizes he’s doing it he’s got his shirt off, a paltry offering but it’s better than nothing. It drapes hugely from the man’s damp, smaller frame, but after getting it on him Nathan feels like he’s at least provided some protection from the cold sea breeze blowing in from across the water. 

He scoops the man up—there’s something so weird about this, like their roles are reversed and how he has to stumble through the roll of rescuer like some sort of bumbling idiot with no experience in this sort of thing. But he manages to get them up the rocky incline and into town, into his room above the butcher’s shop without attracting anyone’s attention. Wraps the man in blankets and gets the kettle going until the bath is filled with steaming water. When the tub is full, Nathan turns back and sees the man struggling to unwrap himself, straining to get to the water on his own power.

“I can do it,” the man rasps as Nathan helps him, but it’s like watching a baby deer try to walk for the first time. This guy seems to have no control whatsoever over his shaking legs. But Nathan gets him stripped down again and into the hot bath, and he sinks into it with a sigh that borders on indecent. 

Nathan doesn’t know what to do with his eyes. It’s just the one room, and there’s not much to it, so it’s kind of hard to ignore the naked dude in his tub. Plus, he’s already seen everything the guy’s got to offer while carrying him in. So he settles for sitting on the end of his bed, shirtless and holding his wet shirt, and just . . . staring. He watches the man in the tub carefully pull each limb into the water and then dip under the surface, completely submerged, and stay there for a full minute. 

When he comes back up for air he uses the water streaming off him to slick his short hair back from his forehead and sits, nose just above the water to breathe, and stares at Nathan. 

“You, uh,” Nathan starts awkwardly. “You had gills before. On your neck. Right? Or did I hallucinate that?”

The man in the tub doesn’t answer, just stares at him. 

“What’s your name?” Nathan tries. “I’m Nathan.”

There’s a long pause, and then the man in the tub lifts his head just enough that his lower lip is out of the water. “Charles,” he says hoarsely, then coughs and dips down to sip from the tub. 

“Shit, don’t—You don’t know what I’ve had to scrub in there, don’t drink that. Hang on.” 

Nathan gets up and pulls on a shirt to go back out into the hall again, and returns with a glass of water. He hands it to Charles and watches him slowly try to sip from the middle of the glass. 

“It’s, uh, you gotta put the edge to your mouth and tip it,” he offers, miming it. 

Charles—fuck, it’s just so weird to finally have a name attached to the face, but a good weird, the reassuring Okay so I’m definitely not totally crazy after all kind of weird—gives him a skeptical look, but mimics the motion and successfully gulps the water down. Soon the glass is empty, and he hands it back. 

They stare at each other. 

“So, uh,” Nathan says, “you saved my life.”

“I did,” Charles replies. “And I, ah, think you might have just saved mine.”

For some reason, Nathan wants to deny this. Here he’s been, thinking about Charles literally every day for a while now, feeling at the very least like he owes him some sort of debt, then the minute he shows back up in his life they’re suddenly even again and that’s it? No. He shakes his head. “Nah, I just helped you get up the hill. You could’ve done that on your own.”

They stare at each other again. Nathan gets the distinct impression that they’re both fully aware that what he just said is all bullshit; Charles couldn’t even make it into the bath on his own. 

Charles says, carefully, “In that case, I, ah . . . I could use a place to stay.”

“You got it,” Nathan replies instantly, and is he really offering to share his small room and small bed with some stranger who he’s pretty sure is an honest to god merman, an actual mythic sea creature, no questions asked?

. . . Yeah. Yeah, he is. He’s not totally sure why, but he really means it, too. 

Charles is going about his business, updating the accounting book in the back of the butcher’s shop. Word has gotten around town that he’s good at this sort of thing; he’s due at the bakery first thing tomorrow morning to go through their books and make sure all the math is correct, and then in the afternoon the grocer wants him to perform an audit to make sure that none of the employees are stealing from the till. He actually much prefers this bloodless work to patrols. 

But he still practices hand to hand combat in his free time. Now that he’s found his land-legs it seems even more important to maintain whatever physical prowess that he can in this dry, non-buoyant environment. Nathan is helping him get better at lifting weights, and they both benefit in their own ways from the bar fights Nathan and his friends get into and that Charles finishes. 

At night, they share Nathan’s narrow bed. Charles is never cold anymore with Nathan there, although the man is strangely shy whenever he mentions this—some strange human hangup, he assumes, and doesn’t press the issue. He’s become unexpectedly fond of his human, more than fond if he’s really being honest with himself, but hasn’t yet learned the culturally appropriate way to act on this yet. 

Sometimes when he’s waiting for sleep to come, or when the figures on the page and flowing from the nib of his ink pen become so tedious he needs to tear his eyes away to stare at nothing for a moment, he thinks about what Ishnifus told him before giving him this above-water life. He wonders if it’s for the best that Nathan remains oblivious to all of it, Charles’ feelings included. 

There’s a storm coming, and Charles hopes that, if it comes to that, he’ll be able to save his human from drowning again.

[re-diesirae]

10. Claire

Claire staggered, but she did her best to hide it. Her headache had hit her out of sudden, piercing her skull like an ice peak hammered into her brain. The pain made her dizzy, and that made her way through the forest harder.

Despite the discomfort, Claire kept quiet. The last thing she wanted -or needed- was to worry Leon and delay their way even more.

Her will power was strong, but unfortunately, her body would not cooperate. Her legs were weak and shaky, so she was struggling to keep herself on her feet.

Great. What's wrong with you, Claire? I was alright up until now. Why did the headache return?

Claire blamed the hike. She had a decent physical condition, maybe not as good as Leon or Chris, but she could handle the exercise. However, hiking had never been something she liked, and the effort she had to put into climbing the rocky surface was most likely the cause of the return of her headache.

"We should find refuge before the sun goes down completely," Leon said, stopping to look at Claire.

Leon's sudden decision to stop and find refuge took her by surprise. Usually, he would be more into the plan of moving faster and wasting no time trying to rest.

"If you are correct, those monsters will come out as soon as the sun goes down."

Leon had a point.

"Uhm, you are right," Claire sighed.

Claire saw Leon give her an encouraging smile.

"Besides, it's been a long day. We need to rest," Leon said, cleaning the sweat from his forehead. "We are both tired, and we need our strength to fight. Pushing ourselves to the limit is a stupid decision."

Claire rubbed her neck and sighed. When he put it like that, Leon was right. A tired body was not as effective, and in their current predicament, effectiveness and sharpness were everything.

"You're right," she said, "The question is where?"

Claire did not want to admit it, but she was grateful for Leon's decision to call it a day. Her headache was making her nauseous again, and she was not sure of how long she could keep up her facade.

After walking around the cliff for a while, they found a small cave, hidden between some bushes. It was not a five stars hotel room, but it would serve its purpose.

Leon made sure the cave was clear before they finally settled down inside, and Claire watched him pick up some branches and plants and to make a makeshift door to camouflage the entrance. It's a smart move; it might have been useless to keep foes out, but at least it would keep them concealed.

Claire's snorted to herself. The Leon she'd met years before would not have been so thoughtful, but the Leon beside her now was no longer a rookie cop but an experienced agent. His years of service had made him a cunning man.

"So that's what the government teaches their agents? How to make woodland crafts?" Claire asked playfully.

Leon smirked, putting the "door" in its place.

"Sure," he answered in the same playful tone, "It's rule 4 in How to be an agent 101."

Claire laughed as he followed her joke. At least, his sense of humor had not changed. It was a comforting thought.

Suddenly, Claire felt an electric pain hit her, and she rested her head against the cave's wall, hoping that it would pass soon.

"Chris would kill us if he saw us," she whispered.

"Why?"

"Keep yourself focused. No time for jokes," Claire said in a low voice that tried to mimic Chris's grunt.

Leon laughed at the impression, and she smiled. She felt a little guilty for mocking her brother, but Claire knew that Chris would most likely react that way.

"Sounds about right," Leon laughed, "I can't picture Chris joking around in normal circumstances, even less in a mission."

"I keep telling him that sometimes a little humor is what you need to keep yourself going."

"Maybe he needs to learn. You should teach him."

Claire found Leon's suggestion ironic. She teaching Chris how to relax was a crazy idea when the woman was the worst example of relaxation. Family always had its perks, and Claire knew that she was not too different from Chris in many things.

"Uh, I doubt he will be willing to learn from me," Claire chuckled, "but Chris wasn't always like that, you know. He used to be a little more chill."

With their current job, Claire had very few chances to meet her brother. Sometimes she didn't see his face in more than six months, which made the changes in his personality even more noticeable.

"Chill?" Leon said incredulously, "Is that even possible?"

"You are one to talk. Each time I see you, you're grumpier than before," Claire said, resting her chin on her knees.

If there was someone she saw less than her brother, that was Leon. They were good friends since surviving the Raccoon incident created a strong bond between them. That friendship survived distance and time, but the few times Claire had met Leon, she had noticed the change in his character. The friendly and naive rookie had disappeared, and instead, the cool-headed, serious, and quiet agent had taken his place.

Everyone around her seemed to change each time she saw them.

Am I the only one who doesn't seem to change?

Change scares you. Metathesiophobia is a condition, too.

The tiny voice in the back of her mind made her headache stronger, but she ignored it. It wasn't the first time that Claire had monologues with her inner ghosts, but today the phantom voices seemed more active.

"Then, maybe I should ask you to teach me, too," he snorted.

"What are you saying?" Claire said, rolling her eyes. "Sometimes, I feel like I should be more like you two."

Leon shook his head, and Claire wondered what the agent was thinking?

"You are perfect the way you are, Claire. It is enough with one Chris Redfield or me in this world. There's no need to add another one into the equation," he said, "and honestly, the world would be a better place with more people like you."

"If there were more people like me, the world would be chaos," Claire snorted bitterly, "I caused a lot of trouble because of my naiveness."

"It sounds like you are too hard on yourself, Claire."

He doesn't get it, does he?

Would he say the same if he knew all the pain you have caused?

Claire grabbed her head and rubbed her temple. The voices in her head were becoming annoying, and suddenly, her ears filled up with an electric buzzing that messed up with her focus. She looked at Leon and caught him deep in thought, and suddenly, she felt oddly comforted.

"And you guys are just too soft on me," Claire snorted bitterly, "When I think back of all the things I've messed up..."

Claire looked blankly at the wall in front of her. She could feel Leon's gaze in the dark, and she was glad that he couldn't see her. The pain in her head was getting worse, and she feared that the agent would notice it. Luckily for her, Leon's attention was somewhere else.

Leon reached for his gun. The man looked alarmed, and she knew the reason as soon as she heard the distant roar.

Claire recognized it immediately. She had heard the same howls the night before when she had seen the two monsters in town.

She followed Leon to the cave entrance and peeked outside.

Claire held her breath as she watched the disfigured monster eat the smaller ones, and as if the scene wasn't horrible enough, the creature's body began to contort and twist into a more monstrous being.

"What the..." Leon whispered.

Ah, poor thing. It is mutating. Sad, sad.

"It's mutating, I think..." Claire said.

"Mutating?" Leon looked at her, confused.

"Yes, that's how it looks."

"Is it the one you saw yesterday?" he asked.

Claire shook her head.

"No, this one looks different."

Something was wrong about that creature. Claire stared at the blood dripping from the creature's mouth, the tissue falling from its body, and the raw muscle underneath the torn skin. The image made Claire's stomach twist. Considering her background, that was something very odd as she had seen worse things before.

When they saw the monster crawl into the darkness, she was finally able to release the breath that she had been holding. Her heart was beating fast, and she was unsure of why she felt so agitated.

"I think I understand what you meant by bigger friends," Leon whispered."We didn't see anything like it during the day, so either we were lucky, or you are right, and they are nocturnal."

"B.O.W.s that come only during the night. Talk about nightmarish monsters..." Claire sighed, "I am just glad they didn't find us, but I've got the feeling that our luck won't be that good for too long."

"Well, we'll face it when it comes. Don't worry about it," Leon sighed.

They returned to the back of the cave and sat down quietly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Me?" she asked, surprised, "I'm peachy."

Leon looked at her skeptically.

"You can't fool me, Claire. You've been struggling since that climb we did," Leon said, "Is it your head? Is it bothering you again?"

Claire let out a vague snort and shook her head.

"I told you I didn't like hiking," she replied, "I am alright. My head bothers me a little when I am tired, but it's not bad. You should know how concussions work."

Leon's expression was unreadable, but Claire had the odd sensation that the man had not believed him.

"Yeah," Leon sighed, "Try resting a little."

"I had my share of sleep yesterday," Claire said, shaking her head, "You must be exhausted, though. You didn't sleep at all. You should be the one taking a nap."

"I work better with less sleep," he half lied.

Claire glared at him. Leon could be a super agent, but he was still human. Humans needed rest.

"Liar," Claire muttered. "You know you don't need to act all cool with me. Get some sleep, idiot. I'll take the first watch."

"Fine, but only if I can use your lap as a pillow," he joked.

Claire rolled her eyes. Leon could flirt at any moment. That was, probably, what made Leon, well, Leon. She smacked his arm and sighed.

"You are such a flirt, Leon. I guess that side of you has not changed," Claire chuckled. "Go to sleep, idiot."

She heard Leon laugh, and the sound made her feel a little better. If he could still laugh in this situation, things could work out.

Those are only hopes. Things never work out well when it comes to these situations.

"You know, I think you are the only person who dares to call me an idiot."

"Well, if I can call Chris an idiot, I can definitely call you an idiot."

The privilege of calling Chris an idiot was naturally Claire's right as his sister. She had called him all sorts of things in her life, and Chris had always let her.

"Now, I have to argue about that. No one would dare call Chris an idiot, but you have special treatment."

"Do I get special treatment with you?"

"Maybe..." Leon smirked.

"Do you tell all your partners that?"

"Only those who I like. What? Getting bored with paperwork and considering a career as an agent?"

"Nah, I am not agent material. You know that, Leon?"

"What are you talking about?" he chuckled, "You were agent material even before I was. Rushing into Raccoon City in search of Chris and saving Sherry, and taking care of all of us..."

"You sure are sentimental today," Claire snorted. "What's up with you today?"

"Well, this brings back memories," Leon sighed, "Can you blame me?"

"It does?" Claire asked.

"Yeah. I think I kind of missed this."

"Sleeping in a cave surrounded by bloodthirsty parasitic entities and mutant monsters? I can't say I share the sentiment, but who am I to judge?"

Claire waited for Leon to answer, but he did not, so she assumed he had fallen asleep already, and her lips curled into a victorious smirk.

No need to sleep my ass. Of course, you will fall asleep right away.

Leon had let her sleep the whole night before, which meant he had not gotten any sleep at all. One sleepless night, plus the walking and climbing they had done, would be enough to exhaust anyone.

The sudden silence, however, made Claire feel lonely, and she hugged her knees and rested her head against the wall. Some light beams crawled into the cave through the holes of their makeshift door.

It was quiet outside, and Claire felt a shudder crawl down her back. Somewhere out there, there were horrible monsters ready to kill them. Why were some people so fascinated about creating those monsters?

She would never understand the reasoning behind B.O.W.s. The creatures were uncontrollable; they could not distinguish friends from foes. They killed anything in their way, leaving a path of destruction. What kind of weapon was that?

Claire's gaze wandered to the man sitting in front of her. She felt a little guilty for dragging Leon into that pit, but at the same time, she was happy that he was there.

It's your fault. Leon shouldn't be here, but he came because he tried to help you.

Claire shook her head, trying to clear up her mind. She wanted to ignore that little voice, but she knew it was right. Leon wasn't supposed to be there. They had kidnapped her, not him, and he had only ended up there because of her. Another sudden thought crossed her mind, and she bit her lip with worry.

What if Chris and the others were in trouble, too?

Get a hold of yourself, Claire.

"How is it that I always end up in these situations?"

Claire didn't get the chance to reflect on her poor luck. She suddenly felt a cold shiver run down her back, and her head automatically turned to the entrance.

Claire was not sure what had prompted to look, but she suddenly felt very uneasy. She listened carefully, she could hear Leon's soft breathing, but the rest was quiet. No howls, no screams, no animals. Everything seemed tranquil. Then why did she feel alarmed?

Her ears soon caught a sound that she hadn't noticed until then. It was a low distant whistle. The sound was soft and hypnotic, almost as if it was calling at her. Without realizing it, she had gotten on her feet and started to walk to the entrance, but before she had reached the entry, she snapped back to reality.

Claire stood there looking confusedly at the complicated net of branches and leaves that Leon had knitted earlier.

What am I doing? she thought.

Unable to explain how she had suddenly appeared standing in front of the entrance, Claire was about to return to her spot at the end of the cave, but before she had even given a step, she heard the loud crack of breaking stone. Suddenly, she felt her body get pulled outside with a violent force. Her body crashed against the cave's door as she got pulled through it, and the branches managed to scratch the patches on naked skin unprotected by clothing, leaving red marks over her milkfish skin. The woman rolled a few feet over the grass before stopping when her back hit a tree painfully.

Claire groaned. She looked up, trying to understand what had happened when she saw the last thing she wanted to see. Her eyes went wide in horror. She reached for the rifle hanging on her back, and without thinking twice, she aimed and shot.

NOTE: if you guys want to come and chat about the fic, or just about CLEON in general. Feel free to drop by the discord and say hi! JOIN SERVER

[blackevermore]

x Secrets of The Lake: The Company of Misery and Pain

{ Chapter 2 }

Summary: Vladimir Masters' family tree has always been tainted by secrets swept under the rug. From generation to generation there have been countless reasons the Masters' family had seemed to keep private from the public. Even to this day, Vladimir was no exception. But what was one to do when a restless spirit from the settlement years finally breaks free from restraints and demands you answer for your ancestor's crimes? Vladimir doesn't know. However, Clockworks does.

Notes: We just having fun, rewriting some of the canon, new adventure new characters. I will apologize now for any grammar, spelling, weird sentence structuring in advance. My brain writes faster than my fingers and even when I go back through to reread it I still miss things. Sorry about that!

Word Count: 3287

If Vlad could find a stronger word besides irritating...aggravating...ah- vexatious! The vexatious ticking around him was about to drive him up a wall the longer he waited for Clockwork to acknowledge him. When Vlad found the calling card he only had to wait until after his morning coffee for the time ghost to open a portal to his lair. Vlad didn’t feel the need to change himself as he strolled through the portal, but he wished he brought a chair if it meant waiting.

“So much time but not enough done,” Clockwork finally finished his business viewing another timeline. He turned and gave Vlad a polite smile as he nodded his head to greet the other. “I’m happy you chose to adhere to my calling, this is a rather important conversation.”

“I figured I had no choice considering anything that has to deal with you means danger.” Vlad said aloofly and Clockwork only chuckled, friendly-ish banter, but Vlad was serious. The last time he dealt with the time ghost timelines were doomed and certain baddies were wreaking havoc. Vlad couldn’t help but wonder about how Clockwork was keeping Dan. Or rather where, Clockworks lair was larger than it looked and every door led to another endless path of nowhere. Perfect for keeping people away from things they shouldn’t be doing or seeing.

“This danger is rather serious as the one before considering it’s linked to you.” Clockwork waved his hand to open another portal to the Ghost Zone. Images flashed by like a slide show showing different groups of habitats covering their ears in fear or trying to hide. Vlad held his breath, believing Clockwork was about to show him another doomed timeline. Vlad really didn’t wish to be sent off on a rescue mission again, one was all he could handle. But instead, the last image that flashed across the portal was of a female ghost standing in the middle of lake as ecto-energy shot off of her like lightning zapping the water but also the trees around her. Her body shifted in blurs from left to right as her mouth twisted into a horrid scream. Vlad nearly stumbled back in disbelief when he recognized that face as the girl from his nightmares.

“You’re speechless as if you’ve seen her before.” Clockwork turned towards Vlad with a raised brow.

“That’s the ghost that’s been haunting my dreams as of recently. I knew it had to be a ghost but what does she want with me? I don’t even know who she is.” Vlad said, annoyed and very confused.

“But you do,” Clockwork waved his hand once again across the portal and the image was now of the ghost alive weaving a basket by the water. She looked so different from the other image, happier, calm and relaxed, not at all in pain or screaming with anger. “Or a part of you that wishes to remain hidden does.”

“What does that mean?” Vlad bit his tongue from snapping at the time ghost for being vague. Clockwork always loved dragging things out and making both Vlad and Danny think before telling them anything. But right now, Vlad wasn’t in the mood, that ghost that has been haunting him has been confirmed and now Clockwork was saying he knew her. Vlad was keen on remembering faces, if not names, surely if he ever met someone like this dead or alive. 

“Vladimir, your past is catching up with you and causing trouble within the ghost zone. I’ve known about her since my creation, she was not as bad as she is now. A very sad ghost that normally kept quiet on her small island plot. But now she has found you-”

“Found me? What on Earth does that mean? I’ve never seen her before.” Vlad rudely interrupted and Clockwork sighed. Dealing with halfas was always a tricky thing but what was one to do when they’re the ones causing the problems.

“In this life you have never met her, you were born again as Vladimir Akimovich Masters. But in another life you were someone else, your great ancestor who settled in the new lands with only a servant in tow. For so long you were able to avoid what happened due to being born again and again, without stopping through the Ghost Zone. But it was this timeline that you finally found your way there, when you became a halfa you created the energy that dragged her from the depths of her sombre. You awakened her the moment you got stronger.”  Clockwork waved his staff around in the air and the room grew dark. They were no longer in the lair but at the island the ghost resided in. Vlad heard the sound of soft weeping come from behind him and when he slowly turned around he was standing inches away from the girl. She didn’t seem to notice him as she grumbled a few words and shook her head back and forth.

“Death has already found me,” she said. Vlad’s core almost froze when he heard those words so clearly. “Death has already taken me away.” The girl fell to her knees and clenched her chest. Vlad took a step back and looked over his shoulder to see if Clockwork was there but he wasn’t. Vlad was completely alone with this ghost even if he wasn’t actually there and that was unnerving. 

“Death...has finally… found you!” The girl’s head shot up with fiery green eyes stabbing Vlad right through the chest. Just like in the nightmares she gritted her teeth in anger then let out the same wail Vlad heard over and over again night after night. Vlad stumbled to the ground and covered his ears to soften the attack. The wail quickly faded away and Vlad shot his eyes open to see that he was back in Clockworks lair. The ghost looked very unpleased, worried even and tired.

“That is what the Ghost Zone has been hearing over and over in waves every hour. All because of you.”

“Because of me?!” Vlad yelled back, surely Clockwork had also seen the countless nights Vlad had been up and how tired throughout the day he was from this wretched ghost. If all this was to be true you can’t fault someone from the present for things that happen in the past. Vlad had no control over anything that happened or anyone that was already dead centuries before he was conceived. It was one thing to actually cause the trouble that was unfolding around him, but to be accused felt so disrespectful. Vlad was already on the road of trying to stray away from being known as just the villain of a finished story. He had made his peace with Danny, helped to even save the world from Dan, he released his control over his minions only to call upon them when needed. This was insulting and it only made Vlad angrier.

“You have no control over what has been done but you have the power now to fix it. If this isn't handled now while I give you the chance to do so then your future will be no longer. Besides, wouldn't you rather put a restless spirit to rest now rather than being stuck with them for eternity?” Clockwork chuckled when he saw Vlad’s eyes shoot open. There was no point in trying to argue with Clockwork, Vlad knew that, he was right about a lot of things and a lot of outcomes. Vlad lowered his head and took in a deep breath.

“And what pray tell do you expect me to do.” Vlad steeled himself as he waited for an answer.

“Aid the young Phantom in finding Tayonna before she finds you outside of the Ghost Zone. I cannot promise you talking will silence her soul but try to figure out how to put her to rest. Or at least get the screaming to stop. I can hear it all the way from here and it disturbs my work.” Clockwork thumbed back towards his endless floating timelines he had to oversee and shook his head. 

“Daniel knows about this?” Vlad asked, a bit grateful he wouldn’t have to figure this out by himself.

“I have not spoken to him but he was in the Ghost Zone and heard it himself. He has already planned on investigating some time soon, it would be best if you go with him.” Clockwork turned away from Vlad and floated up towards another portal that showed a timeline. “That is all for now Vladimir, I wish you luck in fixing this before it’s too late.” With that Clockwork opened a portal for Vlad back to his home. Vlad had so many questions he wished to ask but he knew they would fall on deaf ears. So he turned sharply on his heels and left through the portal. Once he was back in the kitchen of his home he fell into a nearby chair and covered his face with a hand. 

He really wanted a drink but when he checked the clock above the sink, it was still the same time it was when he left. Wonderful, he still had to be at work in half an hour and deal with human interactions. Vlad closed his eyes and gave himself a prep talk of not calling off and to go be the adult he was. With a few more grumbles of food and candy related curses, Vlad pulled himself together and headed to work. Vlad failed to notice the small puddle footsteps that followed him all the way to the door.

---

“Why can’t I go!?” Dani yelled towards Danny as she slid down the stair railing. Dani had overheard Jazz and Danny talking about what was going on when she came home from school and was excited about an adventure. "I wanna go!”

“No. You have school and I don’t have time to explain everything to mom and dad if you get us caught.” Danny rolled his eyes as he made his way to the kitchen to get a snack. 

“You have school too, that was a crappy excuse.” Dani crossed her arms and leaned against the table.

“Yeah I know, that’s why I’d make a great parent one day.” Danny rummages through the frig for a moment before settling on shredded cheese. It may have not been 3am there in Minnesota but it was 3 am somewhere and that was good enough. Dani whispered an ‘ew’ and Danny shrugged before stuffing his mouth.

“Come on, I wanna help find this ghost and pow pow!” Dani punched the air a few times in her “oh so killer” fighting moves.

“How do you know it’s a bad ghost?” Danny smirked and put a hand on his hip.

“How do you know it’s not?” Dani cocked an eyebrow and Danny silently agreed. “Besides, you totally need me, I’m the better Phantom here.” Dani flipped her ponytail and struck a pose. Danny let out a ‘ha!’ before stuffing his face again and placing the cheese back into the frig before turning invisible and slipping through the floor. Dani laughed and followed him to the basement. When they made it to the ground Danny changed into his ghost form. Dani was about to change too but a hand quickly stopped her and Danny told her no. 

“Now way are you going, if I remember correctly you need to pack to go back home. You know how Vlad gets when you’re never ready.” Danny said.

“Ughhhhh! He can wait! I haven’t been there in 6 months. I think he’ll be fine if I’m not ready for five minutes.” Dani crossed her arms and pouted but it didn’t phase Danny as he placed a hand on his hip and pointed for her to go back upstairs.

“I wish I was the older one,” Dani grumbled, turning invisible and flying away. Danny groaned and shook his head before turning back towards the portal. Danny wouldn’t have minded Dani tagging along if he had a better understanding of what was going on. But the older brother in him didn’t want to put her in danger. That was also the reason he hadn’t told Sam and Tucker about it. Over the past few years, Danny had found himself still sticking a toe in the ring before asking for help. Unlike before when he did it for hero points, he now was just worried about everyone around him. Danny stepped over to the button to open the portal and braced himself just in case he was opening it to another scream. Luckily the only sounds that came were the normal everyday portal sounds. Danny floated in and closed the portal with his remote on his utility belt. Wouldn’t want anyone who shouldn’t be out getting out.

Unlike the day before Danny actually saw other ghosts out and about. But something still felt odd or more so upsetting. As he flew around he tried to pinpoint the negative energy. Just then he heard fighting coming from his right on a random floating rock.

“Johnny I don’t wanna ride with you anymore!” Kitty yelled as she kicked off the bike and walked away from her boyfriend. Danny cocked an eyebrow as he watched Johnny and Kitty, it wasn’t unusual to see them going at it every once and a while. But something told Danny to keep watching. 

“Babe we don’t have time for this, whatever it is, we gotta get somewhere safe so we don’t hear that screaming.” Johnny kicked out his kickstand and hopped off his bike.

“No! You’re being reckless again, you’re always being reckless and look where it got us. I told you when it started let’s go to the human world and you told me no. Why don’t you listen to me?” Kitty crossed her arms and snatched away from Johnny when he tried to touch her.

“Well I didn’t think it would get this bad but now it's driving us all crazy. Get on the bike and we’ll go wherever you want, ‘k?” Johnny was trying to reason with Kitty but the other seemed to only get more upset. 

“I don’t wanna go there anymore, you’ll just try and chat up that redhead again!” Kitty turned and screamed at her boyfriend then quickly covered her mouth. 

“What?” Danny whispered to himself. That was so long ago, Danny himself almost didn’t remember it and he was the shittiest when it happened. Kitty had long forgiven Johnny after he explained why he did what he did. They even made up and were stronger together than before. So why would she bring up old news all of a sudden?

“J-Johnny why did I say that?” Kitty was scared by the words that left her mouth. She asked him again in panic and Johnny shook his head and grabbed her hand to hurry back over to his bike. They quickly rode off farther into the Ghost Zone. Danny flew off as well heading mindlessly in the opposite direction but was quickly stopped in his tracks when a blast nearly took off his face.

“Screw you Skulker!” Danny looked down and Saw Ember and Skulker ready to go head to head. Now this was new. Ember was fired up and ready to strum her boyfriend away with on note, while Skulker already had his weapons drawn. Danny had never seen them fight like this unless it was against him. Of course, the couple threw jabs at each other but honestly, they were in love.

“Just admit you were wrong, Ember, and we can move on from this.” Skulker refused to lower his weapon, the tech ghost was ready for anything.

“Why do you keep saying that? I didn’t do anything, you’re the one that fucked up!” Ember rose her peck in the air and slammed down on the strings sending a wave Skulker way. The other ghost quickly dodged it and fired back while Ember used her guitar to block it.

“I didn’t do anything! You’re the one that started it!” Skulker yelled back.

“Started what?!”

“I don’t know!” Skulker lowered his gun and thought for a moment. What were they fighting about? No really why were they fighting? They were just watching tv and talking about new music when all of a sudden they were at each other’s neck.

“I don’t know either,” Ember floated to a rock and placed her head in her hands. Skulker flew over to her and wrapped an arm over her shoulder. It was then he noticed Danny watching them.

“ What is going on?” Danny flew a bit closer and the couple shook their heads.

“The screaming is making everyone lose their minds, or what is left of them.” Ember answered. She looked so tired and worn out.

“Have you guys been fighting a lot?” Danny had a very weird idea that he wanted to test out.

“Is it noticeable?” Skulker scuffed and pulled Ember in for an apology hug. Ember smirked and accepted it.

“I just saw Johnny and Kitty fighting and it was weird.” Danny thought out loud as he tried to fit the pieces together.

“That’s not new, what’s new is Box Ghost and Lunch Lady fighting. I saw them yesterday throwing things back and forth before Lunch Lady got the upper hand and shoved Box into a container.” Ember started to chuckle to herself and Skulker followed. The couple then started cracking jokes about how dumb other ghosts were. 

“Has anything else seemed out of place around here?” Danny hated to interrupt their kiki time but he really needed answers.

“Desiree has been crying about that sultan guy again.” Skulker answered.

“Poindexter keeps muttering about somebody named Dexter wanting to apologize to him or whatever.” Ember added. “Did you know Spectra and Bertrand were a thing? I didn’t until I saw them going at it.” Danny made a face of disgust, he honestly thought Spectra would be with someone else.

“So it's mostly couples or people with some type of relationship being affected, but why?” Danny scratched his head trying to figure out the connection and the screaming but he kept drawing a blank.

“Oh god don’t tell me the screaming is coming from a heartbroken ghost, that is lame.” Ember said, she rolled her eyes and made a fake gagging noise.

“Seems like the likely case.” Danny had to agree with her, that was pretty lame.

“Well she needs to get over it, we’re already dead, move on.” Danny had to bite his tongue from calling Ember a hypocrite when it took a long while for her to move on to Skulker.

“Skulker, do you have any idea where the screaming could be coming from?” Danny asked, hoping for a lead. The tech ghost removed his arm from Ember and hit the button on his wrist to bring up an echo map. He tapped at the holo screen a few times then turned the projection towards Danny.

“Southbound heading almost towards the pits, which is surprising. No one in their right mind should be near the pits.” Danny had heard of the pits before, it was basically the darkest part of the Ghost Zone. It was said that no matter how hard you tried to light your way it seemed to only get darker and darker. “You’re going to go, aren’t you?” Skulker asked Danny and the young ghost smirked and shrugged.

“Someone has to keep you all under control, if not me like always then who? Catch ya later.” Danny bided a farewell to the couple who seemed to be in a way better mood and started to head downward. 

[reneejuliet]

Leave Me Wanting

Author: reneejuliet

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Rating: M (smut in the form of male masturbation, cursing)

Word Count: 1,636

Genre: Smut, Friends to Lovers?, Idol AU

Author’s Note: Presenting my second drabble! Hoseok has had me feeling some kind of way lately (though still not my bias, lulz) and since I can’t make him my central character in Ignorance is Bliss, I’m sharing this little piece I’ve had on my phone for at least a year now. It’s also brewing in my mind as a possible continuation, so please let me know what you think. And, also, I maybe just sorta really love hearing what you guys think.

Similar to I can hear the bells, this is more from Hoseok’s POV. I don’t know why I wrote it that way - it literally just sort of poured out of me. If I continued this, it would switch POVs between Hoseok and you, the Reader. 

And - this starts kinda right off the bat so I’m putting a ‘keep reading’ under all this before the story starts. Enjoy! (Photo/gif above edited/made by me (if it isn’t showing please let me know, it deleted out like three times while I made this post o.o))

 His breathing was labored, heavy pants and ragged inhales echoing off the linoleum of the crappy bathroom stall. One hand was splayed out against the wall, fingers spread and digging into the tile while the other wrapped tightly around his dick, pumping and twisting in search of his release. The ache was constant, but dull. Every now and then he was able to work it into a throb, a spike of pleasure shooting into his stomach, but it was quick to disappear again. The groan that left his lips was one of frustration more than titillation.

Three sharp slams on the bathroom door jolted him, a wave of panic seeping into his exhausted muscles. Until your familiar voice cut through the thick metal as easily as a knife through butter.

"Come on, Jung! We don't have all day! Your meeting starts in twenty minutes!"

He groaned again, his grip growing slack for a moment. The meeting he had completely forgotten about, of course. The whole reason you had pulled into this shitty little gas station. He'd been a mess when you picked him up, having allowed the hook up to run longer than he had intended. It wasn't that big of a deal, he'd thought then - it wouldn't be the first time you had seen him so disheveled, and he was just going to go back to the dorms and pass out in his bed. Until you reminded him of the godforsaken meeting he had with the company's producers regarding his next mixtape. He certainly couldn't go into it with rumpled clothes, sex hair, and fresh hickies blooming under the collar of his shirt.

So, ever the professional handler, you had detoured the vehicle into the nearest gas station and all but dragged his sorry-looking ass into the downtrodden bathroom. Your hands were magic as you cleaned him up: running wet fingers through his hair to smooth and straighten, wiping a damp towel over the wrinkles in his shirt, dabbing just enough concealer over the irritated skin on his collar to lessen the appearance. The determination in your eyes had been so focused you hadn't even noticed the tip of your tongue sneaking between your teeth as you worked. But he had. And coupled with the way your fingers tugged on his hair, pressed against the planes of his chest, well... He'd been left with a whole other problem then.

He'd blamed it on the passionate goodbye he'd shared with Minjee just seconds before you'd shown up. She always did love riling him back up before sending him on his way with a cheeky smirk. He'd smiled sheepishly at you, his friend and current chauffeur, when you both noticed the bulge in his pants. You'd groaned loudly, slapping a hand to your face.

"Damn it, Hoseok, seriously? Three hours wasn't enough??"

You'd left him alone in the bathroom then, with a five minute deadline to "fix himself", as you had so lovingly put it. You were sure to state that this was one thing you would not be doing for him.

It should have been easy. It was hardly his first time masturbating, after all. Even the pressure of having you waiting for him outside wasn't a deterrent - he'd had plenty of quickies before a concert or an interview over the years. And his arsenal of material to work with was hardly empty. Minjee was very expressive during sex, and incredibly vocal. Not to mention that woman's curiosity. Damn. There was a reason he kept going back to her. Yet, every image he recalled, every smooth curve of her body and dulcet whine of her voice only served him to the brink of what he needed. For some reason, it just wasn't enough to push him over the edge this time.

Two more bangs on the door and he cursed under his breath. "Hoseok! Come on!"

"Alright! Shit," he yelled back, exhaling deeply and closing his eyes. Absently, he trailed his fingers gently down his length with a feather-light touch. His heart flipped tiredly in his chest, lower gut tugging slightly in response.

He ran a hand through his hair, the strands still damp from your grooming. The phantom feel of your fingernails on his scalp echoed in his mind and his dick twitched at the reminder. Then suddenly your image was conjured behind his eyelids, your bright eyes focused on him as you ran your hands through his hair, tongue poking out between your lips. Those soft, pale lips that parted in small sighs as you worked on him. The blood surged abruptly into his cock and he gasped, catching the twitching member in his grasp again and moaning as his hand instinctively twisted down to the base before squeezing.

"Fuck," he whispered, voice rough in his throat. Your hands drifted down to his collar, brushing against the hot skin as you dabbed the concealer on. He could still feel the delicious ache that swelled under his skin from the pressure of your touch. His dick throbbed heavily in response and he pumped himself, stomach tightening into a hard coil.

"Ffffffffuck, oh," he gasped out as your hands moved down to his chest now, the wet towel doing little to cool the burning flush of his skin beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. Not with how your fingertips trailed behind it, tracing the lines of his body without even realizing. The way you had brushed along his hips - they thrust into his grip at the memory as he pumped harder, faster. His free hand was shaking as he tangled it into his hair, his throat choking off the sound of your name -

"Hoseok!"

Your voice was flustered, exasperated. Damn near whiny - and that was all he needed. The sound went straight to his dick and it throbbed once, twice more before he came. Hard. The moan he released was low, animalistic in his desperation. There were stars behind his eyes as he finally blinked them open, his chest heaving as the warmth slowly dissipated from his stomach. It took a few more lazy pumps to completely spend himself, at which point he was left staring down at his mess in utter shock and confusion.

Despite his location, despite how rushed and utterly far from intimate the situation had been, that was by far one of the most intense orgasms he'd ever had. And it was all because of you.

What the actual fuck?

It wasn't like you were unattractive. On the contrary, Hoseok thought you were very pretty. It was one of the first things he had noticed the day you caught him with Minjee. He'd simply chalked up any attraction stemming from that to the fact that he had been in the middle of getting his dick sucked - he was sure he had literal hearts for eyes at the time. The second time he had seen you, he'd attributed the flip of his stomach to the nerves coursing through every inch of his body at the topic he was about to breach with you. He couldn't exactly have you going around blabbing about what you had seen, even if you did work for BigHit. He had his image to maintain, after all, and if any of the higher ups found out he was recklessly endangering that, he'd be in a world of trouble.

So imagine his surprise when you swore to keep his secret. Not to mention the utter befuddlement you left him in when you offered him advice on how to continue hooking up, albeit much more discreetly. To say he'd never met anyone like you didn't quite grasp the exact gravity of the situation - he'd never even dreamed someone like you existed. The friendship that blossomed between you in the subsequent months was a marvel to Hoseok, and the idea of spending time with you amidst his hook ups was almost as exciting as said hook up. But only almost.

Until today, at least. Because apparently, somewhere down the road, Hoseok had developed more than just a friendly inclination toward you. He refused to acknowledge this, however, as he proceeded to hastily clean himself up before exiting the stall. Giving himself a once-over in the grimy mirror, he steeled his expression.

No, this was not the time to try and name anything of that sort.

He remained silent as he exited the bathroom, making a beeline for the vehicle. You muttered a breathy "finally" as you followed, climbing swiftly back into the driver's seat and starting the engine. It wasn't until you were on the road again that you spared a look at him.

"You know, if I had known it would be that difficult for you to get yourself off, maybe I should have offered my assistance."

It was a joke - you were joking. Like you always did. Somehow, you found this entire situation of his amusing. Hoseok knew this, and yet he couldn't help the way in which his limp dick twitched in his pants. He winced, and you noticed.

"Hey," you called, voice softer, more serious. "You okay?"

No, no, no. He was so very much not okay. He had just jerked off to the thought of one of his best friends, and had one of the most ardent orgasms of his life because of it. None of which he could say to you, because he simply was not ready to open that can of worms.

So he forced out one of his usual, sarcastic quips instead.

"Sorry, just - did you want it to take longer?"

You laughed, and it eased the tension building inside his chest. His lips adorned his usual grin, and he glanced at the window. If you knew the truth... you'd be anything but amused.

Well, there it is! I’m not a big smut writer - only recently sort of branched out into it - so please let me know what you think! And, again, if you’d like to see more. I have overtime at work for the next few weeks, but I’m trying to fit in more writing here and there.

Also, I apologize for the disheveled state of my blog! Now that I’ve got more (read: three) pieces posted, I’ll try to create a masterlist ASAP. Don’t know if I’ll accomplish that this weekend, but I shall try. 

Thanks again for reading! ^.^

(dngkaenrkjnerskjgesnrkjeew okay the gif took me fckng forever to get uploaded and it isn’t even the size I wanted but I’m a dinosaur who doesn’t quite have a handle on this newfangled technology so it is what it is. Please feel free to share wisdom with me regarding this shit hahahaha *sobs*)

©reneejuliet 2020. No part of this material may be copied, photocopied, reproduced, reposted, or translated without consent.

[junnie133]

dead hand

A spooky one shot I wrote after a weird nightmare. I’m so sorry in advance for making Wind suffer like this, my poor baby ;-; I wanted to write something for halloween and here I am. (no beta)

{+}{+}{+}

The first thing that came to Wind’s mind when he regained consciousness was ‘that hurt like a goddamn motherfucking bitch’. He was sure Sky would scold him harshly for saying that all aloud, but even if he wanted to talk his throat wasn’t cooperating right now, feeling all raspy and dry. He reached for the canteen hanging on his side and tried to get up from the floor, but the pain on his side only let him sit down, resting his back against the nearest wall while he drank copiously. Breathing harshly, he opened his eyes to see where the fuck was he now, growling like a rabbid dog when he realized there was no one else around.

Right. Time’s Hyrule. Switch. A bigass-hand falling from the ceiling. What the fuck.

It must have been some kind of Floormaster or something, it took him away from his friends to some shithole in the middle of nowhere. There was light coming from the top of the room, so yeah, a hole in fact. He was impressed by how many of them were around in Time’s Era, like, sure there were some hidden places in his own world but at least they weren’t near enough to (or inside) a dungeon to stumble into one after a damn switch.

He was really pissed off.

After drinking some more water and adjusting his eyes to the dark, he took some deep breaths and stood up slowly. For how long was he unconscious? He didn’t know, the light from outside was faint and silvery, so it was nighttime, and the memory of the first glance he gave to Time’s world after the switch of Eras before he fell told him they arrived there in the afternoon. He cursed all aloud this time, thinking that maybe if he swore loud enough Sky would actually hear his potty mouth and come to scold him, saving his sorry ass in the process. 

“Where the fuck are you all bunch of damn cunts?!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, but his voice broke at the end, leaving him coughing and wheezing a little. He wasn’t sure if it was because puberty was finally deepening his voice, or thanks to the pain on… well, now he thought of it, all his body.

That was quite a fall. As soon as they got into the dungeon the hand grabbed him, and he couldn’t remember anything since that moment.

He now reached for his Spoils Bag attached to his side, and groaned loudly, not caring about the pain on his chest while he did. It wasn’t there. Fucking great.

This was so frustrating, and yeah, he normally tried to find the bright side to every bad situation, moreover, he could think about some good things right now (he wasn’t dead, hurray), but honestly? He wasn’t in the mood. Moments prior to the switch he was already upset with the others. Was it really that easy to forget half of them were still kids, not only him?. Wind found it rather bothersome that guys like Wild and Four tried so hard to protect him when they both weren’t old enough to be legally allowed to drink themselves (He and Four stole some booze from Warrior’s bag one time, his friend’s eyes glinting cobalt blue. The shorter couldn’t stand a single sip, and Twilight got them before Wind could prove himself as a true pirate). 

He hated Time’s hard glare of disappointment he gave every time one of them behaved somehow ‘un-heroically’ or something, and it wasn’t even directed to him. Yes, it was Wild who came up with the idea of sneaking out the camp to do some shield-surfing on a nearby hill, and yeah, Wild might be slightly older than him, but it was Wind who decided to do it in the end. 

And Wild only nodded and accepted the scolding, like he agreed Wind didn’t have any idea what they were doing. Last night he went to sleep at the skirts of the camp with a frown and the only company of Wolfie.

He has proven himself before, his sword was just as valuable as anyone else’s. This was bullshit.

(Somewhere deep inside him he knew the guys did it because they worried about his behalf, because it angered them how Hylia was such enough of a bitch to throw a child to the jaws of Ganon’s pure malice willingly, to did what she did to Wild) But he was too mad right now.

Detecting movement by the corner of his eye, he looked at the other side of the room. The moonlight was moving little by little, reminding him of the pass of time (what time was it?), and illuminated a spot in the ground that made Wind breathe relieved for a minute.

It was his bag, and not far from it, his sword. 

“Finally” he huffed, starting to move and evaluating his injuries along the way. Nothing broken (he wouldn’t be a Hero of Hyrule if his bones broke so easily, duh), but his right wrist was twisted. He felt bruises all over his torso and legs, and the sharp sting on his side slowly disappearing with time. I didn’t feel like a cut or some internal injury, most like his body was complaining about how little food and water he had had.

His bag hung from a weird-looking white branch, and his senses made him stop suddenly. The bag swung gently like a wind stream was moving it, but the air was still down there. He subtly looked around, searching for rats or any kind of small animal he hadn’t seen before, but there was nothing. He frowned, eyeing his sword, half hidden in the darkness while the tip glinted with the moonlight.

“Huh?” he pretended to hear something in a random side of the hole, looking away but keeping an eye for his things, barely catching the way his bag moved again, from a tiny jerk from the branch itself. 

He frowned and kept staring at his things, taking a deep breath. As quick as he could, he leaped right towards his sword and rolled far from the ‘branch’ holding his bag, his eyes widening when he saw the way it began moving, like an articulated limb.

“Fffffuc- Ack!”

He didn’t have time to even swore in peace as another limb came out from the ground right in front of him. He slashed at it in reflex, but the Phantom Sword didn’t do any damage to it, bouncing against its resistant flesh rather comically. He fell to the ground by the recoil of his attack, grimacing to the pain of his wrist. He needed his bag.

But before he could tore his things from the hold of whatever-the-everloving-fuck that was, another pale limb sprouted from the ground and grabbed his entire head with its hand before Wind could do anything. The Sailor trashed and squirmed, trying to set free. Sharp nails dug into his skin painfully, he couldn’t breath, and by the corner of his eye he saw something big moving near him.

The hand didn’t let him go until he poked its arm harshly with the sharp end of his sword, and once he was out of its reach, he saw it.

A moving bag of flesh and bones, slowly approaching him while facing the sky. It had short arms without hands, there was blood on its skin and when it lowered its face to goddamn bite his head off, he saw an ugly face with no eyes and large, rectangular teeth snapping inches away from his own face.

“Fuck off!” he screamed with a trembling voice, slashing his sword vertically. He managed to cut the monster’s mouth, breaking some teeth and bones in the way.

It screeched loudly before hiding underground again at a frightening speed, forcing Wind to step back. What in the world was that?!

“Damn Time, and we all thought Wild’s Hyrule was bad…” he grumbled under his breath.

He was about to begin searching for the creature to finish it once and for all when another arm grabbed him from behind, obscuring his vision again. He heard the beast’s nauseating sounds again and he noticed the pattern.

“Asshole! You only come out when I can’t fight! Fucking coward!” he enjoyed screaming to his enemies like this; not even in combat Time allowed him to insult monsters. It was almost too satisfying, if it wasn’t because there was a damn corpse about to eat his brain right next to him.

The hand let him go once the monster was near enough to attack, but Wind was too mad, too scared and on alert to let the fucker just kill him like that. He dodged, his body complaining for the rude treatment, screaming in pain when somehow, enemy teeth reached for his twisted wrist and bit down. 

Then Wind did screamed in pain. The monster released his arm momentarily before biting with more force, tearing muscle and breaking bones. Seeing red and with an almost animalistic growl, Wind stabbed it on the head, giving him time to rescue his arm and get away from it and its infinite arms. He was breathing laboriously, watching his flesh torn apart and bleeding. His anger toned down, leaving room only for panic.

‘What if it gets infected? What if the beast reaches me? What if it eats me? I’m gonna die. Where is Time? Where is Warriors? WildTwilightLegendHyruleFourSkyWolfieSomeone…”

A shadow rose in front of him and he gulped hard. What the fuck, Hylia? Wasn’t he good with her? Wasn’t he good enough for her? It was getting hard to breath, the stench of his own fresh blood and the creature’s body odor was too much, the hole was too small, too deep, the walls too near and the exit too far from his reach.

Tetra’s mocking voice made fun of him on his head, Aryll’s fearful whimpers filled his mind. He glared at the monster, getting a hold of himself. He was still trembling when he stood up with the Phantom Sword on his hand.

The Hero of the Winds couldn’t come down so easily.

[ichor-and-symbiosis]

Tell to me this: Jin figuring out his s/o has a smoking kink and watching him smoke makes them horny on main ?

im so sorry this is so late, i’m a roach ;-; 

A downpour of rain drenched the streets in reflective neon illuminating from fluorescent signs outside. The sun did not have a chance to shine through the storm clouds before nightfall. As such, with rain came a chilly breeze that snuck through the open window and sent a shiver down your spine. You would have closed it by now, but …

Nothing stopped Jin from having his daily smoke. You envied his ability to sit by the window in a flimsy tank top, completely impervious to the cold. He had a pensive expression as he looked out onto the street below, idly watching people hailing taxies and running from the rain. A trail of smoke billowed from his cigarette as he angled it past the ledge to flick away excess ash.

You could tell he was lost in thought. He did not even notice you when you sidled up beside him. “What’cha thinking about?” you asked, smiling apologetically when he jolted in surprise.

“Just some stuff,” Jin murmured, looping an arm around your waist to bring you closer. ”Nothing at all!” He grimaced and brought the cigarette to his mouth, taking a deep drag as he stared out into the rainy cityscape.

You stroked a hand across his chest and basked in his protective warmth, nuzzling your cheek along clothed muscle. The silence between you stretched on. Without thought, your gaze drifted to Jin's solemn face. Your thoughts started off innocent enough, worrying over the persistent dark circles beneath his eyes, the pallid color of his skin, the unshaven stubble on his chin, the stubborn frown —

And as he pursed his lips around the butt of the cigarette, your mind segwayed into another trail of thought entirely. Namely, the desire to trace the curve of his lips, poised around the cigarette in an all too familiar shape. A phantom sensation on your breast made your hair stand on end, and you pressed yourself flush against his chest in search of some friction for your pebbled nipples.

Jin was none the wiser regarding your motives. The tender way his arm wrapped around you made you feel at odds with the lust that had kindled within you, and the muted tone of his voice gave you pause. “You see how the street lights reflect off the pavement?” he mumbled, all quiet and raspy. "Kinda looks like there’s a whole other world beneath us. It’s all above us.”

You indulge him and glance out the window. The reflections flickered and danced from the deluge of rain distorting their image.

“Sometimes I feel like there’s another me down there. A Jin who has his shit together — he’s all fucked up — ngh — “ Annoyance. He shoved the cigarette in his mouth to hold the impulse at bay for a while longer and took an unnecessarily long drag. The end of the cigarette lit up in vibrant orange hues, and so too did a pulsing warmth spread throughout your nether region as you admired his rough features.

Maybe now is not the time, you chastised yourself. But it was always like this, wasn’t it? Getting too caught up in how handsome Jin was, especially during the most inopportune moments.

You had enough self-control to focus on what he was saying again. “You always harp on me for coming home all wet from the rain,” he randomly mentioned, cigarette hanging from his lips as he spoke.

“Only because I worry you’ll catch a cold,” you replied, and added in afterthought, “Then there’s your awful habit of walking around the house with your dirty shoes on … “

Jin chuckled dryly, a low sound that fizzed as quickly as the dissipation of exhaled smoke. “Whenever I go on these walks, the only people watchin’ I’m doing is down on the ground. At that other me.” He stamped the cigarette out with an air of finality and wrapped both arms around your waist to pull you in. You wished you could see what facial expression he was making, but you hugged him back regardless. “That guy always looks like he knows where he’s going. But I know the truth. Cause I know him — we’re the same fuckup — and the truth is that neither of us have anywhere to go.”

You gave him a moment to collect himself. Or maybe you were the one who needed to repress your sudden sorrow, because how could you stay strong for Jin when you were upset? Either way, you held on to each other like pillars of support, with you slipping your hands beneath his shirt and stroking his back, and him resting his chin on top of your head as he closed his eyes.

“We’re all just taking it one day at a time,” you quietly said. “Don’t let this weather make you gloomy, hun. You know I adore you and that I’m always proud of you.”

“ … yeah,” he muttered. ”No.”

You looked up at him, cocking a brow at his deliberate attempt to avoid eye contact. “You’re not a fuckup, Jin.” He grunted. “Would a fuckup have a beautiful woman in his arms who wants to kiss him senseless?”

Now you got his attention. Jin angled his head down and gave you a half-smile, unable to retain his sour mood. “If there’s one thing I got right, it’s somehow getting you to fall for a guy like me. Stay tripping!”

You smiled and stroked his sides, tracing the dips of his toned muscles. “I want a kiss, Jin.”

“My mouth is gonna taste bad, baby.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

He grinned in earnest and scooped you up to sit on the ledge. Cold air hit your lower back, spurring you to cup his face and guide him down to your eager mouth. The first press of his lips against yours was sweet and simple. He was holding back, or perhaps teasing you. You prodded his mouth with the tip of your tongue, gliding it along his bottom lip until he relented and allowed you to slip inside. The taste of tobacco was immediate and overpowering, and when he tentatively touched his tongue to yours, your tastebuds were on fire from bitterness.

It was Jin. It was all him, the toe-curdling smokey taste, the soft groan he emitted when you deepened the kiss instead of pulling away, the protective embrace of his thick arms as they sheltered your shivering body from the chill, you were practically dizzy from how much you loved him in all his little ways.

The wet suctioning sounds of your kisses intermingled with the pitter pattering of rain against the window. It was almost relaxing, lulling you into comfortable leisure despite your burning arousal. Sometimes you just wanted to make out with Jin for hours on end. And when he kissed you like this, like he couldn’t get enough of you …

You could hardly breathe in your desperation to feel more of him.

Jin released your mouth with a wet pop, nipping your bottom lip before a hint of trepidation reared its ugly head. He pulled back and looked at you with mild concern, running his hands over the top of your thighs. “Did I taste bad?”

“I — “ You panted, feeling the saliva on your lips with each huff of breath. His lips looked so pink and puffy, and he had such a cute blush. “I don’t know.”

He blinked at you. “What do you mean?”

You gripped the front of his shirt, urging him forward again. “I need another taste to be sure,” you coyly said.

Realization finally dawned on Jin, this silly game you were playing. “Don’t encourage my bad habit like this, baby,” he snickered, caressing the nape of your neck as you tilted your head back willingly. ”Keep lusting for me, slut.”

Before he could apologize, you dove in for that second taste, and helped yourself to many, many more long after.

[pitch-pearl-void]

Aladdin AU, Pitch Pearl style

An hour after arriving, Danny was still gawking at the room and all the furniture inside. Phantom reclined on some cushions in the corner and watched the human explore the luxuries like a kid in a candy shop...or like an orphaned street rat who never knew when his next meal would be. Did Danny have a home before he met Phantom? The way he was touching the bed made Phantom wonder if he had ever seen one before, let alone one stuffed with feathers.

I could have given you a bed when we were traveling through the desert, Phantom thought, watching the quiet wonder grow on Danny's face. I could have fed you dates and all the apples you could have wanted.

But Danny had never asked. It had never even occurred to him despite how Phantom flaunted his powers that Danny could take advantage of his services. The masters before him had seen Phantom bring a horse into existence so he could ride unobtrusively beside his master through the marketplace and thought: His horse is better than mine or He could create a whole herd for me to sell. They had asked about it, and Phantom had smiled and required them to use one of their wishes.

Danny had seen Phantom produce a thick blanket in the desert during one of the freakishly cold nights, just one more scheme to trick his new master into wasting his wishes. Danny had seen but instead of being envious or greedy, Danny had asked if they could share.

Share.

Such a novel concept. Even Phantom hadn't known the full meaning of the concept until Danny, responding to Phantom's hesitant acceptance, slid under the blanket and snuggled close to his new genie. At some point he had even draped an arm over Phantom. It hadn't been possessive or sexual or anything Phantom had experience with, something he understood. It had simply been to...share body heat.

To Phantom's surprise, he had enjoyed it. Despite not needing sleep, there was something deeply...satisfying about laying under the blanket with Danny, feeling the cold toes and slight shivers from the too skinny body decrease as the human slowly fell asleep against him.

In fact, he had enjoyed it so much he had created a blanket the second night and suggested the same arrangement himself. And the next. And the next.

There would be no such arrangement tonight. Danny had his own blanket now. He had his own bed. Danny had all the luxuries a prince inside a palace could ask for, what need he of a genie's generosity? All he wanted for now was the heart of another, and that was something no magic could give him.

Phantom closed his eyes and leaned his head back with a sigh. Danny announced he was going to see Princess Samantha, and Phantom raised his hand to bid him good luck, the bangles of his enslavement jangling as he waved.

He expected the sound of a closing door, but apparently Danny was hesitating. "Are you okay?" he asked, worried. "Did the parade wear you out? Is there something I can do?"

You could stay, Phantom thought, but aloud he said, "I will be fine, Master. A little rest is all I need."

That should have been the end of it, and yet Danny lingered. Phantom could sense his master's confusion and unease. "Why..." he started, paused, and then tried again. "’Master’? You can still call me Danny. Just because we're inside a palace now doesn't mean you're no longer my friend."

It was a nice sentiment, Phantom was glad to hear it, but it missed the point. "I must call you master or I will forget myself."

"Forget yourself?"

Phantom pried his eyes open and looked at Danny. The human, dressed now in princely garb but still slightly slouched like the street rat Phantom had first met, had abandoned the door and the bed, the fruit and the balcony, and was walking toward Phantom, blue eyes concerned and focused solely on the genie.

Phantom had to close his eyes again and look away. Danny had no idea what he was doing to him, the pain he was causing. "It's nothing you need concern yourself with, sire. Proceed with the wooing of your princess before she retires for the night."

Danny sat on the pillows nearest Phantom. Nearer than any other master had dared unless they were trying (and failing) to convince Phantom to serve them in a different way. Unlike them, Danny didn't caress Phantom's bare chest or finger his slave bangles or pull at his chest piece. Danny dared sit beside him because they were friends. He dared touch Phantom's shoulder because he had never been afraid of his friend.

And Phantom had to resist resting his cheek on Danny's hand because friend was a woefully inadequate word for what he was feeling. What he was feeling was simply not allowed. More painfully, it was not wanted. When Phantom first materialized before his new master, he had chosen to form himself as a reflection of his master, albeit a reflection with different colored eyes and hair. In the past, doing so had protected him from certain types of masters. In the present, it shielded him too well, and yet he liked the form. He might just keep it.

It wasn't anything like the black haired, violet eyed beauty Danny was infatuated with, however, so what use was it currently?

"Phantom," Danny insisted gently, "what's wrong?"

With the excuse a conversation granted him, Phantom allowed his head to turn, his cheek to fall on Danny's hand. He opened his eyes to meet Danny's. His master's eyes were so close Phantom could see the web of lighter blue fibers weaved around the iris, so fascinating, so beautiful. Phantom had never thought a human could have this pull on him, that he would find any form of theirs attractive, and yet here he was. A fool.

"I'm not one for castles," Phantom said, dodging the greater truth and landing on a lesser. "Too many bad memories, you know? Humans who seek power and status always wind up in one eventually. And then I am trapped behind these walls, forced to watch their greed twist a once great land to suit their purpose."

Danny frowned. He connected what Phantom was saying to the returned use of 'master' and landed at the wrong conclusion. "You think that will happen to me? Phantom, I promise, I'm only here because I want Samantha."

Phantom's eyes twitched. His mouth thinned slightly. "She is all you want? Then why not wish her free from her palace instead of you within it? From what you told me, that's exactly what she would've wished for herself, or do you think she ran away from the palace simply because she wanted to stretch her legs?"

His words seemed to strike Danny harder than he intended. He recoiled, his hand sliding from beneath Phantom's cheek. Phantom bit his lip. "I don't--I mean, I didn't--maybe I could have--her family--"

Phantom caught Danny's wrist before he could pull away too far. "Don't make excuses for yourself," he said in a softer tone. "There is no need." He turned Danny's wrist over and brushed his thumb along the bulging veins, the jutting wrist bone. "You were seeking to provide for yourself--and her--in the only way you knew. Starvation and danger is the world you are trying to escape. Isolation and responsibility was hers. I understand."

Danny watched him. He didn't say anything when Phantom's touch became less pointed and more like a caress. Perhaps he didn't notice. "Are you upset with me?" he finally asked, confused.

Phantom sighed and released his wrist. "A little," he admitted. "More at myself. I can't keep my emotions in check." He stretched, arching his spine in a way that, had Danny been receptive, might have been suggestive. "Go along, though. I will sort myself out."

Danny didn't leave. After a few minutes, Phantom looked at his master and saw him staring thoughtfully at the balcony. Moonlight was shining through the sheer curtains, a light breeze stirring the fabric into an inviting dance.

"Would it help you to get away for a bit?" Danny asked.

Phantom eyed the balcony hungrily. "It would," he replied, somewhat reluctantly, "but it wouldn't do much good. I am bound to the lamp. I can only go where it goes. I would be trapped and forced to return before I cleared the palace grounds."

"What if I go with you?"

"With me?"

"Out there." Danny turned his head to look at Phantom again, something alive and wild in his eyes. "To see the world. Let's get out of here. Just for tonight."

Phantom sat up. If he had a true human heart, it would be pounding. "Are you serious?"

"You said you wanted to, right? Once you're free? I know it's not the same, but..."

Phantom had said that. It was his dearest wish. The freedom to go wherever he pleased, to see sights he had only heard about. That dream did not involve being chained to his master and the lamp at the time, and yet...

"What would be the point of seeing the world if you weren't there beside me?" Phantom said slowly, realization dawning in his mind. Danny's eyes softened as he smiled, and Phantom felt elated, weightless, and heavy all at the same time.

This human is going to destroy me, he thought, staring into Danny's eyes. I can't have him. I can't. I'm just going to get myself hurt.

Phantom looked from Danny to the balcony, to Danny, and then to the carpet. The only other magical being in the room had perked up as well. They had known each other for millenia, it knew Phantom as well as he knew himself. It must have felt Phantom's ambient magic pulling uselessly at Danny's emotions, like a dog outside a house begging for scraps of love and affection, but would it help him? Wanting Danny was such a useless, ridiculous, pointless--

The carpet leapt into the air and flew in circles around Phantom and Danny, its tassels at one point brushing Phantom's white hair.

Danny laughed. "Looks like Carpet wants to go too!"

Phantom smiled. "It would seem so."

He watched Danny climb onto the carpet and settle into a cross-legged position and wondered. Wondered, wondered, wondered. The flight Carpet offered was a powerful tool to earthbound humans. With it, Danny could have easily swept Samantha into a romantic flight, free of all the restrictions that had once kept her tied to her palace. Yet Danny was offering the night to Phantom.

And, whether Danny intended it or not, the potential to sweep a human off their feet remained. If Phantom could show Danny the freedom they could have, together, away from a palace, away from responsibilities that came with marrying a princess, could he, an enslaved genie, win back the heart that had already been given to someone else?

Maybe, Phantom thought, hope rising within him. Maybe, maybe, maybe...

It was a foolish hope, but what did Phantom have to lose?

So instead of flying alongside Carpet as he had done out in the desert, Phantom sat on Carpet behind Danny, his knees bracketing Danny's, his arms encircling his waist.

Danny may have missed the other signs of Phantom's growing interest, but this one he caught. His stomach muscles tensed beneath Phantom's arms. "Uh, Phantom?"

"We'll have to fly faster if we're to see anything in only one night," Phantom explained, neglecting to mention he intended to stretch the night out as long as his powers were able. "Can't have you falling off. This thing doesn't come with seatbelts."

Slowly, the tense line of Danny's spine relaxed. He didn't lean back against Phantom. Not yet. "Seatbelts?" he asked.

"Not important." Carpet drifted toward the balcony, and with a swipe of his fingers, Phantom willed the curtains to part for them. "Where do you want to go?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"

Phantom shook his head. "I don't know what all your world has to offer. I don't even know where we are in relation to the ones I do know. It's a whole new world for me."

"Me too." They flew over the balcony rails, and Danny's arm pressed against Phantom's, his hand grabbing Phantom's forearm. A human instinct to the fear of falling, Phantom supposed. "I'm a street rat remember? I've never been outside the city. Well, aside from the trip to the cave."

Phantom smiled. He wanted to rest his chin on Danny's shoulder. He wanted to hold him against his chest. But no. No, not yet. Not yet. "Pick a direction," he suggested.

Danny thought about it a moment as Carpet flew lazily upward, higher and higher above the city. Phantom took the opportunity to stare at Danny's face. It was highlighted by the moon, and some of his black hair had fallen near his eye. Phantom could brush it aside. Maybe. His eyes dropped to Danny's lips and lingered there, heat rising within him as he watched Danny thoughtfully bite down on the plush skin.

Danny pointed toward the distant mountains with his free hand. "There. I always wondered what was beyond those. They're like a wall."

Phantom followed Danny's hand and nodded. They were, weren't they? "Sounds good. Let's go!"

Carpet took his word as a command and shot forward, its speed strengthened by Phantom's magic. Danny had never flown so fast, and he yelped as he was thrown back against Phantom's chest. His other arm wrapped around Phantom's arms, holding on tight to the genie. He yelled out in delight and urged the carpet to fly higher, into the scattered clouds, closer to the moon.

Phantom rested his chin on Danny's shoulder, held his master a little closer, a little tighter, and smiled. Tonight would be everything Phantom could wish for, and Danny was the one giving it to him.

[twilightknight17]

Today on P5S, we’re taking a nice relaxing dip in the hot sprin--

Fukuoka, Kyushu! The plan was to keep going straight through to Kyoto, but Makoto was hurting from all the driving, so we pulled over with the intention of spending the night in a proper hotel and having a good meal. Which, of course, means ramen, because we gotta try the local ramen in each place. ^_^

Even Morgana wanted to try, though he requested that Akira blow on it, first, because “feline tongues are sensitive.”

The plan was to stay in Fukuoka until Makoto was feeling better, but Zenkichi called and basically said we had to get to Kyoto right away. So after a night of sleep, we got up the next morning, and we finally learned why Haru hasn’t been driving, despite having her license.

My wife has a lead foot.

Apparently no one but Joker and Queen ever drove the Mona Bus, because everyone but Makoto seemed extremely surprised.

Supposedly it was eight hours to Kyoto. We were there by noon.

Anyway, this old bar is apparently Zenkichi’s safe house, if anything ever goes wrong on an investigation.

He’s tracked the list of names that we found in the lab back to a politician called Jyun Owada, who was apparently a Shido supporter. This guy would benefit from changes of heart, and one of his supporters is the CEO of Madicce, Mr. Akira Konoe. They determine that Owada wouldn’t have a Jail himself, but that he’s probably getting Konoe to influence people for him. Which means that, since Sophia sensed a Jail in Osaka (that we missed because we were all screaming at Haru’s driving), it’s most likely that Konoe is a Monarch.

So my dart hit the board, I just gotta see how close to the bullseye.

Zenkichi heads to Osaka for a meeting with Konoe to try to get his keyword, and convinces the kids to stay behind. They need to rest and recover so they can be at their best for the Jail. Plus, he’s put them up in the nicest hotel in Kyoto! Which means it’s time to go to the hot springs!

The boys are having a lovely time relaxing. Even Morgana’s chilling on a rock with his tail in the water, basking in the chance to really unwind.

.......Atlus. We need to have words.

Not only was this absolutely unnecessary...

It’s the exact same scenario as P3. We’re even in the same goddamn city. If I thought Gekkoukan would be willing to spend 40K per person a night, it might as well be the same hotel.

Apparently, the boys went in right before the time switched over, and didn’t realize. And now, once again, they’re up for an unjust execution. At least Yosuke and Teddie were actually peeping in P4.

Personally, I think a better plan would have been to start yelling, “Who’s there?” as soon as the girls came in. Sneaking just makes it look like you’re up to something nefarious. It was an honest mistake. And really, trying to get out without causing a scene isn’t a heinous crime.

We don’t see who knocked over the thing that got them caught, but they do get caught. There’s no gameplay here. Defeat is inevitable. And...

The girls jump immediately to accusing them of being perverts. Never mind that they’re wet because they just got out of the damn hot spring. And the boys try to explain. They try their best. They explain that they didn’t realize the time had switched. They explain that they’d gotten locked in without noticing, because the men’s side doors lock when it switches over. “It was an accident,” Akira says, plaintively.

And Makoto looks at these boys that she’s fought alongside for over a year. The ones who risked their lives to save her and everyone more than once. The teammates that she stood beside as they shot a god and saved the entire damn world. The ones who, on this very roadtrip, stepped in to defend Haru from Natsume being a harassing jackass... And she says...

She sounds actually angry.

And she beats them up.

For an honest mistake.

I know this is a trope, but in this particular instance, it’s stupid, and it feels incredibly out of character. None of the boys deserve this, but Akira least of all. He’s your goddamn leader; he’s done more for any of you than anyone else. He’s been falsely accused of shit over and over, and now he has to deal with it from his own teammates?

For shame, Atlus. Shitty writing, especially because this event is never going to be brought up again. Was this supposed to be funny? Because in this situation, it wasn’t at all.

...now that I’m done being cranky, let’s go check how Zenkichi’s meeting in Osaka is going.

Hm. Nowhere, apparently, because Konoe’s gone for the day. Weird. Zenkichi had an appointment and everything.

Now let’s check on... well fuck.

Commissioner Kaburagi, Zenkichi’s boss, is summoned by the commissioner general and the previously mentioned Owada. This asshole is claiming to have evidence that the Phantom Thieves are behind all the changes of heart. They hacked into EMMA!

You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, when you’re the one behind this.

.......maybe this lady is better than I thought.

She says that there’s not enough proof, and that they need to look into things more. The commissioner general counters that the Thieves are going to be tried for murder. Because apparently they killed that poor man at the Okinawa facility after they learned how to get into EMMA.

Kaburagi knows this is bullshit and wants to investigate more, but they basically tell her to do it or else. And promise that she’ll be commissioner general one day. After the current commissioner general launches his political career with the capture of the Phantom Thieves, of course. And she’s just going to follow orders. Never mind. God. I didn’t misjudge her at all.

Konoe goes on TV and announces that they’re shutting down EMMA temporarily, because the Phantom Thieves hacked it and stole personal information. He also informs everyone that they murdered one of his employees. Zenkichi and I had the same reaction, which was “WHAT?!”

Look at this asshole.

Zenkichi realizes what’s going to happen and takes off for Kyoto. Cut to that night, where there’s an entire fucking squad of police outside of the hotel in riot gear. For seven teenagers. Zenkichi shows up and basically pleads with Kaburagi to stop and think, because the real mastermind is still out there.

Kaburagi snaps back with, “You mean like with your wife?” and Zenkichi shuts up. Low blow, lady. She also points out that he seems very attached to criminals.

Before Kaburagi can have the police storm the place, Zenkichi yells for the kids to run, and gets arrested for it. The kids make it to the safe house, but when they find out about the arrest, they want to go after him. They end up agreeing to let Makoto handle that, and then we get a look at King Asshole himself.

I hate how nice this man’s office is.

And I’m kind of afraid of EMMA.

Good luck with that, though. You’d have to break them first; you can’t change the heart of someone stable enough to have a persona. Not that this fuck would know that.

God, he’s like if Shido and Maruki had a fucked-up kid. He wants his own personal team capable of entering the metaverse and changing people, to make the world “better”. Holy fuck.

Somehow I don’t think you’re the one in the right, when you’re talking about making us a “sacrifice to bring about [your] new world order.”

So the next day, the Thieves get a text from Akane’s phone number, that basically says she’s been kidnapped. It’s clearly a trap, but they all agree that they have to go. According to the text, if they want her back, they need to come to Inari Taisha.

Also known as Fushimi Inari, the largest Inari Shrine in Japan. I’ve been there.

I have literally been right there. I have a picture:

And so the kids head into a Jail based on Fushimi Inari where the keyword is “Phantom Thieves”, and I try not to explode from sheer glee because oh boy I thought I’d have to wait a lot longer for this and also I didn’t expect it to be somewhere I know.

Eeeeeeeee~

They find Akane tied up and all go running towards her. Futaba trips, and before she can catch up, a huge cage snatches up the rest of them, because surprise, the Jail Monarch is Akane, and she’s absolutely ready to lord it over them.

Meanwhile, Zenkichi is getting beaten up in interrogation and taking it like a champ.

But it’s okay, because Makoto called in a favor. <3

Futaba managed to get back to the safe house, and Zenkichi met up with her there after Sae got him released.

So you know that bit in P5 where the phan-site poll hits 100% belief and we summoned a demon the size of a skyscraper? That’s Zenkichi right now, except he’s hitting Maximum Dad Energy and I’m pretty sure he’s going to summon his persona.

There’s a cool stealth sequence where you have to sneak by a bunch of shadows, because Zenkichi doesn’t have a persona. Futaba runs navigation for him, but it’s so funny because he... sneaks like a regular person. He doesn’t leap into cover with superhuman speeds.

It might have been cool to play Zenkichi With A Gun, but stealth mode was fun, too. XD

And then the confrontation with Akane. She gives the Thieves a choice of who wants their heart changed first, but before anyone can stupidly volunteer, Zenkichi shows up, and a few more things get revealed. Most importantly, the fact that Owada is the one who killed Zenkichi’s wife, and Zenkichi got death threats directed at Akane if he didn’t stop investigating. No fucking wonder he couldn’t solve the case. But Akane is too disillusioned to listen, because she doesn’t understand. And Zenkichi is forced to confront that at some point, he compromised his morals, telling himself he was doing it for Akane.

This line wasn’t sung, but I kind of wish it was, considering who his persona is. :P

Zenkichi admits that he might have been wrong. But he was doing it to protect the only family he had left.

“But at least I know what makes a person evil. Evil only cares about itself. It’s the mark of a man who would bring another to ruin and dare not show remorse.”

And his awakening was badass.

Shitty picture, but his literal shadow had glowing eyes while it was forming the contract. It was so cool. :D

Wolf is awesome. After beating up a whole hoard of shadows by himself, Akane got away, the Thieves were freed, and we all went back to the safe house to rest. And I swear, you take a nap for one hour, and cannot get any peace. XDDD

Thank you, darling. Now I gotta figure out what deck that’s from.

So that was today. Technically I only played for like...2 and a half hours?? But god, we hit the hot springs and everything just flung itself directly off a cliff and all I could do was hold on.

I have so many thoughts about things!!! But I need to see more first. But this has been fantastic overall.

[yourfaveisyanderematic]

Kars anon here! I love all these mysterious fate words, but I MUST go with Propitiate !

Oh, for God’s sake.

I’m sorry this took so long!  This also turned into an absolute monster of a fic, haha wow.  No worries if you guys haven’t read the first part of it.  If this readmore doesn’t work, on God I’m going to march into the offices of tumblr staff and tear down their servers board by board.

i.  it is perilous to live past the end of your myth.

In the land you were born, there is a flower that grows only in places that blood has been spilled.  It’s noted for its alacrity in covering battlefields; in wars long past, the day after battles was specifically set aside so the combatants could bury their dead before the flowers did.  They featured prominently in stories, these flowers, as symbols of mercy in the face of horror.  Of the world’s willingness to move on and heal.

You mentioned this to your Hamon master in passing, on a moonless night as the two of you picked over the mass grave of a vampire’s recent gluttony.  Their face was half-shadowed in the torchlight as they considered your words, but the look you caught was unmistakably perplexed, and then quietly sober.

“Flowers are flowers, child,” they had murmured, staring into the glazed-over eyes of the corpse at their feet, “nothing they do is borne of nobility or wickedness, only need.  Don’t make the mistake of seeing grace or malice in what is merely survival.”

It was a strange thing to say, looking back.  To be honest, after the rush of what happened next—the hunt for the vampire, and the desperate fight that ensued—you’d forgotten your master’s remark entirely.  So why has this memory resurfaced so unexpectedly and with such clarity in your dying moments?

Perhaps you’re wondering whether the flowers will take you when you’re gone.  

“…eep pressure on th…”

…You’re not familiar with this memory.  The speaker isn’t anyone you know, and their words are obscured by the pain tearing its way through your mind, pulsing from your throat.  Whatever it is they’re saying, you can’t say you’re too interested in listening; comfortable nothingness beckons, where there will be no fear or shame or failure, and you find yourself sinking into it with something approaching eagerness.

“…in the lungs…ain the fluid—“

Something spears your body, neatly sliding between your ribs, and like a harpoon drags you back from the brink of oblivion.  Cough after agonized cough is forced out of your raw throat, racking your body.  There’s no relief in your lungs as the breath you take tears at your insides, but someone presses on your chest, forcing you to do it anyway.  You thrash—you can’t help it—though it’s impossible to tell whether your eyes are open or closed, and your upraised arms are easily pinned down; you barely had the strength to raise them, let alone actually fight off your unseen attackers.  They’re saying something again, in words muffled by the encroaching darkness, but all you can think about is there’s pressure on your throat again, and you can’t breathe, and the only thing that can possibly mean is that you didn’t get the collar off after all.

It’s this thought—not the pain, not the lack of breath—that loosens your grip on reality entirely.  When oblivion takes you, you welcome it.

ii.  do you not live?  badly, but you live.

The transition from sleep to wakefulness is instant.  You startle—not from your nightmares of a flood of blood or a mountain of bodies, but from the phantom touch of a cold kiss pressed against your cheek—and find yourself face to face with a wide-eyed young man, frozen in the act of setting a glass of water on the nightstand beside you.

“Um,” he says.  Belatedly, you realize you’ve grabbed him by the front of his shirt and gracelessly release your grip, too surprised to be face-to-face with someone living.  Breathing.  

He takes a quick step back.  Silence reigns as the two of you stare at each other.  His posture shifts from defensive to awkward hesitation, but you barely notice; you’re too busy watching the rise and fall of his chest, suspicious that this is some strange illusion, or perhaps that you were awake before and this is the dream now.  At last, he speaks.

“This was for when you woke up,” the words are hesitant, “but uh.  You can have it now.  If you want, I mean.”

He’s holding out the glass.  Some of the water spilled over when you pulled him forward, but there’s still plenty to drink.  The surface of the water almost sparkles in the late morning sunlight coming through white cotton curtains…curtains.  Stupidly, you finally take your eyes off the man to look around you.  

You’re in a bed, an actual bed, a sensation so alien to you now that you can barely register the softness of the sheets.  For whatever reason you’ve been propped up with pillows, so you’ve been sleeping almost sitting upright.  There’s a window to your side that admits bright sunlight, but the curtains are mostly drawn and you can’t see outside, only that it’s daytime.  The air is warm and still, and smells of the living.  

The glass is still within reach, when you turn your head to look at the man again.  He didn’t take it away.  In fact, he hadn’t moved at all, like you’d turn on him if he moved wrong.  

When you take it from him, and see your reflection in the surface of the water, you instantly understand why.  Someone had taken the time to brush your hair and wash your skin while you were asleep, but they couldn’t do anything about the rigid alertness that tensed your body, the bluish tinge to your lips, the look in your eyes that would have been more at home on a feral animal.  You were still that desperate survivor from Kars’ pit, you were merely cleaner, with thick gauze around your throat instead of the collar.

You want to apologize.  You don’t know what for, or even to who, but the words won’t come.  Your reflection trembles; you force your eyes to look at something else and bring the glass to your lips.  The drink feels like a balm, cooling you from the inside, arresting the fearful beating of your heart into something more tranquil.  

“Thank you,” you say once you’ve finished.  You don’t wince at hearing how horrible your voice sounds, but that’s only because you’re too tired.  There’s a strange heaviness in your chest that isn’t melancholy, and as you recline back into the pillows, trying to lie more flat, it only worsens, threatening to smother the breath from your lungs.  The young man watches you attempt to force yourself upright for a moment, and then moves to help, readjusting the pillows at your back.

“We had a doctor look at you when you came in.  You were in a really bad way, um…we weren’t sure whether you were going to die or not.  It looks like you won’t, but you can’t strain yourself or lie down, and you need to call for us if your heart feels strange.  The doctor said it was pl—pul—“ he makes a face as he tries to recount whatever medical term he overheard, but you aren’t listening; something far more important has your attention in a stranglehold.  

Your breathing is right.  It’s slow and deep and even, the movement radiating throughout your body in the way you were taught.  

Your breathing is right.  But the Ripple isn’t there.

iii. love did not make you gentle or kind.

“You sure you should be doing this?”

The gauze is heavy with the sunlight beating down on you and too tight around your throat, but it’ll be another day or so before it can be replaced, so you resist the urge to tug at it and try to forget it’s there.  

Mateo—the man who was with you when you woke up—is older than you, though not by much.  Taller than you, though not by much.  His skin is tanned and his hands are calloused, but his ignorance of the darkness you spent your life fighting gives him an almost childish vulnerability in your eyes.  For him and the rest of this village, vampires and the undead are nothing more than ephemeral myth; the recent disappearances of distant villages nothing more than particularly aggressive raiders, or a disease.  They see the storm on the horizon and think it distant, that it will not swallow them up in the course of a single night.

You know better.  

A lot of good that does you.

“It’s just breathing, Mateo,” you say after a long pause.  Conversation comes slowly to you, he’s noticed, probably assuming it’s out of reticence.  You’ve become so unused to conversation that you’re having to force yourself to pay attention to what people tell you, instead of tuning it out by default.

…speaking of, he’s been saying something else while you were thinking about this.  You have the decency to look apologetic.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Mateo gives you a hesitant smile.  “I said I’d still be more comfortable with you doing this ‘breathing’ thing in the shade.  You don’t look too good.”

 You believe him.  You’ve been avoiding your reflection whenever you could in the day or so you’ve been awake, but there’s a constant low ringing in your ears and your skin is clammy to the touch, and a horrible pervasive weakness in your lungs.  If you hadn’t been soaking up the afternoon sunlight all this time, you’d have to give serious thought to the idea that you were somehow undead.

Unbidden, your hand goes to your bandaged throat once more.  Mateo graciously pretends he wasn’t watching you, and instead gestures to the nearby trees.  

“Let’s see what you’ve got, then.”

A lifetime ago, you would have snapped back, would have impressed upon him the significance of your martial art and the power your techniques belied.  In this moment, however, you simply step under the flowering boughs, sheltering in their shade like he asked.  There’s no longer any urge to grandstand or prove yourself; simply the will to do.    

And so you do.  You forget the curious eyes on you and force yourself to relax, stretching as much as your ruined body will allow, letting the tension flow out of your body.  Your heartbeat is erratic from the embarrassingly short trek to this grove, but as the seconds pass it begins to settle, becoming the meter by which you measure breaths.  One, two, three…the motions of your arms are practiced, familiar, but most importantly gentle, as you begin the most basic Hamon exercise you can remember.

You don’t simply wait for your life energy to manifest, you call on it, and when it doesn’t come you focus your thoughts on the process more and more, drawing deep into the well of your soul…and when you don’t find it, you pull deeper still.  You take another deep breath, ignoring the protest from your weekend lungs, and keep trying, keep pushing, like your life depends on it…

…because it does.  The mechanism of the collar is complicated, even more-so when you can’t examine it through anything but touch, but with enough daylight hours to yourself you think you’ve come to understand it.  The abomination keeping you here is frustratingly inventive.  In fact, if it wasn’t playing its sadistic game of cat and mouse, you wouldn’t have survived the first night wearing it. Would have been overwhelmed entirely by the hordes it insisted on throwing at you.  Fortunately—or unfortunately—it entertains bizarre delusions that it can bring you to heel.  Force you to serve it.

And it is in that folly that you have your chance.  It’s a desperate gamble, suicidal; the more you draw upon your Hamon techniques, the more the collar’s stranglehold tightens in response.  The trick, then, is to not attempt to build strength gradually, but to force the mechanism in one explosive burst, and pray that you can tear the thing apart in the second you have before your neck is crushed completely.  It’s your only chance.  It’s all you can do.

You wait for mid-day, when the sun is at its apex, burning away the disgusting slough of undead flesh pooled around your ankles.  You wait for the time nothing borne of the night could hope to stop you, and then in one sudden motion you breathe, flooding your muscles with the burn of power, straining your lungs even as the vice-grip of the collar makes stars swallow your vision, even as something inside you snaps—

Your breathing stutters out into a guttural, horrible cough, one that tears at the inside of your throat and forces you to your hands and knees.  Driven by frantic instinct, you claw at the cracked earth, trying to propel yourself back to your feet—I’m not done I’m not done I’m not done—but something else inside you gives out, and you collapse even farther, almost kissing the ground with each heaving breath.  

Mateo is alarmed, by the shouting you can vaguely hear as he rushes to your side, but all you can think about is the frothy sputum dripping from your lips, the iron bite of blood filling your mouth.  You hadn’t merely brushed over a healing wound in your attempt to reaffirm your grasp on Hamon, you’d reopened it, and instead of the strength you expected you found only…this.  

Someone’s talking to you.  You force yourself not to tune it out.  “Easy.  Easy.  Oh my god—you said you were just breathing—can you stand?  I’m going to help you up, we need to get you back to the—”    

You can’t get up.  There’s no strength in your legs.  You lower your head, trying to force yourself to move, but it isn’t breathlessness that’s holding you in place.  You can’t stand because you aren’t here; your body is half somewhere-else, in a place where there is no sun or life or hope, as a powerful arm wraps around your waist and pulls you away.  Mateo is saying something as he half-carries you away, but it’s a low voice you hear instead, sweet in its cruelty.  This can’t be the limits of your strength, can it?  Surely not.  He’d told you to give everything, and this couldn’t be it.  If you’d persist in this obdurate disobedience, though, there was a solution...

“Almost there,” you can hear Mateo puff as the floor of a threshold drags beneath your feet, “just need to hang on a little longer—“

“Almost there!” Kars laughed, a peal of delight as you vainly forced another zombie’s jaws off your arm, only for another to take its place.  The bodies that swarmed you threaten to bury you completely.  As you found yourself overwhelmed, the weight of the horde pinned your arms to your sides, forcing you onto your back, pressing on your chest and halting the breath that could save you.  “Struggle more.  Hate more,” the words wormed their way into your ears just as his finger traced the contours of your cheek, as the fumbling hands of the dead prised their way into your raw flesh.  “Obey!  Only then can you—“

“—rest.  I’m going to get you some water.”  A gentle hand pats your shoulder, and then is gone.  A door closes somewhere, leaving you alone in your room once more.  You find yourself staring at nothing, tracing the paths of dust motes illuminated by the beams of sunlight in front of you.  You hadn’t moved a muscle, not once, in all the intervening moments that had passed; not even those where you were somewhere else, still fighting for your life.  You hadn’t even tried.  

Should you be proud?  Or ashamed?

iv. you do not exist.  there is nothing left.

…someone’s talking to you.  Their voice had been drowned out by the soft light of the candles and your own thoughts.  You look up from what you’re doing, and have the decency to look apologetic.  

“Sorry.  Could you say that again?”

Mateo laughs, repeating himself without hesitation.  “I said you’re looking well.  Like, glowing well.  Hard to believe it’s only been three days.  If it weren’t for the—I mean, I could believe you were totally fine.”

“Hm,” you reply.  Small but significant progress from the lingering silence you used to offer instead.  

It’s true that you can now walk unaided and sleep fully lying down, but you’re far from the full strength you expected to enjoy by now, physically; a half-joking race with the village children yesterday left you all but bedridden.  The stitches holding the skin of your throat shut will need another few weeks before they can come out, you’re told, and they can’t promise that the scar will ever heal; that you won’t be carrying around your collar in some form, for the rest of your life.

As for your Hamon ability…you glance down at your hands again, cradling an inverted glass between your splayed fingertips.  The water within trembles, but stays in place, unable to cross the barrier of energy pulsing outward from your palm.  The sun set an hour ago, but the room is bathed in gentle light, pulsing in time with your measured breaths.  

You didn’t lose your gift…in fact, you’ve noticed the opposite of what’s happened to your physical body.  The near-death experience has torn apart instinctive limitations on your body, at the cost of control; your difficulty with the current exercise isn’t merely to keep the water in the glass, it’s to keep the glass intact at all.  To keep that gentle light from becoming blinding, from setting things aflame in its intensity.

“So that’s from that breathing thing you were so desperate to do, huh?” Mateo’s voice is full of a wonderment bordering on reverence, blissfully ignorant of the burden you manage.  “Hard to believe…it’s more like magic.  Something you hear about in stories.”

Not stories, Mateo, you think instead of say, bitterness poisoning the words, Tragedies.  

Mateo continues speaking—of the tales passed around his village, fables of heroes long past and encounters with beasts blown wildly out of proportion—and as he does so, you realize exactly why he will always be better off than you.  For him, monsters will stay stories, and his days will be full of bright nothingness.  The shadow of death, hanging unseen over all that he knows, will remain so; you will leave this village, taking it with you, vanishing back into the jungle, departing for that other world where you are only one of many fighting and dying to stem the vampiric tide.  You’ll fade from his memory—from all of their memories—as quickly as you came, a stranger with strange powers, bound for parts unknown.  With luck, nobody here will meet anyone like you ever again.  

That’s your plan, anyway.  For whatever bizarre reason, you’ve noticed that the people of this village, while helpful in preparing for your departure, aren’t in any actual hurry for you to leave.  The house you share with Mateo and his family is only because there isn’t space for you to have one of your own, and the guest room is yours indefinitely.  The villagers insist on learning your name, and in spite of yourself you find that you’re learning theirs.  

They have to know you’re dangerous, but they don’t act like it.  You could have convalesced by staying shut up in your room and taking your meals there, but they’ve insisted on having you at the table, eating with their families because they knew you had none.  The floral embroidery in your cotton clothes grows more elaborate with each day.  You learn to tell who’s approaching you by the sound of their footsteps.  If you hadn’t been keeping track, you would have believed that three years had passed you by, as opposed to only three days.

It’s…nice.  It’s really nice.  The gnarled, feral rage in your heart doesn’t cut so deeply when you see their smiles.  You tried not to let yourself get attached, but it’s easier to think of fighting now that you’re reminded that you aren’t alone in the world.

An unnamable emotion squeezes your heart.  The water trembles behind its barrier, violently.  You right the cup before it spills all over you, setting it back on your nightstand with a soft clink.  

“Hurry up and come to dinner,” Mateo extends a hand to help you up, and without hesitation you take it, getting to your feet.  “Rosa’s been telling everyone about that light trick you did with the garden, so don’t be surprised if they pester you to show it off again…”

You laugh at the thought.  When was the last time you did something like that?

The two of you walk in companionable silence out the door and into the warm evening air, toward the communal area of the village.  Hunting’s been unseasonably good, you’ve been told, so you can expect plenty of meat, and as you approach the communal dishes you think you can see the vegetables you helped grow.  There are flowers everywhere, scattered along the tables and hanging decorations.  Is something being celebrated tonight?

One of the village elders, making a plate nearby, laughs off your question, too preoccupied with what he’s doing to actually meet your eyes.  “In a way,” he says, but leaves it at that.  Mateo abandons your side to save you a seat with his family, leaving you to mill aimlessly within the little crowd.  Everyone is too busy finding their place or getting food to so much as look at you, leaving you free to wander aimlessly.  Perhaps it’s your proximity to the tree line, but you can’t shake the feeling of being exposed, so you pull back into the crowd and try to immerse yourself in the conversations around you.  

Apparently something of religious significance happened recently, because it’s all anyone seems to be talking about; whatever happened is an auspice of protection and good fortune.  It’s a welcome comfort to these people, in the light of dark whispers circulating about yet more villages disappearing and devastating illnesses destroying crops and herds.  The thought makes your gut twist in apprehension, souring the celebratory mood for you.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts, in fact, that details of what happened and when escape you; local superstition isn’t of real import compared to the actual danger out there, after all.  When you’re called over to sit with Mateo and his family, you go willingly.  When you see that no plate has been set aside for you, you shrug and figure that they assumed you’d fend for yourself; you’ll get one later.

When the village elder raises his glass and gets to his feet to make an announcement, you don’t think anything of it either.  There’s someone new sitting in the chair next to him, probably the guest of honor he plans to introduce, but you don’t really see this as something to be worried about.

That is, of course, until you actually register who it is.

You wish you did something dramatic.  You wish you let a glass fall out of your hand with an inelegant shatter, gave a bloodcurdling scream, jumped to your feet to attack, anything—anything at all—that could articulate to everyone around you how much danger they was in.

This is what you do instead: nothing.  You’re paralyzed, a helpless spectator to whatever tragedy is about to unfold, as the village elder continues his speech and Kars politely indicates his attention with the elegant incline of his head.

(All for the best, really.  What could you expect to do, in this state?  Get everyone here killed?  Some gratitude that would be.)

Something has your chest in a vice-grip, smothering the breath from your lungs and making your heartbeat ring in your ears, as the seconds pass in their inexorable march.

Kars—unmistakable, even from this distance, even with the linen wrap around his head—doesn’t seem nearly as concerned about the situation as you are.  In fact, he’s putting on an excellent show of pretending you aren’t even there.  His posture is completely relaxed, and while the clothes on his back are common enough for these parts, his physique is possessed of an unearthly beauty that makes him unmistakably inhuman.  

Inhuman…or godlike.  No wonder everyone around you is staring at him with reverence, though here and there you can see it’s tempered by fear, by that animal instinct you imagine prey have when faced with the beast about to devour them.  All remain in their seats, still and silent, as if moving would draw his attention.  Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mateo take his mother’s hands in his own and hold them tightly, and swallow that secret wish that he’d do the same for you.

(A darker, more morbid part of you makes a wish of its own: that Kars grow weary of his own, implacable cruelty, and discard the civilized charade that prevents you from simply attacking him.  Every second you have to sit here doing nothing is torture.)

As if hearing your thoughts, Kars finally looks at you—really looks at you, with that horrible hungry stare you’ve come to know so well—and smiles.  Apparently ready to end his game at last, he gets to his feet, and the village elder gives him the floor with a reverent bow.  Your hands grip the table in anticipation, almost unconsciously.

“Mortal stewards of this valley.  Friends,” he begins, speaking every word as if tasting it first.  There’s an undefinable quality to his voice that makes him sound as if he were both making a grand announcement and confiding in each individual personally.  “Let me first praise your peerless skill and unparalleled kindness.  Without them, my most precious consort would have almost certainly not survived their wounds.  I would have become inconsolable in my grief; instead, I find myself overcome with joy at our reunion.”

His eyes are on you.  Everyone’s eyes are on you, and it’s only this fact that gives you the presence of mind not to laugh with pure, unrestrained disbelief.  What madness is this?  The way he says it, he’s here to collect a favored pet.  That’s impossible, of course.  He’s here to finish what he started—to kill you and quite possibly everyone here, to take your powerlessness against him and really rub it in your face one final time.

“Now that they are well enough to return to my side, of course, you can all be left to live in peace,” Kars purrs.  He doesn’t need to look you in the eye to see that you’ve caught the underlying threat in his words.

(You should move.  You can’t.)

The whole world seems to let out the breath it was holding, but as you look around you realize that it’s not quite true.  What you felt was everyone trying subtly but desperately to look elsewhere, as if to hide that they don’t believe a word that came out of his mouth but are powerless to challenge him on it, to do anything but hand you over.  There’s a different weight to their silence, not a hope but a silent plea that you’ll play along, that he’ll be satisfied with taking you and leave the rest of them alone.

(You should move.  You can’t.)

You are not a coward.  Cowards would not survive the harsh path of Hamon, or the endless fight against the vampires.  Cowards would not survive Kars’ attention.  Cowards would thoughtlessly throw others in the path of the vampire in their bid to live another day, and you don’t do that—in fact, you barely resist as one hand and then another nudges at your back, pushing you to your feet, silently guiding you to take one step and then the other.  You are not a coward.  

(You are not a coward.  Why, then, in the depths of your heart, are you begging for anyone—anyone at all—to be standing in front of you, rather than behind?)

The people before you make way, giving every appearance of obeisance, but you can see in their downcast eyes that they are merely relieved that you’re choosing to play along.

(What chance do you hope for any of them to stand against Kars?  Why, then, are you finding it hard not to hate them even as you stalk past?)

You take every step as slowly as you dare, even with the insistent push of the villagers behind you.  If Kars is at all bothered by the wait, it’s clearly outweighed by satisfaction; the slow curl of his lips into a victorious smile might as well be a jubilant shout.  

At long last, you stand directly in front of him, and now it’s just you—nobody else dares to draw near.  It’s just as well, really.

Kars gives your body a long, slow once over, eyes lingering on the thick gauze around your neck, the clenched fists at your sides, the look in your eyes.  He hasn’t even changed his posture, still elegantly reclined, barely tilting his head to look up at you as you cast a shadow over his seat.

“Some things about you really can’t be changed, I suppose,” he murmurs, a cold whisper only for your ears, “Should I be proud, or disappointed?”

The barb hurts, but it’s a detached kind of pain, drowned out by the enormity of what you have to do.  “I’m coming with you,” you reply, and your voice comes out as a whisper—not because you’re trying to keep your voice low, but because you don’t have the strength to speak any louder, “so do as you said.  We leave these people in peace.”

He sits up, slowly, languidly, like a leopard about to pounce.  His arms open.  “Is that all I can expect for our joyous reunion?  Come, hero.  Won’t you embrace me?”

Your spectators are silent and unmoving, a human wall that blocks off your escape.  For a foolish moment, you entertain the idea of fleeing, but you discard the impulse about as soon as it registers in your thoughts.  

Another step.  Another.  And now you’re sinking, sliding into his lap, allowing yourself to be enfolded by stone-cold arms and breathless breath, in an embrace you know you won’t escape a second time.

He smells like flowers.

[chroniccombustion]

Phantom Limbs - pt. 1

From “And a Week is All I Need (To Fall in Love With You)“, part of @souyoweek2020​

Genre: supernatural, ghosts and hauntings, bittersweet pre-romance, M/M Rated: T Characters: Hanamura Yosuke, Souji Seta (Yu Narukami), memories of Nanako Warnings: implied/referenced past suicide in pt. 2 Status: drabble collection, incomplete

<- previous chapter | next chapter -> 

(prompts for days 3 and 4 have been done in reverse order; day 3 prompt in next chapter)

Day 3 4: Rainy or Sound

To say that Yosuke Hanamura is surprised to learn his new apartment is haunted, is a bit of an understatement. To say he freaks the hell out at the sight of a transparent, monochromatic stranger standing in his living room and staring out the window, even more so.

To say that Yosuke Hanamura is surprised to learn his new apartment is haunted, is a bit of an understatement. To say he freaks the hell out at the sight of a transparent, monochromatic stranger standing in his living room and staring out the window, even more so.

The first time he spots the phantom is just under a month after he's moved in, still riding the high of having his very own place back in the city he's been missing since high school.

He is woken by the sound of the rain.

It takes him a few seconds to realize he's awake as he blinks up at the ceiling in the dark; it takes him a few seconds more to realize that what he's hearing is the rush of wind and the patter of water hitting his tiny bedroom window. He smiles. It's comforting, in a way – he'd eventually grown to enjoy living in Inaba, yes, and even made a few friends, so despite how he'd always be a city boy at heart, the gentle storm outside made him think of lazy summer afternoons spent hanging out with his little brother and their friends. Rain, at least in Inaba, had always been his favorite weather.

The glowing red numbers on his alarm clock read 3:22 am. Perfect, he thinks to himself. Three in the morning is when all the rest of the world is supposed to be asleep, when everything is calmer, with the lights no longer beautifully glaring but a pretty, ethereal contrast against the darkness of the night sky. It's his favorite time of night, even if he isn't awake very often to experience it.

Right now, it's his first time being awake at 3am in the new apartment – plus it's raining! - so Yosuke excitedly rolls himself out of bed and goes to peek out his itty-bitty window. There not much he can see, what with the window facing an alleyway, but there is a sliding glass door in the living room that leads out to the world's thinnest balcony. Perfect for sitting on the off-white carpet with a mug of tea and watching the storm roll by.

So off he goes, eager to spend the first rainy night gazing out the window until exhaustion knocks him back out. There's nothing he needs to be up early for tomorrow; he doesn't have any classes just yet, won't until the start of next month, and hasn't gone out to look for a job just yet since he won't know his schedule once college starts. He grins to himself as he steps out into the open square that makes up the part of his apartment that isn't his bedroom or the bathroom, and pads across the carpet over into the little galley kitchen. Leaning against the counter as the kettle heats up, he folds his arms across his chest and looks over at the sliding glass door to look at the rain while he waits.

But... something is... off. He stares out at the hypnotic night beyond the glass, brows furrowing, and tries to put his finger on exactly what it is that's bothering him about the room. It connects a long moment later: he can see out the door.

Normally this wouldn't an issue – he's standing in his kitchen at three in the morning to look out the glass door, to drink his tea and watch the raindrops and count the distant car horns. The thing is, he distinctly remembers closing the curtain before he went to bed so that nobody could see into his seemingly-empty apartment. He also does not remember opening it back up again.

And yet there it is, pulled wide to expose the drizzle and the misty cityscape outside.

Something else is bothering him though; the only lights currently on in the entire place are two little wall-socket nightlights, one in the bathroom and one in the wall directly behind him in the kitchen. There's not much light, but there's enough. And in the gloom of the living room, just barely visible against the backdrop of far-off city lights, is an outline.

It's faint, barely even noticeable, (in fact, Yosuke's pretty sure he wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been studying his sliding door so intently) and it looks more like dissolving traces of smoke or vapor than it does any kind of discernible object. Except... no, that's not quite right either. Yosuke squints at the shape, traces it with his eyes, and feels his stomach drop into nothing when he realizes that it's in the shape of a person. His breath catches in his throat and he instinctively croaks out a shaky, “hello?”

The thing doesn't move.

Yosuke releases his stalled breath and slumps back against the counter a little. The thing still isn't gone, and Yosuke is far from relaxed, but he thinks maybe he would have flipped out even more had it acknowledge him.

He's working up the nerve to inch closer and see if he can figure out if it's just a reflection or not when, out of nowhere, a huge crack of lightning shatters the darkness of the night and illuminates the sky like a flashbulb. For an instant, just barely the span of time it would take to blink, Yosuke sees it.

There is a man standing in his living room.

Yosuke jumps back in fright and bumps into the dish drainer by the sink, sending a wayward set of chopsticks clattering to the floor. He fumbles behind him for the switch he knows is somewhere along the wall, next to the plug that holds the nightlight, all the while keeping his eyes trained on the outline of the person still motionless by the door. Blindly he manages to locate the switch and flip it on, the lamp above the sink clicking on in a sharp burst of florescent yellow and rendering him blind for a few awful moments. When he finally blinks the spots from his vision and looks back to where the man had been, there's nothing there. The man – hazy outline and all – is gone.

Yosuke does indeed stay awake all night with his mug of tea, curled up on the couch instead of the floor after searching every inch of his tiny apartment for even a trace of his late-night visitor, and coming up entirely empty handed.

  ---

  It rains again the next night.

All throughout the day the sky had been teasing another storm, cloudy and gloomy-grey, and sometime just after 10pm is when it finally hits. There's no lightning at first, only the faintest echos of distant thunder, like a sigh on the wind. By this time, Yosuke has convinced himself he was simply dreaming the night before – he'd just woken up, the room was dark, it was 3am, nothing was amiss when he'd searched the apartment. Still, as he's coming out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth, on the way to bed, he stops. He lingers by the door to his bedroom for a few minutes and stares into the lightless living room at the siding glass door. The curtain is closed, he'd made sure of it, and hard as he looks, he finds not a trace of that pale, wispy outline. Another echo of thunder sounds from somewhere far away, and Yosuke, satisfied, turns his back on the curtain and heads inside for bed.

He is woken by his bladder screaming at him at 3:49. Groaning in both annoyance and the painful cramping of his lower regions, Yosuke rolls himself out of bed and off to the bathroom in a sleepy, stumbling haze. He's still out of it by the time he finishes and wanders blearily into the hall, so he almost makes it all the way back to bed before he notices the curtain.

It's open again.

Suddenly much more awake, Yosuke pivots back around on one foot until he's pointed himself directly at the sliding glass door. Sure enough, the curtain has been shoved all the way over on it's pole, the glow of the colored city lights now clearly visible beyond. And, just like before, standing in the barely-there glow of the nightlight and the cityscape, is the transparent outline of a man.

Yosuke feels like he's been punched right in the chest with how swiftly the air is pushed from his lungs. He stands there stupidly, hands flexing at his sides as nervous tension grips his limbs. If he wanted to, if he really wanted to, Yosuke knows he could probably chalk it up to another night of hallucinations from his groggy 3am mind; but he can't. This is twice now, and as much as Yosuke had managed to tell himself yesterday was simply a dream, he knows that he was awake enough to tell real from unreal – and maybe it could have been the case tonight, but adrenaline has snapped him fully awake and he's still. Seeing it!

Cautiously, before he's even fully cognizant of his own actions, Yosuke slowly begins to step closer to the ghostly figure, eyes never leaving its back. Just as it had the previous night, the shape doesn't move or react in any way, only stands there staring out the door at the rain; it's almost as if it has no idea that Yosuke is even there at all. Probably for the best, Yosuke thinks as he approaches. The last few steps are the hardest, because the closer he gets to the figure the more detailed it becomes. Even in the low light Yosuke can make out the shape of hair, the line of strong shoulders clad in what looks to be a blazer, the long fingers on the apparition's hands that hang limply at its sides. If it weren't see-through, it might have passed for a living, breathing person.

He stops a foot or so away from the figure, close enough that he can see his own reflection in the glass of the door – and the very vacant spot before him where the figure's reflection isn't. It's just Yosuke's own face staring back at him, even though Yosuke himself is staring at the back of someone else's head a scant twelve inches away. Maybe I really am hallucinating. He frowns.

...I won't know until I check.

With his heart beating in his throat, Yosuke slowly lifts his hand, fingers trembling, and reaches out towards the figure's shoulder. His reflection mimics his movements, and if the transparent stranger hasn't seen him get this close before now then he clearly isn't going to – if he even can at all. There isn't even so much as a twitch from the apparition as Yosuke hovers his hand directly above its shoulder, holding it there without touching the ghostly outline for a solid thirty seconds. Nothing happens. He lowers his hand, touches the tip of a finger to the the specter's blazer, feels the air turn cold and ever-so-lightly damp, like a patch of fog on a warm autumn evening. And still nothing happens.

There is a part of him that is slightly disappointed; after all the anxiety this thing has given him the past two nights, he was expecting something a bit more from this, something not quite so anticlimactic. He isn't even sure what he would have wanted to happen instead of this, but with a whole load of absolutely nothing, he really doesn't know what to do now. Yosuke exhales shakily through his nose and lets his hand drop from its hover, fingers sinking straight down through the figure's misty outline.

...and suddenly he is falling.

  A whirl of sound and color, the green of trees and the bright electric hum of street lights on a foggy evening, and a little girl in a pink dress and cute brown pigtails holding his hand and pulling him along through lazily falling raindrops; a child-sized umbrella and a giggle like home-home-home---

Why dID yOu MaKE me lEAve I WaNtEd tO StAY I WANT TO GO HOME

The apartment; cold and sterile-white and lonely and empty and so, so quiet, the only sound is the rain the rain the rain Nanako loves the rain but there's no one here and everything is so empty – I doN'T waNt To bE aLoNe aNYMore PleAse DOn't MakE me Be ALONE

  Y O U P R O M I S E D M E

  Yosuke reels back like he's been electrocuted, his entire arm tingling and cold as though he's dunked it in ice water. He lands on his back on the carpet, hard enough to knock the wind out of him for a second, leaving him gasping for air as the memories and thoughts and feelings that are very much not his go flashing through his head at breakneck speed. His lungs burn as he fights to get them back under control, and to either prop himself up on his elbows and reorient, or to roll over onto his knees and vomit as the vertigo takes over entirely. He manages to get his weight onto his wrists and pushes himself backwards along the carpet, scrambling away from the sliding glass door and the thing that started all of this.

He struggles to focus on his surroundings as he finally draws in a proper breath, gaze wild as the image of his apartment (his apartment, not the one from the vision that was his but not his, the same room but with none of his things, a different night with different rain and a different kind of sadness) eventually begins to settle. He blinks, and it's as he's opening his eyes again that they're caught by another pair – bright, stormy grey, wide and wild with fear and confusion.

A handsome, anguished face stares back at him, looking as if it's seeing him for the very first time. The transparent man, now facing him, is crouched on the ground by the door and watching Yosuke like he's scared of him. He raises his hands unsurely, and reaches them out palms down like he's about to try and plead with Yosuke, before he looks down at them in utter bewilderment. He pulls his hands back towards him and turns them over and over, inspecting them; with every passing second his face contorts further into a mess of agony.

He looks so hurt and so lost that, for a moment, Yosuke forgets to be afraid.

“...Who are you?”

The man looks back up at his whisper, phantom tears streaming down his face and mouth twisted into a desperate grimace. “What's happ---?”

And then he's gone.

In the blink of an eye, the man vanishes completely, leaving only the sound of the rain and his achingly sorrowful voice ringing faintly in the silence. The clock in the kitchen beeps 4:00 as Yosuke stares at the rivulets of water trickling down the outside of his sliding glass door.

[curious-minx]

Brian Wilson’s Ghost Theater: The Radiant Radish Story

Somewhere hidden on the isle of kokomo the ghostly casper version of beloved musical genius and heart and soul of The Beach Boys Brian Wilson is starring at a bowl of ice cream melting on top of his piano. The flavor, coconut rum sultana, the ghost of Brian Wilson perks up and smiles a little and looks away, he’s a shy spirit. 

Hey dudes you might be wondering why I’m a ghost when I’m not even dead yet? Well that’s the whole point of Brian Wilson’s Ghost Theater. We’re going to get to the bottom of these mysteries. I have been mainly using this digital forum as a way to write cool reviews about cartoons and good vibrations, but then, well you know, The Beach Boys have fallen into worse company than Ol Charlie. Don’t worry just because I’m a ghost doesn’t mean I pal around with Charlie Manson and the rest of the ghoul gang. You’ve got to cut those toxic people out of your lives. Come, let’s go to my garage. It’s easier to tell a story in there. 

The Ghost of Brian Wilson floats away from his piano stool wrapped in kelp. I am trying to get visual proof of the existence of the Ghost of Brian Wilson but my iPhone is sparking. There are rumors on the island that Kate Bush has relocated here and has built her house on an even more precarious cliff. I take one last glance at the splashing glades of dark and foreboding ocean slapping against the cliffside. I wonder how the Ghost of Brian Wilson’s piano stays in such pristine condition despite the wet conditions? 

The path to Brian Wilson’s Ghost’s Garage is covered in thick overgrown vines from papaya trees, I have to always make sure I am looking down or else I could get snapped up by the foliage. A furry hermit crab is ushering into a sandy cove with the air of the conspiratorial. There are two glowing theremins outside of Brian Wilson’s Ghost garage attracting moths larger than a grown adult man’s head flapping against the glow. I walk inside the garage and the door does not slam shut and lock me inside like I had feared but the sun seems stuck in a sunset. Brian Wilson’s Ghost pats upon a plush plum colored loveseat indicating a place for me to sit. There is an ash tray full of wrapped unsmoked purple joints and more ice cream. 

////

This Story Begins In the Summer of 1970

Leading up to the release of our album Surf’s Up, the one album I was taking a back seat on. I had left my physical body for the first time in 69 sometime after I started using coke. Van Dyke Parks and I were messing around in the medicine cabinet and doing the whole, “This isn’t my coke, this is your coke” routine and I felt my heart bum bum bumming at a vicious “Be My Baby”frequency. I needed a boost to keep up with the fruits and vege-tables at Radiant Radish. I was trying to get this specific chime sound right for my cash register, and I really meant my cash register. It was important for the rest of the store’s six cash registers to still sound like cash a regular cash register. 

(At this point in the story Brian Wilson’s Ghost vanishes and reappears with large cylindrical recordings of cash register noises and we listen to them for a few excruciating minutes)

And my cash register would ring this real pretty tone for whenever a real sexy lady bought some beet root powder and unruly arugula. I was imagining “Deidre,” Bruce’s ex-lady’s sister. As soon as the cash register burst open my ghost leapt out of my skin. I really like the actual Brian Wilson, but he never wants me around. He calls me a drag! I tried helping out with Radiant Radish, but I wouldn’t stop tinkering with the cash register. I more or less inhabited his bath robe and mostly hung around. Sometimes I help the real Brian catch a certain chord shape floating by and haunt Murry, my dad. 

////

“So, you’re a coke ghost?” Are the words I eventually gather and casually toss out for Brian Wilson’s Ghost.  I am hoping that somehow this all connects with the present and explain how Mike Love ruined the band. 

“I’m a health food store ghost!”

“Okay, but I’m not going to buy a subscription to this vitamin supplement program!”

“Then why did you bother coming all the way out to Kokomo? I am not supposed to let anybody onto this island! I should have left you drowned!”

“Hey that’s not fair!” I am really hurt right now but I don’t want to lose Brian Wilson’s Ghost so I check my back account, and of course it’s too low, but I sign up for the $15.99 antimicrobial surprise package and Brian Wilson’s Ghost finally stops doing his heart wrenching pout that makes me want to jump out into the ocean.

“Why did you wrench me out my revery..I feel like I was almost really back there. Dang dude.”

“Weren’t 69 and the start of the 70s pretty brutal for you Brian?” I look for that noble sorrow hidden in the depths of the phantom’s eyes and come up empty. He is completely vacant. “Fuck Mike Love!” I take my own self off guard by how passionate I get when I say this. Brian Wilson’s Ghost only responds with a fuzzy frown. “What? Don’t you get agree? You, or at least the real you, called him a piece of shit that stole The Beach Boys name. The reason I came out here was because I want to steal the Beach Boys name back for you.”

“So then it really will be safe to listen to The Beach Boys again, huh?” Brian Wilson’s Ghost continues doing that perpetual tear suspended in the corner of his eye wounded puppy dog eyes and I really wish I could give this ghost a swirly. 

“What? Um, Sure, but I doubt we’d be converting any new fans like Jamie Stewart of Xiu Xiu who took to Twitter to let everyone know that he always hated The Beach Boys.”

“That was our slogan back in 70 and 71, “It’s Safe to Listen to The Beach Boys again.”

“Ugh that’s terrible and this was an attempt to make yourselves seem cool again?”

“Our new manager Jack “The Super hurtful Man” came up with that one. What do you have against Mike Love? He’s not a bad man! Come on kick back and let me put on  “All I Wanna Do” could a true asshole sing a song that nice?”

“Yes!  I mean yes I have heard the song, it practically invented chillwave, and yes an asshole can sing a nice tune every once and awhile.  Don’t think I didn’t notice all of the Wanted Dead or Alive Mike Love posters on Kokomo, even the people of his own island can’t stand him. Brian Wilson you are The Beach Boys! The Beach Boys were about spreading love to everyone and encouraging friendly ecology! “Take A Load Off Your Feet” prevented my foot being amputated from lounger’s foot. We’ve got some before the election! Brian Wilson’s Ghost can make his debut and show the world that The Beach Boys do not support Trump!” I feel like I have gone rabid by the end of this tirade and the fuzzy hermit crab is using his pinchers to snap at my toes to shoo me away. 

Brian Wilson’s Ghost licks his dry mouth and gives me his award winning smile. He vanishes inside of his deuce coup and turns on the engine. He opens the door and once again pats on the seat letting me know that the seat is warm and accepting of my sorry ass. I reach into my breast pocket and wave two cassettes, one of Sunflower and the other of Surf’s Up trying to entice Brian to put them in, but he waves them away. Instead, Brian Wilson’s ghost takes out a red blank disc that is labeled with a Radiant Radish sticker. 

Brian was right, these cash registers really are the best part of the store. 

[yadds]

Take My Pain

Tony comes back from the dead. He wishes he hadn’t. Peter helps.

.

Here, have some physical pain to go with the emotional variety I usually tend towards.

TW: graphic descriptions of pain, suicide attempt. Please read responsibly

__________________________________________

Three years after the final snap, Tony Stark suddenly appeared outside the Avengers compound, emaciated and feeling like every bone in his body had been shattered to pieces, every muscle shredded, every ligament ripped away. But he was alive.

“Miracle Return!” and “Tony Stark, Back from the Dead!” and “Second Chance for a Charmed Life!” the tabloids touted. It felt less like the proclaimed blessing and more like an eternal punishment.

Pain medications didn’t work on him anymore. Neither did alcohol. The pain was constantly off the charts, enough to over stress the heart of a normal human. He should be dead all over again just from the intensity of the pain, which never abated.

He spent three months drifting in and out of awareness because, of course, the sedatives didn’t work either. Every moment of consciousness was hell, full of screaming, sobs, and delirium.

It took six months and four attempts to just end it all before he was successful. He’d broken a nearby glass when he’d jolted back to consciousness, arms flailing, searching for an anchor as he thrashed in an ocean of agony. He’d seized a large, particularly jagged shard that had landed perfectly on the bed right next to him, quickly and firmly drawing it across his own throat. He felt his first moment of blessed relief as he watched the crimson downpour flood down his torso and across the bed to drip heavily onto the floor. It didn’t take long before his fingers went numb and the glass fell to the ground.

Oh, God. This numbness, this was heaven. It spread, slow and steady, moving upward from his extremities. He felt the shadow of gentle release settle over him, the pain ebbing away. Finally.

He had half a second of lucidity to feel sorry for the nurses and doctors racing around the room, shouting orders and trying desperately to find something that would work on him. And...was that...Pepper? Oh, he wished she wasn’t here to see this.

But that concern quickly faded away as well as his eyelids fluttered then closed.

.

Silence. Serene, clean darkness. He was suspended in a cool lake, a soothing balm to his scorched, broken body.

He closed his eyes and smiled.

.

It felt like only a moment, as fleeting as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then he was thrust back into the flames of hellfire.

‘No. Nonononono. Please, God! I’ll do anything! Anything!’

Tears streamed down his face but none of his pleas could be voiced. He’d probably sliced through his vocal cords.

Well, at least it was quiet now.

.

The pain was maybe receding, infinitesimally. He wasn’t sure how much of it was the actual absence of pain and how much of it was his apparently enhanced body adapting to a new normal. He also didn’t care.

The next time he was aware enough to understand what was going on through the haze of pain, the wizard was there.  What was his name?  Weird? Not his favorite person, but it was about fucking time.

“Stark. Can you hear me?” he was asking. By the expression on his face, he’d probably already asked more than once.

What was he expected to do here? Blink once for yes, twice for no? Hello, he couldn’t talk. He shakily raised his left hand, middle finger extended.

Gandalf had the expression of exasperation down to an art form, he was sure. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he muttered.

There was a smothered huff of laughter that came from behind...Strange, that was his name. Tony’s eyes slowly dragged further to the left and his heart stuttered.

Peter. “Kid,” he tried to say, but nothing came out, damn it. Peter seemed to get the gist though and stepped forward with a strained smile.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. Long time, no see, huh?”

Holy shit. He’d been aware that the original snap had been reversed, vaguely remembered seeing Peter on the battlefield. But seeing him again, now, whole, and here - Tony desperately wanted to get out of this damn bed, wrap him up in his arms and never fucking let go ever again. The most he could actually manage was to lift his hand just a few inches higher, fingers extended.

Peter grasped his hand in both of his, grip gentle but strong and secure. “We think we might have found something that can help you.”

At the skeptical lift of Tony’s eyebrows, Peter grinned. “Just leave it to Dr. Strange. I promise he’s more Glinda the Good Witch than he is Wicked Witch of the West.”

Bless this boy and his understanding of Tony’s sense of humor.

The bout of excruciation surged over him suddenly, a phantom hand around his throat as his back bowed off the bed, muscles seizing as he choked for air.

Peter’s hand clamped tighter, a bastion of stability in this tidal wave of agony. He had a hazy vision of Peter and the wizard arguing fervently before Peter shouted, “I know, just fucking do it already!”

And then it stopped. Tony laid motionless, in a daze. His body didn’t know how to react to the abrupt absence of pain, convulsing as it continued to pump obscene amounts of adrenaline and endorphins. His sobs began anew as he finally began to process the release. He didn’t care what the cost was; this bliss was worth anything. They could have all his tech, his money, his fucking free will. Everything.

It felt like an eternity before he was able to do so much as move his head. His gaze found Strange and he took in his grim expression and tight jaw with some trepidation. Why was he not jumping for joy, or at least smiling? It worked! Tony would be kissing his feet if he could.

He followed Strange’s grimace to the spot to his left. He couldn’t contain the full-body jolt as his world shattered.

Peter was hunched in the chair at his bedside as his body quaked and spasmed, blood streaming from his nose, his ears, his mouth.

And he was still diligently holding Tony’s hand.

He took it back. This wasn’t worth it at all. He would rather suffer through that torment for a thousand years than allow Peter to feel it for a single second.

His eyes darted frantically as he turned his heavy head back to face Strange, infuriated with his body’s continued inability to respond to his commands. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you? Fix this! Why are you just standing there, you sadistic piece of shit?’ he screamed silently, throat working uselessly. God, fuck his past self for taking even that capability away.

Strange wasn’t stupid though - he knew what Tony wanted. “I can’t,” he bit out. “Peter knew this would probably happen. It was his idea.”

‘Does it look like I fucking care who’s idea it was? Give it back!’ Tony gestured at himself weakly, hoping his face was at least expressing how livid he was.

“I can’t,” Strange reiterated, sounding just as frustrated. “Not without a massive amount of energy that I don’t have access to at the moment.”

Tony had never quite so ardently wished that looks could kill before this particular instant.

“We-” Strange broke off abruptly, clearing his throat as he rubbed wearily at his eyes. “We’re doing what we can, Stark. The hope is that medication will continue to work for Peter so that he can get the relief that you never could. He metabolizes significantly faster than the average human, but we’ve conducted testing for the past several weeks to develop proper dosing rates and have planned accordingly.”

Sure enough, he noticed now that the nurses and doctors weren’t just doing their normal background bustling but were attending to Peter, administering injections and IV medication bags.

Please, please, please let this work, he prayed, to any and every deity that could possibly exist.

The next few minutes were an endless loop of anxiety, where he felt at the brink of insanity. Tony was sure that this would be what would finally do him in. Because this was unfathomably worse than the months of physical anguish that had failed to do so.

Finally, the convulsions started to recede, Peter’s muscles unclenching and leaving his body to slump lifelessly in his chair.

Tony’s breaths came faster and faster as he stared at Peter’s body, remaining completely motionless, chest no longer heaving for breath. No longer doing anything at all.

Tony couldn’t breathe at all now, throat closing and lungs ablaze. No. Not Peter. He couldn’t-

There. Maybe- yes, again. A gentle rise and fall.

Tony gasped helplessly as his own breathing resumed. He heard a similar heavy exhalation from Strange’s direction.

“His vitals look okay, all things considered,” Strange reported as Tony watched a nurse carefully clean the blood off Peter’s face, neck, arms. Tony wished he could personally burn the blood soaked clothes.

‘Now what?’ Tony mouthed.

“Now we figure out what’s causing the pain and how to get rid of it,” Strange replied.

‘Um, excuse me, what? There was no plan to fix this? And you just let Peter do this anyway?’ While it may have gotten him in trouble in the past when he respected pretty much no one and everyone knew it, it was finally in his favor that Tony had a very expressive face.

“As I said, it was Peter’s idea. We were just supposed to be here today to work out logistics for when we were ready. But he was adamant that the risk was worth the possibility of the medication working for him and allowing you to finally be able to heal. He was pretty sure that his body was comparable to whatever yours has become, that he’d be able to withstand it like you have, in the event that it would be necessary,” Strange explained.

Tony shut his eyes tight. That stupid kid.

“I think I’m on the right track, but it’ll actually help a lot to finally be able to study your body and figure out what the hell happened.”

Fine. Study away. Slice him open and dig around inside if you have to. Just figure out how to fix Peter.

Tony looked back at Peter, eyes catching on his own hand, which had fallen out of Peter’s grasp finally when he’d officially lost consciousness. The fingers were all misshapen, bent at odd angles. He couldn’t decide if he was surprised or not that he wasn’t registering any pain from his crushed hand.

When he noticed them readying Peter to be moved, he tried to reach out, mouth opening to protest before clicking shut again in frustration.

“Wait,” Strange called out. “Bring him back in here when you’ve gotten him cleaned up.”

Thank you. Maybe Dumbledore wasn’t so bad after all.

“It’ll be useful to have both subjects nearby for testing,” Strange added.

Or maybe he was still just as obnoxious as Tony had originally thought.

“Of course, sir,” one of the nurses intoned. “We’ll bring in another bed.”

Tony shook his head and pointed at the spot next to him in his own bed. It was a king size, for God’s sake.

Strange shook his own head. “No.”

Tony glared back reproachfully, crossing his arms over his chest.

Strange rolled his eyes. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said with a smirk.

Hardy har har. Let’s make jokes about the mute man. Tony knew that he’d be developing something groundbreaking in the way of communication before the week was up. After he slept for five days straight probably.

Because if that’s what it took, he would talk with Strange about it. He knew what it felt like to be isolated in that never ending loop of agony and he would make sure that Peter knew he wasn’t alone.

Tony had once turned back time to save this kid. He sure as hell wasn’t going to lose him again.

__________________________________________

So, is there a limit to the number of metaphors one can cram into a single 1500 word entry? Asking for a friend...🙄🙄

On another note - Yall. Wtf is wrong with me? This is so not my usual style. Because I’m completely incapable of short explanations, here’s the long version of how this started:

Me: you know what I’d like to write next? A fic where Tony comes back from the dead and he and Peter reunite and hang out a lot and are able to relate in a way that most people aren’t. It gradually progresses and Pepper watches them grow closer and realizes that eventually Peter is more important to him than she is anymore. And blah blah blah, angst angst angst, eventually the boys work it out and realize their feelings and get together. Yay! Okay, so let’s get started - how should Tony come back?

My brain: PAIN! SUFFERING! Everyone just wants to DIE!

Me: ...okay... sure. That can be interesting. Here’s a brief description of that. And now-

My brain: NO! More, more, MORE! You’re not selling it, you wuss! I will not help you move on until EVERYTHING IS THE WORST EVER!!

Me: I’msorry I’msorry I’msorry I’msorry I’msorry. Is this enough now?

My brain: Almost, just a litttttle bit further.

Me: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 this...this is all I can do

My brain: yesssssss. That’ll do for now. Now give it to Peter.

Me: ...Wut? That was never part of the plan.

My brain: don’t give a fuuuuuck. Is now. WHUMP!

So uh, anyway, that’s how that happened. I still want to write my original fic idea! I’m just not sure if it’ll be a continuation of this or a separate thing altogether. Who knows? I’m gonna snuggle my baby now and feel better from this completely unanticipated torture fest.

[darks-ink]

Absurdism Chapter 3

Danny and Jazz begin their exciting game of “share the POV”. Much like the braincell, it is almost always Jazz’.

Rating: Teen/K+ (a lil swearing, because teenagers, man) Warnings: - Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort Additional Tags: Sibling Bonding, Family Bonding, Alternate Universe - Halfa Jazz AU, Jazz makes friends

[AO3] [FFN] [more Absurdism on Tumblr] First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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Chapter 3: Two of a Kind

Danny stretched out, releasing a huge yawn, then bonelessly flopped back onto the roof he was lying on. Staring unseeingly up at the sky, he contemplated how he’d gotten here. Man, he really should’ve realized sooner that this wasn’t his Amity Park. Maybe if he had, he could’ve gone back through the Portal.

Despite his bluster towards Jazz—this Jazz—he really was concerned about how things were, back home. He was sure that Valerie could handle the ghosts, especially if Dani dropped by, but he hadn’t seen his cousin in forever. And Sam, Tucker, and Jazz might’ve been pretty good ghost hunters, perfectly capable of helping Val, but…

But they would be far too busy looking for him to be any help.

There was nothing he could do about it, though. He knew how rare natural portals were, and how unpredictable. It was nigh impossible for him to find his way back on his own, and convincing Frostbite to give him the Infi-map would be… well, pretty difficult, he supposed. He didn’t have any “Conqueror of Pariah Dark” titles to show off, not here.

What he’d told had been the truth, to some extent. If he was stuck here, he might as well make himself useful. Give her the guidance she would need; the guidance he wished he’d had, when he first started.

Of course he’d forgotten about all the potential downtime. Jazz had school, and even if Danny took care of most of the minor ghosts, that still left… a surprising amount of time. With how busy his life felt, he really would’ve guessed that ghost-hunting took up more time than it did.

Maybe the downtime just felt really long. It wasn’t like there was much he could do, after all. He couldn’t go anywhere in human form, because people might confuse him for this universe’s Danny Fenton. And he couldn’t go anywhere as a ghost, because people weren’t familiar with those. Not yet, at least.

That, and even if they were, it would probably involve his parents hunting him. And, uh, he wasn’t exactly jumping with excitement to get back to that. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten his real parents to quit hunting him.

His core stirred to life, and cold air wisped out of his mouth.

“Well, here we go again,” he grumbled to himself, pushing himself off of the ground. He glanced over at FentonWorks, but Jazz didn’t stir. Wherever the ghost was, it was outside her range. Well, whatever. He could handle it on his own.

He would almost be tempted to let it run a little loose, just to stifle the boredom, but it was too risky. That, and he and Jazz were trying to keep the existence of ghosts a secret for as long as possible. Letting some random animalistic ghost run wild wasn’t good for public morale.

A glint of light in the distance caught his attention, and he zoned in on it immediately. Metal, maybe? Not a lot of ghosts brought ectoplasmic metal with them, and surely it was too early for Cujo…

The connections clicked in Danny’s mind, and he hesitated. Skulker, of course. Maybe he should get Jazz. Skulker tended to be a pretty tough fight, always upgrading his gear.

But, oh.

Skulker upgraded his gear, from the moment they first fought. This Skulker wouldn’t have any of those upgrades. He would be 2.5 years behind the curve; he’d be a wimp compared to the Skulker Danny usually fought.

Danny tapped into his invisibility, then started a large arc, only vaguely in Skulker’s direction. He was pretty sure the ghost was employed by Vlad right now, assuming that the other half-ghost was Vlad in this universe. But Vlad wouldn’t know about Jazz—or Specter—just yet. Skulker was just following rumors, hoping to snatch a half-ghost as prey before his employer could find out. Danny just needed to show him how hopelessly outmatched he was, and make sure Skulker wouldn’t tell Vlad.

The hulking metallic ghost was crouched on a rooftop, his mohawk flickering in the wind. Danny hovered behind him, dropping his invisibility, but the hunter didn’t even notice him. Ha! Too focused on Jazz, it seemed.

Danny cleared his throat.

Skulker whipped around, the panels on one arm shifting to reveal an ecto-gun. Danny eyed the gun aimed at his chest with half-lidded eyes. He’d seen more impressive weaponry wielded by literal high-schoolers. And that wasn’t even counting Valerie or the members of Team Phantom.

“Sup,” he said instead, nodding at Skulker. “Having fun?”

The ghost seemed thrown off by Danny’s casual attitude, his gun faltering slightly and his brows drawing together. “Um. Yes?”

“Well, see, I don’t appreciate that much.” He crossed his arms, maintaining his hover so he was taller than Skulker. “She’s under my protection, you see.”

Skulker snorted dismissively. More panels opened up to reveal weaponry. Weak, outdated weaponry. That’s right! This Skulker hadn’t even upgraded his basic body with Tucker’s PDA yet. Oh, what a joke!

“Yeah?” the ghost challenged. The gun came back up, aimed at Danny’s chest—his core. “And what are you going to do about it, whelp?”

“See, I was hoping you would ask that.” Danny smirked at Skulker, releasing the tight grasp he’d had on his core. Volatile ectoplasm, as green as his eyes, started curling around his hands. Gathered in thick glowing balls of pure energy in his palms. His glow flickered brighter as more and more energy released from his core.

Maybe this was a little overkill, all things considered. But Skulker had been a pain in his ass plenty of times. Besides, better to release some of that pent-up energy on a target like Skulker, who could take it a lot more easily than the animal ghosts Danny usually fought.

“Oh, I see.” Skulker’s eyes narrowed as energy started building in his ecto-weaponry. “It’s a fight you want.”

Meeting Skulker’s eye, Danny grinned even wider. “What I really want is for you to leave this city alone, and refrain from telling your employer about the existence of another half-ghost, but sure, for now I’ll settle for a fight.”

Finishing his sentence, he formed a reflective shield in front of him, intercepting Skulker’s shot the moment it was fired. The ghost thus momentarily disarmed, Danny flung the ecto-glass at him.

Skulker spluttered, swatting the shattering glass away, and was thus distracted enough for Danny to grab onto him. His white gloves dug for purchase, before one hand closed around the strap of his shirt, and the other caught onto the edge of his pauldron. Eh, good enough.

Satisfied that he had a decent enough grip, Danny shot up into the sky, Skulker dragged along. The ghost struggled underneath his hands, but couldn’t get enough leverage to get free. Not until they reached a satisfactory level of height, and Danny let go of the ghost entirely.

“Whelp!” the ghost barked at him, jet-pack wings unfolding from the panels on his back. “What do you think you are doing?!”

“Getting you out of the public eye.” Danny shifted, new energy forming in his palms as easily as breathing. “Amity doesn’t know about ghosts yet, and I don’t want their first impression to be this ass-kicking.”

“You expect me to be fear you, just because of that little shield?” Skulker laughed, sharp and metallic, before raising his gun again. “Ha! As if.”

“Nah. But I’ve fought ghosts far stronger than you, man.” Danny raised one hand as well, focusing his energy into the single ecto-blast. “And certainly scarier, too.”

He fired. Skulker, unable to respond so quickly, took the blast straight on the arm. The gun was blown off entirely, the metal on Skulker’s arm blackened and smoking.

Before Skulker could pull out another gun, Danny followed it up with a few more shots for emphasis. Blew off the remaining guns, then froze up most of the wings holding Skulker up for good measure.

The ghost faltered in mid-air, his engines cutting out for a short moment. He glanced at his wings, then at Danny, who had barely even moved.

“I… see.” His voice was low, and he was clearly unhappy to be so clearly outmatched. “What… did you say you wanted, again?”

Danny snorted. “Convinced already? You didn’t even make me show off any of the really impressive stuff.”

He shrugged, ignoring the way Skulker’s eyes widened in surprise. “I want you to leave this city alone, and all of its citizens. If you must, you can come hunt ghosts here, but only after checking in with me, and if I agree with your prey. And you can’t tell your employer about the half-ghost you were hunting.”

Skulker remained silent for a moment, eyeing up Danny. Finally, he grunted, “You know of my employer?”

“Some,” Danny said dismissively. “I want to keep this city safe. And I’ve got the stinking feeling that if they knew about the existence of this half-ghost, trouble would come.”

“A fair assessment.” The metallic ghost thought it over for moment longer, angling his head. “And what if I do not follow these rules?”

“Besides the fact that I can clearly kick your ass in a fight?” Danny raised a challenging brow. “I can destroy your reputation in the Ghost Zone just as easily. You’re the greatest hunter around, sure, until everyone knows you’re barely more than a blob ghost. Small, soft-shelled ghost that needs a robot suit to hunt? Not exactly a huge threat.”

“I—” Skulker blew out a noisy breath—somewhat surprising to Danny, since he hadn’t realized Skulker could even do that—and shook his head. “How do you even know that? Fine, whelp. I will leave, and if I ever chase prey into this upside-down world, I will inform you of my presence. Good enough?”

“And you won’t tell your employer?” Danny pressed. “Or anybody else, really. Nobody who doesn’t already know.”

“Yes, sure, fine,” Skulker snapped back. “Her existence will remain a secret, or at the very least, I will have no role in revealing it.”

“Good enough.” Danny released the gathering energy, softening the glow of his body, and stuck out an arm in Skulker’s direction. “Pleasure doing business with you, Skulker.”

“Wish I could say the same,” the ghost grumbled, but he took Danny’s hand and shook it nonetheless. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”

“Sure, sure, of course.” Danny waved his hands at Skulker. “Go have fun upgrading your suit. But don’t break our deal, or I will know, and you will regret it. Gotcha?”

“Yes, I understood your threat already.” Skulker shook his head, flying off in the direction of FentonWorks—and the Portal. Danny watched him leave, then shrugged to himself, tapped into his invisibility, and followed Skulker.

You know, just to be safe.

---

“I feel like this is going to be come very confusing, very quickly,” Jazz admitted as she landed in the open space in the woods. Danny—alternative universe Danny—was already there, in his ghost form.

“Huh?” He blinked, clearly confused, and stuffed a phone into one of the pockets on his belt. “What do you mean? What’ll get confusing?”

“Just— this!” She threw out her hands for emphasis, trying to gesture at, well, everything. “I really appreciate your help, but, y’know. You’re Danny, but not my Danny, but that sounds so rude!”

He blinked at her once more, then snorted loudly. “Yeah, no, I get it. I’m having the same with… well, basically everything. Jazz, and your parents, and everything else. You can call me Phantom if it helps, though.”

“I don’t know…” She grimaced, shifting her feet uneasily. “That just feels… rude, I guess? It’s basically your last name, isn’t it? Phantom?”

“It’s my ghost name. Sam and Tucker use it all the time as well, when I’m in my ghost form.” He floated a little closer, then shrugged almost dismissively. “Plus, you’ll have to get used to it anyway. When we start making our public appearances, we’ll have to call each other Specter and Phantom anyway.”

Right. She supposed he had a point there. “I guess so. Will you start calling me Specter, then?”

“If you want me to.” Danny landed as well, his boots touching down on the grassy soil. “I don’t mind either way. I’ve gotten used to switching between that kinda stuff really quickly, with Red and all that.”

“Uh huh…” There was the mysterious ‘Red’ again. “Speaking of this mysterious Red, you mind telling me a little something about them? And Danielle, as well, since you apparently trust those two to help keep your Amity safe? Could they help here, too?”

He made a face. Guess not. “Eh, I don’t know, Jazz. Not now, that’s for sure. It would be better to focus on training your own powers for now, and I’ll keep an eye on those two just in case. Okay?”

“Sure, sounds good.” She shrugged, but made sure to remember that. Whoever they were, they must’ve gotten into the ghost hunting business after Danny. Strange, though. Were they half-ghosts as well, or regular ghost hunters? Maybe one of each? Red could be a ghost name, since most ghost hunters seemed content with using their own. Danielle… Ignoring the close resemblance to Danny’s name, she could be a regular ghost hunter.

But, if Danny wasn’t interested in following up on their existence, she was willing to drop it as well. For now. Her own powers still needed plenty of work, although she’d be perfectly happy just to get these few under control.

“How about we start with some basic control?” Danny asked, suddenly, snapping her out of thoughts. “I remember that that was one of the things I struggled with most, after the accident.”

“Yeah, uh.” She laughed, a little embarrassed. “That would be nice.”

“Thought as much. Do you have any preferences?”

Reliable flight was nice, of course, for travel. Invisibility was mostly annoying when it activated when she didn’t want to; she couldn’t think of any situations where she might normally use it. Most problematic of all, though…

“Intangibility, for sure.” It was not only the most annoying, it also activated most of the three basic powers, and it could be really tough to cover for. “I’m so done with dropping things.”

This startled a laugh out of Danny. He lifted off of the ground again, floating in closer. “Oh, yeah, I know your struggles. Have you gotten in trouble with school yet, for dropping so much glassware?”

“No?” She frowned, mentally prodding her core a little. Were warm-ups a thing for ghost cores? Did shifting into ghost form count as warming it up? “I try not to handle the glassware too much, just in case. Why, is that a thing I need to be cautious of?”

“Nah, sounds like you’ve got it handled already.” He flapped a dismissive hand. “I dropped so much glass during my first month that the school banned me from handling it anymore, but it sounds like you were smarter about it. Still, intangibility first?”

“Uh. Yeah, please.” She clenched and unclenched her fists a little, unsure of how to proceed. “And, um. Dan— Phantom. Do we need to do some kind of… warming up, or something?”

“What, like when you’re going sporting?” He frowned, then dropped the face and shrugged. “Not really? Using your powers is easier while in ghost form, but your core is active all the time. You don’t need to warm-up your brain when you’re gonna start thinking, right? It’s always doing its thing.”

“But aren’t powers more like muscles? Aren’t we training them?”

Almost immediately, he shook his head. “Nah. I mean, a little, but not really. We’re gonna work on your connection with your core, mostly, since that’s where your power malfunctions are coming from. Your core has the powers ready, but you’re not used to using it.”

She narrowed her eyes, but he seemed certain of his answers, and, well. She had no way to disprove him, did she? “And new powers? Building stamina?”

“Both will come with time. Your core is still new, and young. It needs time to grow and stabilize. Using your powers will guide it in a certain direction, which is why training will help you develop new powers sooner. And using them more will help you build stamina faster, since your core will focus more on developing it.”

“I… see.” She prodded the core again, mentally. It stirred, easily. Was that just the trick to controlling her powers? Getting better at communicating with this new part of herself? “So how are we gonna train that?”

Danny’s expression grew sheepish. “Well, mostly I figured you could just work on your powers here, where no one would notice. Like I said, control comes from practice, and I can’t really help much with that.” He shrugged. “Besides the assurance that you won’t get hurt, of course.”

Jazz shot him an unamused look, but he ignored it completely.

“So, anyway, wanna start with intangibility? I’ll be here to make sure you don’t get stuck phasing through something.”

“That’s a possibility?” She blanched, throwing a quick look downward at the ground. She hadn’t even known that it was possible for her to get stuck!

“Well, it’s never happened to me, since I’m pretty sure you retain intangibility by reflex if you’re partially phased into something…” Danny shrugged. “But now you can be sure that it won’t happen to you!”

“You’re a terrible teacher! Now you’ve gone and made me scared of something I didn’t even know I could be scared about!” She combed a hand through her hair, aggravatedly. “Honestly, Danny!”

“Uh, whoops.” He shot her a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was pretty scared of accidentally getting myself stuck, so I figured the same would go for you. Sorry.”

“Honestly,” she grumbled, half to herself. “So far the only useful thing you’ve done to help is deal with all those other ghosts.”

Danny laughed, clearly still a little unsure of himself. “That’s fair. This basic stuff, I can’t help with, not much. But once you’ve gotten better at it, I’ll be able to teach you all kinds of stuff. Like this!”

His fists lit up, suddenly, bright energized ectoplasm balling around his hands. Like the blasts from an ecto-gun, except that he was forming it himself.

“Pretty cool, huh? But if you’re not too big on fighting, you can use it defensively as well.” He swept his hands out, and the ectoplasm following, forming a hollowed-out ball around him. “See? We’ll spend a lesson or two on control, but after all, I’ll help you with new stuff.”

Well, she wasn’t above admitting that she’d been convinced. “What if I work on control at home, and we start on that stuff next time? Shields could be really useful.”

“Hah, uh, I guess?” The shield broke apart again, and Danny shrugged. “I mean, I usually dodge hits instead, since that costs less energy. But ecto-blasts are a pretty basic technique, so we can start on that next time, if you really want to. But! You’ll need to have a good amount of control already. Your core is essential for that.”

“Isn’t my core always essential?” she asked dryly. “Since it’s, you know, the center of my ghost powers?”

“You know what I mean.” He stuck out his tongue, and she stamped down her reflex to do it back. No matter how much like Danny he was, this wasn’t her brother. It was unfair to all of them to pretend otherwise.

Besides, if she was going to protect this town, she had to be a hero. No, not just a hero. The hero. Mature and an icon for the town to look up to. Not just a kid.

“But you want to get going, then?” Danny said, snapping her out of her thoughts again. “Since you said you wanted to work on your control at home?”

“Uh, yeah. If that’s… okay with you?” She twirled a strand of her vividly purple hair, still unused to its color—and the way it wisped. “Plus I kind of… need to clean the lab?”

“I’m not gonna force you to keep my company if you can’t or don’t want to, Jazz.” Danny met her eyes, the bright green barely hiding the sadness in them. “Go, then. I’ll be around when you’ve ready for the next lesson.”

“Right…” She scuffed one boot on the ground, but, well. She had committed, now, no matter how distressed Danny seemed. Besides, there was nothing she could do for him. “Well, thanks, anyway. For this, and for helping me with the ghosts.”

“Of course.” He cocked his head at her. “You’re my sister, Jazz, even if this is a different universe. Stay safe, okay? Cleaning the lab is always a nasty chore for a half-ghost.”

“I’ll be careful,” she assured him, before turning around, ready to fly back home. Then she paused, glancing back over her shoulder at him. “You be careful too, alright? Just because you’re not my Danny doesn’t mean that I want you to get hurt, either.”

“I promise.” He smiled at her, and she could almost pretend not to see the sadness in it.

She nodded to herself, finally pushing herself off and into the air. He’d be fine. Danny—Phantom—had been half-ghost for over two years. He could take care of himself.

But he just looked so lonely, here.

---

“What is this even supposed to be?” Jazz wondered out-loud, carefully lifting one of the half-assembled inventions in the lab. She was just about done cleaning the lab, anyway. She could afford the distraction. “Some kind of vacuum?”

Her core pulsed in her chest, and for a brief moment, she worried that she had somehow turned the invention on. But then cold air wisped from her mouth. Heaving a sigh, she turned around, towards the Portal.

Its green surface was flat, undisturbed. Ectoplasm swirled, like it was held back by an invisible barrier.

Suddenly it parted, a single humanoid ghost coming through. Green skin and oversized green gloves, a white coat with a humongous collar, and some of the wildest hair she had ever seen. Square glasses blocked the ghost’s eyes, so she couldn’t tell the color. Not that it was a big deal, but still.

“Uh, hey,” she greeted the ghost, putting down the ghost-vacuum-thing. “You’re not here to cause trouble, are you?”

“I am Technus!” the ghost retorted, pressing one hand to his puffed-up chest, “And I’m the master of all technology!”

“Okay, cool. Good for you.” She narrowed her eyes at him, nudging the vacuum-invention behind herself. “That didn’t answer my question.”

Technus narrowed his glasses—or glass-like eyes, she supposed—at her. “What does it matter to you? All technology is mine, anyway!”

“No it’s not! I won’t let you steal in this city!” She stood up, puffing herself up as well. “Either you go back into the Zone, or I’ll make you!”

“Hah! You’ve got nothing on me! Technus, master of all things electronic and beeping! And you! You are just a puny human!”

Jazz growled, her core eagerly stirring to life. Energy crackled over her skin as she shifted into her ghost form, casual clothes replaced by her purple jumpsuit.

“Ah, well—” Technus shifted, clearly thrown off. “No matter! Adios!”

And before she could stop him, he darted upwards, phasing through the ceiling of the lab.

“Hey, hold up!” She shot after him, phasing through the house. For a moment she was afraid that she had lost him, but then she caught sight of him again. Speeding towards the city, faster than she thought she could fly. Dammit!

Pushing herself to her max speed, she raced after him. He wasn’t all that fast, sure, but neither was she!

Technus slowed down soon enough, apparently distracted by an electronics store. Jazz finally caught up with him when her ghost sense went off again. She cursed, already turning to look for the other ghost, when Danny came to a halt next to her.

“Sorry, I was still in the woods. What’s up?”

“Some ghost named Technus.” She gestured over at the ghost, reaching for the Thermos on her belt. Yes, it was there, thank goodness. “He got away from me before I could shove him back through the Portal.”

“I’ll deal with him, he can be a bit of a pain in the ass.” Danny’s expression was serious for once, clearly focused on their strategy. “I want you to make sure he doesn’t get access to any of the tech around here. He’ll be able to possess it, and that’ll make him way stronger.”

“And we don’t want that. Got it.” She nodded, then dove down. It wouldn’t be a particularly hard thing, she figured, since Danny would be fighting Technus and thus distracting him. And it would give her a perfect opportunity to watch Phantom use his powers to their full extend, to watch him fight for real. Snapping up the occasional animal ghost didn’t count.

She had just lowered herself between Technus and the store when Danny followed her lead. Except, unlike her, he just straight-up tackled Technus.

Danny hit the full ghost like a meteor strike, hitting him at speeds she didn’t realize he could fly at. Somehow her not-quite brother stopped before either of them hit the ground, halting so suddenly that she was amazed he didn’t snap his neck.

Suddenly electricity lanced through the two brawling ghosts, crackling over Technus’ body, forcing Danny—Phantom—to distance himself again.

“I am Technus! Master of all things electric and zappy!”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” Phantom snapped back, a green ecto-blast forming in his fist. “I’ve heard it before!”

Technus opened his mouth, but before he could reply, the blast hit him. The ghost went flying down, crumpling onto the asphalt road. Not hard enough to cause serious damage, though, she was surprised to note.

Phantom shot down after him. Landed on Technus and pressed him back down when the ghost tried to get up.

“No, you stay down and listen,” he growled, aura flaring bright. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, okay? You go back to the Zone, and you’re gonna cool off. If you ever decide you can come here without stealing anything, or causing any other sort of trouble, you can come talk to me. Understood?”

“And if I don’t?” Technus narrowed his eyes, spectral tail lashing. “What if I leave, and come back unnoticed?”

“I’ll know.” Phantom leaned in close, eyes glowing brighter. “Trust me, you don’t want to find out. Leave, Technus, or I won’t ask so nicely.”

Then he let go, floating away from the previously pinned ghost. Technus looked between him, then her.

“Fine,” the ghost finally said, clearly begrudgingly. “Even I, Technus, know when I am outmatched.”

“Just go already,” Phantom snapped at him, and Technus flinched away, closer to her. “Specter, mind escorting him back, so we’re sure he’s not getting away?”

“Yeah, sure.” She waved a hand in the direction of home. “Come on, get going. We don’t have all day.”