#Metal Core Val

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 279

Now Danny didn’t mean to make a Bootube channel. He’d meant to send that sleep deprived ramble to Tucker, but he had clicked on the wrong app and yeah. Apparently people enjoy his space rambles- or it could have been the ghost blob-cats that had decided to flop onto him. (Honestly he wasn’t surprised they would start to mimic the shapes of things in their surroundings)

Tucker? Found it hilarious, as did Sam and Val and… um, okay this has become their shared channel now, nice. Though there are some strange comments on some of the videos. Really, what do they mean green sky and crazy tech???

[rulerofstars]

compounded

oneshot: sneaking around and sleeping with bucky was easy. keeping quiet while you do it? not so much.

pairing: thunderbolts! bucky barnes x reader

tags: (18+) 3k words. SMUT without plot. shower sex (kinda). raw penetration. creampie. being fucked as bucky's dogtags slam against ur face holy shit. minors, dni.

You're pretty sure that showering with Bucky Barnes qualifies as an objectively terrible idea—one that even your most chaotic decisions would respectfully step aside for.

Because this? This is not a rational choice. Not when your hand is currently gliding over his insanely unfair chest, slick with soap and hot water, steam curling around you both like a heavy, illicit fog. Not when the Bluetooth speaker on the bathroom sink is still playing R&B like the two of you aren't committing a federal offense under the team compound's roof. And definitely not when your palm wraps around him, fingers squeezing, slow and deliberate, and Bucky's head thunks back against the tile with a groan that does dangerous things to your already-frayed nervous system. 

This is the staff quarters' shower. You're the manager. He's... him. Super soldier. Congressional headache. Thunderbolt-in-chief. And yet, here you are—naked, wet, and trying not to combust as his hips buck into your hand like your touch is the only thing tethering him to Earth.

"Jesus, baby…" he grits out, voice low and rough like he hasn't slept in a week and now you're the one ruining him. The thrill of it, the secrecy, the proximity, the fact that Yelena could burst in at any second, makes your pulse skip. You bite down on a groan, nipping the skin just below his ear like it might save you from collapsing entirely. 

"Gotta be quiet, Barnes," you murmur, because someone has to be responsible here and it sure as hell isn't going to be him. "Wouldn't want the team to know their super soldier is being... what's the word? Inappropriate?"

He grins. Not a normal grin. Not a polite, sure-thanks-for-the-briefing grin. A devastating one, teeth and mischief and Brooklyn drawl thick as honey. "Sweetheart, you're the one makin' it real hard to stay quiet," he says, all gravel and ruin. His vibranium hand, cool and unyielding, cups your jaw, while the other slides down your ass with a reverence that makes you feel like some kind of miracle. The contrast makes your brain short-circuit: cold metal, warm calluses, his mouth, crashing into yours like a man starved. His tongue strokes against yours in a way that sends electricity straight to your core, and you moan into him—idiot.

"Focus," he murmurs between kisses, smug and panting. "You gettin' distracted? Or just thinkin' about how mad Val's gonna be when she finds out her golden girl's been sneakin' into my shower?"

You pull back just enough to glare. Or, well. You try. It's hard to be intimidating with flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and your hand wrapped around his cock. "You're one to talk," you hiss, tightening your grip. His breath catches. "What's wrong, Barnes? Losing focus already?"

His eyes go dark. Dangerous. "Oh, you're gonna regret that."

The vibranium hand moves, trailing down your waist with practiced precision, pausing at your hip like he's waiting for your pulse to spike—which it does, traitorous and loud. When his fingers graze the inside of your thigh, you gasp, instinctively pressing into his touch. But he doesn't give you what you want. Not yet. He pulls back just enough to leave you panting and twitchy and feral with need.

"What's that?" he whispers, lips brushing yours but not kissing. "Beggin' already? Thought you were the one runnin' this show."

You could lie. You could sass. You could pretend like your whole body isn't vibrating with want. But you do none of those things.

Instead, you stroke him harder, your thumb gliding over the tip, and grin when he curses under his breath and grips your thigh like it might save him. "Can you keep up, Barnes?" you whisper. "Or are you gonna blow our cover before I do?"

And the way he groans—low and wrecked, eyes fluttering shut like he needs you is answer enough.

His chuckle is low and dark and somehow smug in a way that tells you you're absolutely, completely fucked. And not even in the way you want yet.

His fingers finally move, sliding between your thighs with a kind of devastating precision that makes your brain empty out like someone pulled the fire alarm in your skull. He starts slow, almost lazy, circling just barely enough to make you twitch, to make you squirm and gasp and try (fail) to stay composed. You can feel the smirk forming against your mouth before he speaks. 

"Careful, baby," he murmurs, voice rough against your lips as he nips at your bottom one, the sharp sting making your whole body flinch. "Keep makin' those noises, and we're gonna have to explain this to the whole damn team."

Which. Fair. You are absolutely making those noises. Whimpering, gasping, lips parted in helpless want. Your cheeks are hot. Your skin is prickling. Your legs are actively shaking under the weight of how good he's making you feel with just his fingers. And sure, fine, you could stop. Regain the upper hand. But instead, you tighten your grip around him, stroking him harder, just to see what it does to him.

It wrecks him.

His breath hitches. His jaw flexes. His vibranium hand clenches around your hip hard enough that you know you'll be wearing finger-shaped bruises in the morning—and you welcome them. "Keep that up," he growls, voice breaking, "and I'm not gonna last."

"Good," you whisper, lips brushing his ear, smug despite the way your knees are jelly and your entire body is vibrating. "That's the plan."

His fingers sink deeper with a precision that is absolutely illegal. They curl, just right, hitting that one spot like he's spent years studying you under a microscope. You choke out a gasp, head tipping back against the tile, and that's all he needs—his mouth starts moving again, down your jaw, trailing fire against your pulse. 

It's not fair, the way he kisses you like you're something soft and precious while his fingers are literally ruining you. The contrast is obscene. And perfect.

He's relentless. Slow. Measured. Like he's conducting an experiment with your body as the thesis. His fingers work you with such a steady, intentional rhythm that you're panting, teetering, right there, almost falling, and yet not quite. The risk of someone walking by, of hearing your gasps echo against the steam-slick tile, makes every touch burn brighter, sharper, needier.

"Bucky," you manage, voice breaking into a whimper as your nails dig into his shoulder. "Don't... don't tease—"

He hums against your throat. Literally hums. The vibration makes you shudder, full-body, like you're a wire pulled too tight. "But it's so fun watchin' you fall apart," he whispers, his lips brushing your jaw as his fingers slow to a torturous pace. "You should see yourself. All flushed and desperate and gorgeous, sneakin' around with me like we're not gonna get caught."

You're about to fire back (or beg, honestly, you're not above that anymore), when he drops to his knees.

And your brain? Gone. Dead. Vaporized.

Bucky Barnes. On. His. Knees.

Water slides down his shoulders, his hair sticking to his forehead, those piercing eyes blinking up at you through wet lashes like he's about to ruin your entire lineage. He hooks your leg over his shoulder like he's done it a hundred times, like you're not one second away from disintegrating, and then his mouth is on your thigh.

"Bucky, please..."

Your voice breaks on his name. He smirks. Of course he smirks.

"Please what?" he asks, nipping just above your knee. "Use your words, sweetheart. Otherwise I'm just gonna keep you here, writhin' on this tile while the rest of the team starts wonderin' where their manager went."

"You know what," you hiss, your voice shredded by need, and he laughs, lips brushing your skin, cocky and warm and goddamn infuriating.

"Oh, I do," he says. 

Then his mouth is on you.

His tongue is lethal. Slow, soft at first—circling against your clit, savoring your taste. He hums when you buck your hips, when you moan, when your fingers twist in his hair like you're scared he'll stop.

He doesn't stop.

He alternates between soft licks and firm, deliberate strokes, and your breath goes choppy. Your thighs tremble. You have no control over the way your body reacts, arching toward him, clenching, begging with every inch of you. He groans when you tug his hair, the sound deep and hungry and completely unhinging. You can feel him smile against you.

Then he does this thing, a flick of his tongue, followed by a slow, dragging lick—and it short-circuits every working neuron in your skull. Like he's discovered you. Like he's unlocking cheat codes. Every time he does it, your body spasms, helpless and shaking, and he hums in satisfaction, pushing you closer to the edge with sickening precision. You love it when he pushes his tongue against your very entrance. 

He edges you there, keeps you there. You whine. Plead. Curse him out and beg all in the same breath. 

"Not yet, darlin'," he murmurs against you, warm and smug and evil. "Wanna make it last."

"You jerk—" you manage to choke out, and he just chuckles. And then he does it again.

Flick. Drag. Suck.

And that's it. That's it.

Your entire body fractures.

You cry out, too loud, definitely not subtle, but you can't help it. Your legs give out. Your vision whites out. You feel like you've left your body entirely. He doesn't stop, keeps licking you through it, drawing it out like he's feeding off your pleasure, like this is the part he's addicted to.

And when you finally slump forward, boneless and shaking and barely able to stand, he catches you.

He stands slowly, and kisses you—soft now, like he's reeling you back in. His lips are sweet, sticky with you, and it sends another jolt of heat through your gut. You taste yourself and don't even care. You kiss him harder.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, voice low and rough, pressing his forehead to yours.

You can feel him against your hip, hard and insistent, still so obviously wrecked for you and you almost whimper again.

"Gotta be careful," he mutters, brushing wet hair from your cheek. "Can't have the team knowin' their manager's this good at breakin' the rules."

You stare at him, still breathless, and manage, "Bed. Now. Before someone actually comes looking."

His grin? Cat-that-ate-the-canary levels of smug.

"Bossy," he says, but it's fond. Warm. And still hungry. He turns off the water, grabs a towel—because of course he's practical even now—and wraps it around the both of you, pulling you close.

The hallway is quiet. Too quiet. Every creak makes your heart race. You're supposed to be going over mission logistics. Instead, you're dripping wet, wrapped in a towel, tiptoeing into Bucky Barnes' room like it's some kind of federal offense.

But the door clicks shut behind you. Locks. Then it's just the two of you again.

The air is cooler, but your skin is still burning, and when he spreads the towel on the bed, ever practical, you laugh. "What?" he says, raising an eyebrow as he pulls you onto the matress, his hands already roaming.

"You're so prepared," you tease, straddling his hips as he leans back, hands on your thighs. "What's next, a spreadsheet for sneaking around the compound?"

He laughs, rich and warm, but his hands tighten, pulling you closer. "Sweetheart, I don't need a spreadsheet to make you scream. But I might need one to keep track of all the places we've defiled this place."

You shut him up by yanking him down by the stainless tags, those damn dog tags that have been swinging between your bodies like they're in on the joke, like they've known all along what this was building to. Your mouth crashes into his, all tongue and teeth and barely-restrained desperation. He groans into you and you feel the shift in him, the way he jerks against your thigh, cock slick and hard as steel, and then...

Oh God.

His cock sinks into you, slow at first, the thick head of him nudging at your entrance, catching against the slick folds of your cunt. The stretch steals the air from your lungs. He's big, and your body remembers how full he makes you feel, how impossibly wide he spreads you open—but it still shocks you every time. Every inch he gives you feels like it should be too much, and yet your hips rise to meet him, greedy for more.

"Jesus," he breathes, teeth grazing your cheekbone, his forehead damp with sweat, his vibranium arm braced beside your head. "You're so fuckin' tight, baby."

He's barely inside and already shaking, and when he pushes forward again, your walls clench around him like you were made to take him. You feel everything. Every ridge, every vein, every maddening throb of his cock as it glides deeper, filling you inch by inch until your breath hitches and your legs lock tighter around his waist.

The pressure builds, delicious and unbearable, and when he bottoms out—his hips flush against yours, his cock seated deep inside, stretching you wide—you both freeze. Just for a moment. Just to feel it. Just to let the weight of it crash down between you like a storm breaking open the sky.

"Oh my God," you whisper, and he laughs, this broken, breathless sound against your throat.

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice wrecked. "You feel that? You feel how perfect you fuckin' take me?"

You do. You feel it everywhere. It's in your spine, your ribs, the soles of your feet. He's thick and hot and so deep it aches, but in the way that makes your eyes flutter shut, makes your hips lift in search of friction, of movement, of more. But Bucky doesn't move—not yet. He shifts instead, angling his hips the tiniest bit, and oh.

Your head drops back, lips parted in a silent cry as the tip of his cock nudges against a spot so devastating you see stars. Your nails drag down his back, marking him, grounding yourself in the feel of his skin under your palms, the scent of him in your nose, clean and sharp and Bucky, all Bucky, with a hint of sweat and heat and something unspoken threading between you.

He does it again. Rolls his hips with a practiced rhythm that shouldn't feel so natural, like he's memorized every gasp you make, every twitch of your thighs, every flutter of your breath. His cock drags along your walls with every movement, slick and thick, and that pressure, that perfect freaking pressure—rubs right where you need it, makes your back arch and your legs shake.

"Say it," he grits out, the restraint in his voice hanging by a thread. "C'mon, baby. Say it."

You're not sure what it is, his name, how good he feels, how much you need this, but it doesn't matter, because all of it comes tumbling out in a string of breathless, broken syllables: "Bucky, oh my God... please, I'm... I can't—"

His cock is hitting that spot—that spot—with surgical precision, his body moving like a weapon built to wreck you in the best way. The room echoes with your bodies, slick and frantic, the slap of skin on skin so obscene it borders on criminal.

The dog tags brush your cheek. His name slips out between gasps and bites, and he swallows it all like he owns it.

The door rattles.

Which—fine. Sure. That's a totally normal sound to hear when you're actively getting railed by Bucky Barnes on a mattress in the compound, where you are very much not supposed to be right now.

It could be John, with his smug little quips. Or Alexei, asking about deodorant or soup again. Either way, your heart launches itself into your throat—and then keeps launching. Because Bucky doesn't stop. Not even close. He just grins, that cocky, half-wicked thing he does when he knows he has you wrecked, and leans in so close his breath ghosts across your lips.

"Better be quick, sweetheart," he rasps, hips starting grinding slow and deliberate. "Don't want ‘em knowin' you're gettin' fucked in my room."

You should say something. Maybe a smartass retort or a stern reminder that you're supposed to be his manager. But your brain short-circuits. Because those words—crude, filthy, said in that deep, reverent voice of his—make your thighs tremble and your whole body clench around him in response.

Oh, you are so screwed.

He's thick and hard and still buried deep, and every tiny shift of his hips sends lightning up your spine. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and when he thrusts again—just once, slow, deliberate—you have to bite down on the muscle of his neck to stop from screaming his name.

There's a voice in your head—your rational voice, your you're-an-employee-and-he's-Bucky-Barnes voice—begging you to stop this madness. But it's silenced almost immediately by the way he twitches inside you, a slow, impossible pulse that has your breath hitching like it's learned to stutter.

"Bucky," you murmur, and it comes out a whimper. Pathetic. He grins like he knows.

"What's that, baby?" he says, all teasing drawl, even as his cock drags against your walls in a way that should probably come with a health warning. "Still want me to play nice?"

You glare. Or, well—you attempt a glare. It's a little hard to look intimidating when you're clinging to him like human Velcro, your whole body flushed and shaking.

"You're such a tease," you manage, though your hands are already sliding over his chest, nails leaving pink trails on his skin like you're trying to claim him.

"Only ‘cause you like it," he murmurs, and then he's moving—slow, unhurried, every thrust deep and angled just right. The kind of movement that feels designed in a lab. Or an evil genius bedroom.

The sounds are downright indecent. Wet, rhythmic, skin on skin, your gasps tangled with his breathless groans. You should be mortified. You're not. You're seconds away from combusting, and Bucky fucking knows it.

Because this isn't just sex. It's Bucky. It's the way he's staring at you—seeing you—as he ruins you, knowing every response before you give it.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, thrusting deeper, his voice ragged. "So fuckin' tight. Can't get enough of you."

You make some sound that is definitely not English. He leans in, and his hands—God, his hands—find your breasts again. One warm and rough, the other sleek vibranium, and the contrast is lethal. He palms you like he's memorizing the shape of your pleasure, thumb circling your nipple until you arch up into him.

"So sensitive, darlin'," he murmurs, lips brushing your throat as he speaks. "Fallin' apart for me already."

Your thighs are shaking. Your vision's blurry. And then the damn dog tags swing forward, cool metal brushing your mouth like they're in on the game. You bite one out of sheer desperation, and it makes him groan—actually groan—and thrust harder.

"Fuck, do that again."

So you do. You clench around him, and he twitches so hard inside you that your breath leaves your lungs like it's got somewhere else to be.

You're close. Again. Too soon. Your body's still sensitive, still wrecked from the last orgasm, but he's not letting up—he's teasing you, chasing you toward the edge only to pull you back.

"Bucky, please," you gasp, not even caring how wrecked you sound.

He smirks. Of course he does. "Please what?" he asks, but he's already thrusting faster, harder, relentless now.

His cock is hitting that spot—that spot—with surgical precision, his body moving like a weapon built to wreck you in the best way. The room echoes with your bodies, slick and frantic, the slap of skin on skin so obscene it borders on criminal.

The dog tags brush your cheek again. You grab them, yank him down into a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and messy, wet desperation. His name slips out between gasps and bites, and he swallows it all like he owns it.

"Gonna come so deep inside you," he growls against your mouth, and you swear the world tilts. "Fill you up till you're drippin'. That what you want?"

"Yes," you choke out. "God—yes, yes, please."

He loses it. His hips stutter, and he lets out a ragged groan, thrusting deep one final time as he spills inside you, hot and thick, and it tips you—your body going tight around him, your release slamming into you like a goddamn truck.

Your moan gets swallowed by the kiss. Your whole body shudders. You're so far gone you barely register the way he curses again, still twitching, still pressing into you like he can't stand to let go.

And then—silence. Just the sound of your combined breathing and the thrum of blood in your ears.

You're sticky. Sore. Dripping. His dog tags are stuck to your chest, and the towel beneath you is in shreds.

"Well," you manage, voice hoarse. "At least you won't be washing your arm in the dishwasher after that."

Bucky blinks.

And then he laughs—full-on laughs, head tipping back, eyes crinkling with something that looks a lot like joy.

"Sweetheart," he says, still catching his breath, "you're gonna be the death of me."

You roll into him, grinning like an idiot, and tuck yourself into his chest.

"Worth it," you mumble.

He hums, wrapping a vibranium arm around your back, protective and warm, even as his knuckles graze the ruined towel. "We need to be more careful."

You nod against his chest. "If John finds out, he'll never let us live it down."

"Oh, let him try," Bucky mutters, already sounding smug again. "I'd like to see him survive after I've had you like that."

You groan, smacking his shoulder—but yeah. Yeah, you're grinning.

Because this thing between you two? It's dangerous, stupid, and completely out of control.

And there's no way in hell you're stopping now.

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat 10 part 2/2

masterpost

Sam craned to listen to secondhand sounds of combat. It was all filtered through Val’s headset, so it was vaguely electronic.

“Up!” Said a female voice. Was that Robin? Sam tried to piece it together. The little one had been Robin, she'd thought. Could have been a boy or a girl. Robin looked around Dani's size. 

Ah, hell. She pushed down the recurring dread that thoughts of Dani brought up. 

Dani was probably fine. She just wasn't answering them because she was fabulously busy in Malaysia or Guam or somewhere else gorgeous and fascinating. She wasn't in one of those labs. They hadn't left her in a lab for a month. Sam’s hands were shaking. She squeezed them hard, angry with herself. Good thing she wasn’t in that fight, she’d be useless like this. Useless!

The percussive sounds of fast, expert violence came through Val's sound system. “Damn,” Val said. “Nice swing.” 

The answer was a feminine laugh. Man, who was that? “Not half bad yourself,” said the unknown girl.

Sam untensed, a little. They didn’t sound stressed. It was probably going fine.

There was a groan. “Spoiler, please,” said Red Robin, in a tone he probably thought was too soft to be overheard. Ha. Val was using Vlad's creepertech, and Vlad was one of the best creeps out there. Sam felt weirdly proud of him for a moment. It bordered patriotism. Their freak was the best freak in the business. Eat your heart out, Batjerk.

“Like you're the only one who can pick up girls on the job?” The girl who had to be Spoiler said. 

Sam snorted. Good luck with that one! Val was spectacularly unavailable. She should know, she had tried. 

“Spoiler, Red Robin, and Robin.” Sam listed aloud for Tucker. “What do we know?” 

“All known associates of Batman, Gotham operatives, estimated active dates are at least a couple years each. Robin is clearly an inherited role, but this current one… been in for two years, I think.” Tucker listed off. “I think Spoiler and Red Robin were both former Robins, that's not too subtle.” 

Sam snorted. Her breath fanned out as visible moisture in the cold night air. 

“Likely older teens or early twenties, both of them. Robin is obviously pre puberty. 13 at the oldest.” 

Val made a subvocal grunt that meant she agreed with Tucker's assessment 

That fit. And she really didn't like it. Sam felt her hackles rise up. What was wrong with Gotham? Her group was all child vigilantes, sure, but they'd had no adult help. They'd also all been 14 or older when they got involved. Except for Dani. God, Dani, please don't be in that building. Sam had to relax her grip on the bazooka handle because she squeezed it so hard that the metal creaked. 

Danny was older now. But she didn't like that this was who he'd ended up with. Sam gritted her jaw hard and tried to keep her temper on a low simmer. She didn't have enough facts to think Batman would put Danny in danger. 

“Clear.” 

“Clear.”

The operation inside seemed to continue smoothly. 

“That should be all the staff members on the premises,” Red Robin said. “First lab, coming up.”

“Behind me.” Batman practically growled the order.

A door opened. Sam held her breath. 

“...Are those samples?” 

Val grunted slightly. Why? What was going on? “Cores,” Val said. “Basically, people who have been injured into a coma. Left like that, they're gonna die slowly. Starvation.” 

“What do we do?” Spoiler cut in. “I mean- what can we do?” 

“Is there a way to transport them?” Val dodged the question. “I don't- yeah, that's good.” 

“Can you provide treatment?” Batman pushed. “Where will you take them?”

Val let out a long, annoyed sigh. “I don't trust you enough to go into the details.”

“Why should we trust you, vixen?” Spat a very young voice.

“Vixen?” Spoiler repeated quietly, incredulously. 

“Robin, you can't say things like that!” Red Robin hissed. “Ow- little asshole.” 

“Enough. Thank you.” Batman cut off the chatter. “Let's clear the facility.” 

They found more cores in the labs. Sam felt her stomach condense tighter and tighter into a knot as they came across research areas time and time again. 

They hadn't taken the GIW seriously enough. They'd thought they were incompetent and funny. How long had scientists been experimenting on captured ghosts here? How many of them had totally withered away? 

“Fuck,” Sam said quietly, and wiped her eyes off with her arm. 

They were clearly finished. No Dani, not unless she was one of the cores rolling around on GIW shelves like she wasn't a person.

Batman and crew came out. She could hear Batman clearly making some kind of call to…. To a Green Lantern, she thought, to pick up the GIW agents. 

Oh. That…

“Probably legit,” Tucker said on the line. He let out a big sigh and his chair clicked when he leaned back, no doubt crossing his arms behind his head. “I guess we should talk to ‘em. Should I come out there?” 

“Yeah, do it,” Sam said. “You want a pick up?” She moved the bazooka from a ready position to rest across her back instead.

Tucker hummed. “That would probably be a little cooler than using my bike.” 

Val snorted, but didn't chime in. Sam dipped back to town and let Tucker climb on behind her. He crouched to hold onto the board with both hands, because he was a sweaty nerd with no balance. 

“The bike might have been cooler,” Sam teased, and then she accelerated hard. She met them back in the field where Batman had landed his plane. As soon as she veered into sight, all of the bats looked at her, clearly ready for a fight.

“Calm down,” Val ordered. “You're all so jumpy.” 

Sam snorted and came to a sharp stop. She braced against Tucker's weight (she knew he'd be jostled.) She aimed her hardest glare at Batman. Fuck everyone else. “Danny said you wanna talk.” 

Behind them, unseen, Val double-checked the straps of a new black bag. Sam had no doubt it was full of helpless cores. 

Batman frowned at her slightly. “...Samantha Manson.” He looked behind her. “And Tucker Foley.” He didn't seem surprised, exactly,  but he didn't seem happy to see them either.

“Old man,” she shot back. “You've got half an hour. But first off, what the hell kinda game are you playing with Danny? Because this-” she waved a hand at his child soldier platoon. “is some bullshit, okay. What's going on?” 

Val shot vertically up with a whoosh of air that blew Spoiler’s hair out. All four bats whirled in time to see her blast off into the distance. 

“Focus!” Sam snapped her fingers. “Why are you here?” 

A muscle twitched in Batman's jaw. “My only intention with Danny is to ensure his safety. I have some concerns about the GIW and about his home situation that I want to look into.” 

Sam scoffed. “Bit late.” She wound some hair around her finger. “They're gone. All of them. You saw what's left of the GIW. The Fentons disappeared the day after the GIW did.” 

She heard the first hint of urgency and upset in his voice when he pressed, “Jasmine Fenton?” 

“Gone.” 

[starwrighter]

Dude, get a restraining order

(Prompt) (Ao3 link)

(The results from the poll have arrived!! You have chosen unintentional Yandere Damian! )

Danny had a feeling the next several months were going to suck. Out of everyone in his school, he'd been the one picked for the whole "Transfer student," nonsense. With his reputation, you'd think he'd be the last person you'd want to show off out of state.

Regardless, Danny was chosen, and now he was on a plane headed to New Jersey Gotham. "The City of Crime" sounds like a blast and a half. All the rouges and criminals that wouldn't be his problem to deal with. It seemed like heaven in theory, but Danny knew with his luck he'd be getting mugged left, right, and center.

Pressing his face against the window, Danny allowed his mind to wander. To the portal, the friends who wouldn't be here to support him, to the ghosts who didn't want to kill him. Dani and Val were going to pick up the slack back home but that wouldn't help with the rumors no doubt going around about Phantom's disappearance. He could only hope he still had a secret identity when he got home.

Maybe if he did crime against the local vigilantes he'd get sent home early...

No, the rouges and local criminals did that on a daily basis they wouldn't crack from a little trolling. Or maybe they would? Then again, Red Hood used guns and the current Robin ran around with a real ass god-damn sword so trolling was a bad idea.

In all honesty, Robin was intimidating even with the little information he had about him. All he had were blurry, articles from various news outlets and attempted interviews with some ridiculously persistent reporter. Robin sounded more cryptic than he was! The entire concept of a teenager his age manifesting out of the shadows and chasing him with a katana would forever be his biggest concern during his stay in Gotham.

When the plane touched down Danny was left in a busy airport terminal. Vague instructions from his teachers and chatter from the employees trying to get him out onto the street as soon as possible were all he had to go off right now. Also, a brochure that he was 90% sure was all bullshit.

Gotham's air felt closer to smoke than it was anything breathable. Burning his nostrils, a scent of gas and cigarette smoke pretty much engulfed the city. It was so bad the second he took a breath, his core jolted, snapping into gear, not allowing anything to enter his lungs before it filtered. He'd never been so glad about dying until now, and never had he ever been as impressed in a population as he was now.

Danny had only been here for ten minutes or so but he'd already come to the conclusion that Gothamites were as metal as amity parkers. Wandering through the city, Danny tried to keep his face neutral. Not a smile or the slightest tell that he wasn't from here. He'd rather not get mugged before he reached his apartment. Though, maybe a fatal injury would get him sent home early.

Looking down at the map on his phone, Danny drew closer to the apartment building he'd been assigned to stay at. Supposedly, it was closer to the rich kid school he'd be temporarily attending. Why they decided it was okay for a teenager to live by himself in Gotham was a complete and total mystery. He could only hope he wouldn't die a second time during his stay.

Getting the key from the front desk was a much easier process than he'd thought It'd be. But it could never be quick enough. His suitcases were heavy!! And he was so very very tired. When he got into his apartment he tossed his suitcases onto the floor, inspecting the place he'd be staying for the next few months. It pretty good setup, a bathroom with a combined bath and shower, a tiny kitchen for cooking, and a small bedroom with a twin XL mattress. Grey sheets that Danny didn't quite trust were clean. Danny barely had the time to settle in before he was pelted with schedules, school rules, and uniform requirements.

His uniform as supplied by the school was a navy blue blazer with the school label embroidered on the pocket. A tie striped black and blue tucked into a stuffy-looking dress shirt. Overall it felt more like he was dressing up for one of Vlad's stupid Gala's than it did school.

He wasn't given any time to unpack, not a second to relax or get used to his surroundings. Nope! He was expected to pack up his school supplies and head to school right away! Seriously, not a minute before the front office was asking where he was, as if offended he didn't teleport to school the moment he touched down.

The school itself was intimidating. Twice the size of Casper High, it looked like a private school. It also looked like a school where he'd face severe bullying. Just from looking at the entrance, he could tell this building had proper equipment down to the most obscure of clubs. Kids rushed past him some looking panicked as a school bell rang while others just seemed annoyed.

He strolled leisurely through the school hall on the way to the office. There was no rush, he didn't even want to be here. What were they going to do? Send him home? Oh no, what a tragedy! Snickering under his breath, Danny scrolled through the avalanche of texts Vlad was sending him. All of them pertaining the same message of "Get your ass to school you're making me look bad!" It almost convinced him to skip but the pissed-off edge to the office lady's voice in their last phone call was enough to goad him into creeping into the office.

A face of thinly veiled annoyance rested on the desk lady's face. He could barely get a word out before a school map and schedule were shoved into his hands. A bare-bones explanation of the school rules was given along with his school ID before he was all but shouted at to get to class.

You'd think there'd be an adjusting period where they'd walk him through everything and let him get settled in at his own pace, but nope! This is Gotham! Apparently, that's not how they roll with transfer students. It's like they wanted him back in amity as much as he did.

He wasn't sure if he liked that or not...

(I don't know who want's to be tagged for this one)

[abiscuit]

Merry Batman Forever 30th anniversary. To celebrate here is an essay I wrote about the film for literally no reason a year ago.

Lights, Camera, Boiling Acid…?

Picture it: a boring day in June of 1995. Since the modern cell phone hasn't been invented, and movie ticket prices haven't skyrocketed yet, you think it is the perfect opportunity to see the summer's biggest blockbuster. Tim Burton's Batman movies were so successful and fun, surely this Schumacher guy won't mess it up. You go into the theater, sit down, and the best worst movie plays out before your eyes. You sit through the full 122 minutes of the film, stunned. The credits roll, and while Seals A Kiss From a Rose plays, you contemplate, "What the fuck.”

This is the view of many Batman fans during opening weekend of Batman Forever, as audiences rolled into and promptly back out of theaters across the country. As this film is approaching its 30th anniversary, there is a question on where it stands in modern pop culture. Apart from the occasional reference in other batman media, Batman Forever has been largely ignored, despite the masterpiece it truly is. Its dismissal from popular culture, and clearly campy elements, are why I propose that Batman Forever should be regarded with the campy Cult Classic reputation it deserves.

One of the most important things we must ask ourselves as the audience is: "What qualifies as a campy movie?” Vocabulary.com defines camp as “something that has a ridiculous, wacky appeal.” Examples of classic campy movies include the Rocky Horror Picture Show, Barbarella, Army of Darkness, and Little Shop of Horrors. These films speak to core camp elements such as silly-factor, loud and exaggerated costumes and sets, and certain over the top choices within the script. Now that we have a definition of campy, we must analyze Batman Forever for what makes it truly "camp.”

The first aspect of this film's camp is its cast, as it must be noted that this film is star studded. With Val Kilmer emerging as Batman, and with Nicole Kidman as his love interest, Dr. Chase Meridian, we start off strong with two popular stars who bring the more serious section of the story. Chris O'Donnel is introduced as Robin, and despite being a bit too old to pass as a teen in need of guidance, he provides the edgy and disruptive “young” behavior to be a narrative foil to Bruce Wayne as the mature adult. On the complete opposite end of the spectrum we have Jim Carrey as the Riddler and Tommy Lee Jones as Two-Face. These two actors struggling to upstage each other, along with the fact that every background actor says their lines with the gusto of a theater kid, creates a strange cast of people who outdo every performance in a way that makes you question whether or not this film is terrific or terrible.

The costumes are the next point, as Batman and Robin (not the movie) fit in as Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson, their alter egos have one key feature keeping them from the realm of normal: nipples. Designed after ancient statues, Schumacher made a strange decision in adding nipples to these suits, and while this may have entranced audiences, it was most certainly not the strangest part of this film's outfits. From Two-Face's bifurcated wardrobe, to skin tight green spandex, the villains present an ever changing rotation of outfits that make audiences gasp, out of happiness or shock? Who's to say. Two-Face and The Riddler both have several costumes, though remain true to bright, eccentric, and jarring.

The sets also add to the wacky and out-there aspect of this film. The shots of outer Gotham make it appear to be a nightclub or rave, with neon colors and statues flushed with bright lighting. There is also Two-Face's lair, which is split straight down the middle, and is described as “heavy metal meets house and garden.” Two-Face also keeps his henchwomen/girlfriends, Sugar and Spice, in his lair, serving him questionable meals and sassy glances. One of the other most notable sets is the Riddlers Claw Island, which is full of spinning question mark lights and a rotating throne, for only the grandest of entrances. The key point to both the costumes and set design of the film is simply the word Loud, as every aspect screams in your face with how there it is.

The last point making this film campy is the plot. What this movie, along with many other campy movies, lacks in a plot, it makes up for it with its ever streaming flood of random excitement. The real plot to this film is simply "the villains try to kill batman,” and while this is common in most superhero movies, so much is happening all at once from scenes changing and bad puns being made, that by the end of the film you suddenly come out of the fever dream and think "wait, what happened?” While this may make audiences question if this is a good film, it most certainly proves the fact that it is full of entertainment and blinding lights, key necessities to a campy cult classic.

Now that all of the key points have been laid out, it is clear that Batman Forever has camp, and with its age it becomes obvious that it is deserving of a cult following. Despite its high budget and superhero movie status, Batman Forever holds a 41% on Rotten Tomatoes, but I did not come here to argue that this movie is in any way good. Most every piece of media will garner a few weird teenagers to become obsessive over it, as even this film has developed a following on sections of the internet, such as tumblr. Due to its out there and loud costumes, set pieces, script, and very passionate cast, I believe Batman Forever is a film that deserves more recognition as a cult classic for its indescribably silly and campy nature. Thank you for reading :]

[incorrectfantasticfour]

Franklin: When I was ten, I loved Beyblades. I told Val about them and told her I wanted to be the strongest beyblader. She asked to see my beyblade. After inspecting it, she made the observation that weight was the deciding factor in which beyblade won. And weight came from the metal core at a beyblade's center Franklin: So she made a custom core for me. A very heavy one. I took my beyblade to a playdate with Artie and Leech the next day and in my first game, I broke my opponent's beyblade in two. After that, nobody wanted to play against my weighted beyblade. I was the king.

[herladyanarchy]

Playlist Tags

Rules: Shuffle your repeat playlist 10 times and tag 10 people. Tagged by @defira85

I don't have ten people to tag but uh. Here's ten songs!

Guillotine Dreams - KiNG MALA It's a Durge song this one. It's very Val for how she's trapped inside her own head, that urge to slice up people constantly sitting on the back of her ruined/replaced eye. KiNG MALA is also a very special artist to me as her songs tend to deal with depression, imposter syndrome, insecurity and queer themes. Unsurprisingly I strongly relate to all of those.

Praise You - Fatboy Slim It's a classic and while it's not really my normal kind of music, it's a good beat to pick myself up to. Used to be on my scrim playlist as a pre-game vibe for officials. It gets me in that headspace (true or not) of when I'm bad I'm good and when I'm good I'm untouchable. The downside is the emotional crash but shhh we don't have to deal with Jenny's Personal Total Perspective Vortex right now.

Rain - The Cult It's one of several DOZEN SoVenj songs. This is also my main kind of non-ship music. Overdriven guitars and solid rock & roll. For Mara and Petra, this is Petra in her lonely years. When even her up-vibe songs carry that essential core of her missing something. This is also an EiMIko song for opposite reasons. For Miko and Ei both it's a lot more literal. You're married to a storm goddess, rain is always a reason to celebrate. I'm not married to a storm goddess (alas) but rain and storms always make me feel good.

The Unseen Ones - Darren Korn, Masahiro Aoki, Daisuke Kirosawa (from Hades)

It's a killer track, it's exactly my style, it's useful for fight scenes, it's in a lot of playlists. Recently used for Val in the battle for Moonrise but works just as well for Ei at full power or anything from RWBY. Again this is one I just listen to even when I'm not writing. I have music (or Critical Role/a youtube video) on almost 24/7.

Big Metal Shoe - Jeff Williams, Casey Lee Williams, Lamar Hall (from RWBY) Jeff Williams is the guitarist with the single greatest influence over me as a musician. This man single-handedly shaped my soundstage as a player and a listener and his guitar tone sings to me like few others do (Slash, Brian May, John Norum, Bernie Marsden being my other greats). I just listen to this one on repeat a lot. The ending cadence layering vocals on that guitar just works for me like very very few other things go.

Pretty Mary Sunlight - Earl Cliffton I first heard this song at about 6 years old watching ancient Scooby Doo cartoons at my grandparents house and it's a very formative earworm. While nowadays my tastes in country trend a lot darker, (almost exclusively to the Dark Country subgenre) It's nice, bright, upbeat, and I always sing to it.

Ghost Myself - DIAMANTE It's a trans song that also works for Val! I love Diamante as a musician and as a style icon for me personally. The cover art for the single version of Bite Your Kiss is still my endgame transition look. For Val, this is again about fighting with the Urge. Lots of resigned self-loathing but laced with fire, this is Val on the cusp of accepting that she will almost always be a killer. She doesn't want to be herself anymore, but she's on a rapid journey and can't really afford to be catatonic while she processes her emotions, just ends up burying her blade in cultists and washing her sins away in the blood of a deathgod.

I'm Just Ken - Ryan Gosling (from the Barbie movie) I haven't actually SEEN the movie and there's not MUCH deeper meaning behind this one. It's just a really good song with plenty of the guitar tone that really speaks to me specifically. Those high strings sing. This was a song for writing Era and Aayren, as it SORT of works for Aayren, but mostly I just like it. It's good music.

Ava of Death - Eleine This list is UNFAIRLY influenced by the fact that the last fic I wrote was Dark Urge related, but aside from the fact that this OBVIOUSLY works for Val, it's also a song relating to my next novel. Shares a name with one of the main leads, and as a happy coincidence the full title also relates to part of her path throughout the book. The lyrics are definately more Val related. She's a Death Knight, of course they do. Aside from that, it's just music that I like. Almost all my ship songs are gleaned from genre playlists when I'm in a specific mood.

Going to War - Pagan Fury It's metal, it's norse themed, it's my Aasimar from my regular campaign. Tariya is from a frozen northern region and the progeny of a stormgod. She is all about war and battle and honour. It's all thunder and lightning so this song is just my vibe on every day even if we discount Tariya. It's also very Ei on an introspective battle day, she brings rain and lightning to a battlefield of mortals and strides in on a carpet of thunder like the melodramatic lesbian diety she is. It also has my favourite kind of guitar, which is just another reason to like it. It's PROBABLY in my Val playlist too, but there's no meaning there.

Ten songs is too little, I love talking about music too much. I'll do this for ten more songs if anyone wants.

The fact that Raphael's Final Act was song number twelve, right after a Carribean rap that I associate entirely with fighter pilots because of one VERY brief meme phase while I was writing a fic about lesbian Top Gun is pretty telling about my music taste. That was followed up by Sauvée as sung at the end of Faust too, which I adore as it is my favourite opera.

[emberwexley]

There was absolutely not a hint of resistance to the guidance of Val's hands, limbs easily melding into place as she found herself all but wrapped around the intoxicating brunette, breaths already shallow turning almost gasping as her back hit cold metal. "I want you do bad." and fuck did she ever. It had been months since Ember had even looked at anyone else, but Val had lit a raging inferno inside her.

Almost whimpering through the shudder that Val's tongue sent rippling straight to her core, fingers curling to take purchase on one of her shoulders to help support her suddenly unsteady legs. Turning her fact she hungrily captured her lips, already breathing a moan into her lips, gasping out her words onto kiss swollen lips. "I'm yours."

Valerii's brow rose in amusement as she watched Ember prowl towards her. Val pressed into Ember's embrace and hungrily kissed at her mouth but it only had her wanting to taste something else. When Ember's mouth left hers Val stayed close. "Kitten you can't keep teasing me," She warned in a husky voice that was reserved for these moments of sexual frustration. They had several floors to descend before they'd reach the atrium where the party was being held and Valerii intended to make the most of the ride. Her gloved hand caressed the warm skin on Ember's thigh before fingers suddenly tightened around the limb and lifted it to wrap around Valerii's hip. She hummed in enjoyment as she stepped into Ember and pinned her against the elevator wall. "If you don't want this you can back out, no hard feelings."

They'd kissed, they'd fooled around--But it had felt like they were back in high school--and Valerii had no interest in returning to those days. She wouldn't hold it against Ember if the other woman decided she wasn't ready for a more sex focused relationship but Valerii wasn't sure she could offer any sort of alternative. She wasn't good with feelings. Physical intimacy was her love language, as messy as that was.

She leaned in to run her tongue along Ember's collar bone in her own moment of teasing. Her warm breath continued to exhale against Ember's skin as she informed, "But I know what I want."

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 275

Pokemon crossover? Indeed. Because there’s so many ghost pokemon, and many that are specifically stated to be dead children that I bet? They would absolutely adore the Dannies. In fact? They adore the entire Team Phantom. 

Who are in fact on vacation, taking a summer to not have to deal with ghosts. Do they know what Fright Knight is doing back home? No, but they’re on vacation and don’t care. Look at these lil guys! Tucker, don’t steal the rotom- oh they’ve adopted you? Okay. Fair enough. 

Now their world? Pokemon doesn’t exist. And by that I mean not even as a game or series or anything. So it is new and fun and like exploring the zone all over again! 

They’re having fun, making friends with people and pokemon alike. Danny has discovered that pokepuffs don’t become violent if revived and many of his new friends love having snacks they can chase after. Dan absolutely delights in taking care of more than a couple of the evil organizations- and there might have been a cult form, no one asked. 

They had to drag Tucker away from several bits of technology, quite literally drag him. And they had to carefully drag several pokemon away from Valerie because they adore her and her suit. Sam- erm, where did Sam and Ellie- oh there they are. Oh Ellie found a clone friend and Sam. Sam that’s a legendary. 

…

That’s so cool! But like, they do have to go back home- oh, oh they’re coming with. That’s a lot of pokemon. Oh well, it’s fine. They brought souvenirs for their friends and family and plenty of plants- like Sam would let them not do so. 

So now they’re home and with… okay that’s way more friends than they thought, but it’s fine! Let’s go see- oh hey Frighty, erm, what do you mean heroes arrived?? We don’t have much of an issue anymore???

Fright, teacher of theirs, where are the heroes, did you toss them out- FRIGHT-

[heerated]

since val's wishes are orders...

I'm wondering how good would be pussy eating and fingering >>THIS<< JAKE 🤤

this jake eating you out would be heaven sent. feeling the cold metal from his lip ring on your core as his tongue makes kitty licks on your clit. he’d pause at eating you out for a moment to stick his long fingers in, pumping in and out of you while he wears those rings.

[gambling-bartender]

Vox chuckled a little as he felt Val's wandering hands but he didn't move to engage with the contact, instead choosing to just relax further into Valentino's lap, letting his arms fall to his chest and leaning his head against the other demon.

Despite being mostly made of metal and his extremities being pretty cool to the touch, Vox's core was often pretty warm. Rarely quite hot, just... warm. Almost comfortingly so. And that core was pressed up against Val.

Vox didn't speak, not wanting to push Val any further both because he didn't want to set him off and because he wasn't actually all that good at helping in these kinds of situation, at least not with his words.

That was his intention on sitting location, so he didn't even blink about it. Folding three of four arms around the TV-head. Valentino wasn't 'soft' often, no. Mustered it every so often in a limited capacity.

And, despite his 'best' intentions, hands were going to wander a little. Not too crazy, just idle petting and smoothing over clothing. Might get under suit coat at worst.

Didn't press a conversation out of Vox. Just kept him to his chest and tried to relax too. He hadn't been sleeping right lately. He blew out a plume of signature smoke. Maybe he did need a break...

[lexosaurus]

Phic Phight 2022: Lair

This fic is for @poisonouscephalopod

Characters: Danny, Val WC: 3541 Summary: When something goes wrong with a piece of Vladco tech, Valerie ends up stuck in the Ghost Zone. With Phantom.

[ao3] [ffn]

---

“Are you fucking serious?” the Red Huntress hollered.

Phantom winced, drifting away slightly. “Do you mind? Ghost hearing.”

“THIS WAS YOU!” Valerie whipped out her gun. “I know it was you!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Valerie,” Phantom said, thoroughly enjoying how her glare deepened until Danny was sure that she was picturing all the ways she could murder him on the spot. “I’m here too!”

“So? You’re a ghost, this is your territory!”

“Um, no it isn’t. My lair is like…” Danny tapped his chin. “I don’t know actually, not here though. I think it’s that way.”

“You think?”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules!”

Red lowered her blaster, letting it dangle to her side. “Fuck! FUCK!”

“Calm down, it’ll be fine.”

“No, it’s not fucking fine. I’m in the…holy fuck I’m in the Ghost Zone, aren’t I? That’s where we are right now? I recognize the sky from the…FUCK!” She turned to him, panicked. “What are we gonna do? I’m not a ghost, I can’t be here! I have too many enemies, I’m gonna die.”

“Well, thankfully for you, I am a ghost and I can get us out of here.” Danny’s smile fell. “I think.”

“You think? Oh my god, I’m really gonna die out here.”

Danny flipped on his back, floating lazily in the ectoplasm-filled air. “You’ll be fine. I think my lair is up that way, though it’s pretty far so it’s a bit hard to tell. But once we get to my lair, I know how to bring us to the Fenton Portal, and you can get home.”

“Okay,” Valerie said, though Danny was sure she was reassuring herself more than she was responding to him. “Okay, okay. This is fine. I can do this. I won’t fucking die here.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Her helmet whipped up, and once again Danny could feel her glare through her screen.

“Now follow me! And, uh, you might want to think about putting that blaster away. I don’t know whose territory we’re near, and I don’t exactly want to go looking for a fight right now.”

Valerie didn’t move.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Or not, whatever. Don’t cry to me when you end up as a ghost too.”

Valerie immediately charged the ecto-ray.

“I’m kidding! Kidding, relax a little, Red.” Danny flew forward into the expanse of black and green swirls and purple doors. He didn’t turn back, but eventually, he could feel Vallerie tailing him.

“Welcome to the Ghost Zone, by the way,” he said, trying to ease her spirits. After all, Ghosts could smell fear, and he didn’t know what unsavory characters were nearby.

Though so far, he could see only a few harmless blob ghosts glancing their way.

“This place is a fucking wasteland. No wonder you spend so much time on Earth.”

“Hey!” Danny countered, shooting her a glare. He could insult the Ghost Zone all he wanted, but Valerie was human, so she didn’t get such luxuries. “We’re just in an unpopulated section, apparently. One of these days, I’ll show you some of the good parts.”

“Good parts?” Valerie asked skeptically.

‘Yeah! There’s this one place called the Far Frozen that’s run by a bunch of Yetis. They have ice cores too, so we’re pretty chill.”

“Yetis, like in the Arctic? You guys have snow here?”

“Sure. The ghosts manifest their lairs, so Yetis have snow. It’s a giant frozen tundra actually, ‘cause there’s so many of them.”

“That sounds horrible. And you like it there?”

“Sure!” He jammed his thumb to his chest. “I have a cold core too.”

Valerie was silent for a moment, then in a tone badly covering up her curiosity, she asked, “...what’s a cold core?”

“Oh, it’s my ghost core,” Danny said. “Every ghost has one. Mine is cold, so I get ice powers. It’s also why my aura runs cold. Every ghost is different. Plasmius has a plasma core, Ember has a fire core, Skulker has a metal core, blah blah…”

“What about The Box Ghost?”

Danny snorted. “I actually have no idea what core he has. He might not have a specialty core. I don’t think every ghost does.”

“Like these blob ghosts?” Valerie jerked her head towards a blob ghost that had been trailing them for a few minutes.

Danny slowed down, letting the ghost catch up to him. The ghost nuzzled against his arm, purring.

Under her helmet, Danny couldn’t tell if her face was curious or just disgusted. With Red, anything was possible.

Danny held out his arm. “Here, he won’t bite.”

“No thanks.”

“Aww, but he’s so cute!” Danny scratched the ghost’s belly. “Who’s the sweetest little guy, huh? You are, that’s who!”

“You’re insane.”

“It’s just a blob ghost.”

“It’s still a ghost.”

“Yeah, well look at who you’re talking to.” His words came out more bitter than he intended, but his stock of patience only ran so deep.

Valerie flinched, seeming to realize who she was talking to. Danny could feel her mood sour again, and she scoffed, flying off.

“Come on, Val,” Danny chased after her. “We were just starting to get along.”

“No. No fucking way was I getting along with you. You’re…a ghost.”

“Yeah, I am,” Danny snapped. He flew in front of her, cutting her off. “Look, I don’t want to be here any more than you, but there’s nothing I can do about that other than help us get back to Amity Park—”

“Help me get back to Amity Park, you mean. You’re a ghost, you belong here.”

Danny rolled his eyes, the usual mantra of she doesn’t know any better playing on a loop in his brain. “Sure, whatever. But you need me to get out, and you know this. So the least you could do is just pretend to tolerate me. Please, for my own sanity.”

Valerie stared at him for a moment, her helmet covering any indication of what she was truly feeling. Seconds ticked by, and Danny was just about to throw in the metaphorical towel when she finally retracted her blaster and stuck out her hand.

“Alright. Truce.”

Danny beamed, meeting her hand halfway. “Truce!”

“But I swear,” She gripped his hand, pulling him in. “You lead me to a trap, and I will kick your ass, Phantom.”

Danny chuckled, phasing out of her grip. “Sure, sure, Red.”

With that, the three of them (because Danny had grown too attached to the blob ghost at this point to let him go) carried on through the swirling expanse that was the Ghost Zone. They flew for what seemed like hours, falling into a quiet but comfortable silence. Occasionally, Valerie would ask him a question or two about the Zone.

“What are all these doors about?”

“There’s time travel here?”

And of course, the inevitable facepalm and comment of, “This place is a goddamn madhouse,” but her comments lacked her typical bite, and so Danny couldn’t help but have fun poking at her metaphorical shield.

And besides, any opportunity he got to educate her about ghosts was a good thing.

“Hey, I think there’s an island up there,” Danny said, pointing down at a floating rock. “We can take a break there for a bit if you want?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice relieved. Danny didn’t blame her, it wasn’t every day he flew for multiple hours without stopping.

“Cool. You want me to scope it out first?”

She thought for a moment. “No, it’s fine. Let’s just go.”

The duo headed toward the floating mass, which became clearer as they got into its view. It was a small island with scattered ecto-ferns and brushes, with a small ecto-pool on its surface. Little blob ghosts hovered over the pond, soaking in the ectoplasm that evaporated off of it.

“Damn, no water,” Danny heard Valerie mutter under her breath.

Danny glanced at his palms. While he could make ice, he was almost certain that his ice wasn’t pure H20, and had some ecto-properties inside.

Ones that were more than likely to make Valerie sick.

“Sorry. The atmosphere here isn’t great for humans.” Danny bent down to scoop up some of the ectoplasm from the pool. He brought it to his lips and relished as the cool liquid slid down his throat.

“You can drink this stuff?”

Danny gulped down another handful, and then wiped his chin with his glove. “Yeah, we’re made of it, so it’s healthy for us.”

The blob ghost that had followed him leaped down from Danny’s shoulder and gently lapped at the pool.

“Good boy!” Danny praised him.

The ghost paused, looking up at Danny to let out a little meep mur in response.

Danny stood, stretching his limbs. He could already tell he was going to be sore tomorrow.

Valerie, on the other hand, had taken to sitting down against one of the few trees that stood on the island. “How much longer till your lair?”

Danny closed his eyes and allowed his senses to expand. It was much easier to do this in the Zone, with all the dense, ambient ectoplasm in the atmosphere. Vaguely, he wondered how much faster he could fly here compared to on Earth.

“We’re definitely closer. Probably still a few more hours though.”

Valerie groaned and leaned her head against the tree stump. “This sucks.”

“Yup.” Danny plopped down next to her. “I hope someone got that ghost we were fighting too.”

“Oh god, I totally forgot about him. God, I barely even remember what happened. It feels like it was so long ago.”

“Yeah, I think he…knocked into a piece of Vladco equipment?” Danny scratched his head. “It’s kinda blurry for me too.”

The blob ghost returned from its voyage to the pool and rubbed its face against Danny’s cheek. A few other blob ghosts followed, each shyly approaching until they made contact with him. At the realization that he wouldn’t hurt them, they gave in and nuzzled him, letting out little meeps of happiness.

“Oh hey, little guys!” Danny shifted till he was criss-cross applesauce and began gently petting the ghosts. “What are you guys all doing here? Enjoying the pond?”

Meep meep!

Blip!

“What fun!” Danny agreed enthusiastically.

The ghosts seemed to appreciate his cheer if their little flips and wiggles were anything to go by.

Valerie snorted, and immediately slapped her hands over her helmet where her mouth would be.

Danny grinned over at her, his eyes nearly cross-eyed as a ghost gnawed on his hair, blocking his sight from partial view. “What, something on my face?”

Her stifled giggles turned into full-fledged laughter, and she slapped her forehand with her hand. “You’re an idiot, Phantom.”

“Oh come on, Red, this is adorable. Look at them, they’re like little babies.”

“Are they?” she asked, her tone turning. “Are they ghost babies?”

“Nah. They’re just little globs of ectoplasm that gained sentience. Most of them originate from the zone, though many of them used to be small animals on Earth.”

“Oh…” Valerie reached out and gently touched one of them. It preened under her thumb and cuddled into the palm of her hand. “And they just hang out here now?”

“Yeah, like all of us.” Phantom’s smile dropped a little. “You know, unless we move on.”

“How does that work? Moving on?”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck with his hands, averting his gaze. “It’s different for everyone, but ultimately you have to like…satisfy your Obsession. Permanently. So, for example, a lot of the ghosts here died in a battle of some kind. For them to move on, they have to win one. What counts as a battle is sort of different for everyone, but that’s the general gist.”

“I see.” Valerie rubbed circles on the blob ghost’s head. “And what about you?”

Danny tried not to look too uncomfortable. “What about me?”

“You know…what does your soul need to move on?”

“Uh—” Danny cleared his throat, his tongue suddenly dry. “That’s really personal.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s—” He cut himself off before he could say it’s fine, because it really wasn’t, and any other ghost might have punched her for asking.

She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know.

“Just be careful,” he finally settled on. “You can’t ask stuff like that.”

Truthfully, Danny wasn’t really sure what he needed to do to ‘move on,’ so to speak. Nor was he totally sure that he even could move on. He was still just as much of a human as he was ghost. If his ghost half moved on, and his human half was still alive, would he just…die?

That didn’t exactly sound like something he wanted to do.

But his Obsession wasn’t exactly something he was even sure he could fulfill. It was protection, and there would always be someone to protect. Maybe he was like ghosts like Frostbite and Clockwork, forever bound by their Obsessions that they would never be able to fill.

Maybe it was better that way.

“But uh…” Danny wanted to stop himself, but he powered through. “If you want to see my lair when we get there, I’ll let you come in.”

“Really?”

He didn’t look at her. “Yeah.”

She was silent for a moment. Perhaps she realized the gravity of what he was saying. “Thanks, Phantom.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Once they both had their fill of rest, they were up in the air again with now two blob ghosts insistent on following them, the one Danny found originally, and the one that had spent the last few hours cuddling up to Valerie.

“They’re not strong enough to really self-sustain on ectoplasm like we are. Or, sorry, not you, but for me and ghosts like me,” Danny was saying. “So they need to be around a constant supply of ectoplasm or else they cease to exist. That’s why that pool attracted so many of them.”

“Then why are these two following us?” Valerie asked.

“Because we established ourselves as allies, and I emit enough for them to feed off of.”

“Won’t that hurt you?”

Danny shrugged. “No, they’re not leeches. They’re only absorbing the stuff that’s not staying in my body. The excess, I guess. Sometimes the air in the Zone can get pretty thin, so blob ghosts who get lost might only last a few days on their own. It’s easier for them to stay on islands or in lairs if the host lets them.”

“And do you let them?”

“Sure, I don’t see why not. My core can be pretty intense, so my door has enough ambient ectoplasm to sustain them. And I’ve been practicing, so I’m pretty good at manipulating my lair now to suit whatever I need.”

“That sounds convenient.”

“It is!” Danny beamed. “But it took a lot of practice. It took me forever to get the sky just right.”

“Sky?”

“Oh yeah, loads of lairs have their own atmosphere. The Far Frozen even has days and nights. They don’t have a sun or anything, it’s just the aura around the island that gives it the illusion. I don’t know, it’s all ancient ecto-manipulation. Frostbite—the king—taught me how to do some stuff, which is what I brought back to my lair with me. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, it’s…” Valerie tilted her head. “It’s interesting, I guess. I never realized that ghosts really did any of this stuff. I kinda just thought it was a wasteland here.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be a good way to spend your afterlife,” Danny pointed out. “Though, the Zone is sorta like space. There are different universes and areas and whatnot. I’ve never been outside my section, so I don’t really know what the other parts are like.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. And you’ve only been a ghost for what…ten, fifteen years?”

Danny could feel her curiosity, and he normally would brush away any questions about his personal life.

But he could be somewhat vague without outright lying. “I’m pretty young for a ghost.”

“Not gonna tell me?”

“No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you snooping around trying to figure out who I was,” Danny said bluntly.

“Fair.”

The pair settled into another silence, both starting to slow as the hours lagged by. Danny could feel hunger pains starting to hit the dormant, human side of him, and he was sure Valerie was feeling even worse.

At least Danny could absorb the ectoplasm in the air in the meantime. She couldn’t even take off her helmet.

After too long passed, Valerie let out an audible groan. “If we’re not close, I’m gonna have to break again soon.”

“Yeah, I agree.” Danny closed his eyes, and to his surprise, his lair called him from far closer than before.

He jerked back, nearly crashing into a very grumpy Valerie, who looked just about to cuss him back to Earth before he flew up, suddenly invigorated, yelling, “It’s right around the corner!”

He rushed over, not checking if Valerie was following. He had enough faith in her to catch up anyway. The blob ghost nestled itself into his neck, chewing on his hair to hang on as he shot through the Zone.

Finally, he stopped.

Valerie caught up with him soon after. “Jeez, you could warn a girl. This is it?”

Danny nodded, trying to bury the anxiety that crawled up his stomach. He had never shown his lair to anyone before, not even Sam and Tucker, who thankfully had enough tact to not ask. They likely figured he would bring them when he was ready.

He wasn’t sure why this was such a sensitive topic for him. He’d been to other ghosts’ lairs plenty of times: Ember’s garage, Frostbite’s island, Clockwork’s tower—but when it came to his own sanctuary, he froze.

He brought a hand to the door, and then lowered it, shooting a nervous smile at Valerie. “Um, I forgot to ask, do you even want to see it? We can just go home if you’re tired.”

Danny could feel her eye roll. “If you’re too chicken to show me, then fine, I won’t pry. But don’t try to use me as an excuse.”

“Right.” Danny turned back to the floating purple door. He took one last deep breath, and turned the handle, pushing it open for her to see. “You can take your helmet off in there, by the way.”

Inside was a bedroom. It began based on Danny’s own room, but as he gained confidence, he changed things. It was larger than his bedroom at home, far larger, and it only had three walls instead of four. The bedding was plastered with a big NASA logo, and shelves full of model rockets decorated the walls. To one side was a TV and video game console, and to another stood a sleek laptop on top of a navy blue desk. The fourth wall—or what should have been a wall, opened to a field with a few ecto-apple trees nestled onto one side, and a glowing, swirling green and blue pond to the other. The expanse of the field led up a hill where a large Dob telescope sat on top.

He looked up, and that was his greatest achievement. Rather than a ceiling of any kind, his lair opened to the sky where flickering stars decorated the sky. Off to the north was the glowing aurora, which danced up and down the horizon. It had taken far too long to figure out how to prevent the aurora’s light pollution from blocking the view of the stars.

Danny stood shyly off to the side, letting Valerie soak in the lair with all its details. The blob ghosts, on the other hand, peeled off the duo immediately and headed for the pond, where a few other blob ghosts swam about carefree.

“Wow,” she breathed, crossing the threshold from his room onto the soft grass. Danny watched as her eyes surveyed every detail of the place. “This is amazing.”

Danny let out a breath of relief and leaned against the wall. “See? I told you the Zone wasn’t so bad.”

“And you did all this?”

“Yeah. Took forever, but I figured it out.”

“Damn.” Valerie twirled one of the apples in her hands. “Shit, Phantom. This is something else.”

“Thanks.” Danny rubbed the back of his neck with his hands.

“Why do you even bother to come to Amity at all? With a place like this, I would just stay here.”

“I’d get lonely. It’s nice to have this when I need to get away and recharge, but I don’t think I could stay here for long. I already spend so much time in other ghost lairs, I think I would get bored if I was here twenty-four-seven.”

Valerie nodded in understanding and then turned to face him. Her curly hair was tangled and flat from being packed against her helmet all day, and she looked tired. But still, she smiled. “Thanks for showing me this. It was really nice.”

He felt his lips twitch up, and the chilly feeling of ectoplasm tingled his cheeks. “You’re welcome. Now, uh, you wanna go home?”

“Hell yes, let’s go.”

---

[read more of my work here]

[its-the-val-pal]

Less is More

The harness was always the worst to remove. It involved undoing several straps to let the heavy pauldron hit the floor, then move his limbs at awkward angles in order to find the straps and.. there! The jumble of cloth and metal hit the floor of the Quicksand Inn’s room with a loud thud and jingle, allowing Zheval to finally remove his undershirt and turn to the mirror. He canted his head to the side as he studied himself, something he’d done almost nightly since.. well. Since he could remember.

His torso and limbs were a map of the stars; a myriad of cuts and blemishes and burns and bites and everything in between. A particular nasty vertical gash cleaved right through the center of his chest, and after some time Zheval had found one that mirrored it on his back. Which was the entrance wound and which was the exit, he wondered? A hand brushed over the nasty scar, soft fleshy pads of his fingers running along it as if he could somehow coax it to tell him the story of why it was there. Sometimes he thought he could. His body spoke to him. It seemed to know more about himself than he did, and not in a typical biological way. It moved out of the way of danger. A sensation told him to avoid certain alleys and places. And one.. seemed to tell him to use his money for an Inn tonight. There was something that drew him to this room. He didn’t know how or why. It was just a feeling. A yearning, deep inside the very core of his being, that told him he wanted to sleep in a room tonight with the small bit of gil he’d made. And who was he to deny the only thing in the world to know him? He all but sank into the soft mattress. How long had it been since he’d had one? He couldn’t recall, but it certainly had been ages. And the covers? And the warmth? How had he ever slept outside with amenities such as this? The Viera didn’t have time to wonder as, smitten by the life of luxury he’d found, he quickly fell into a deep slumber. Someone touched him. His eyes shot open and he leapt from the bed, hand slipping under his pillow to grab his dagger and bring it to the ready.  “Who’s there!?” he questioned aloud, voice shaking, barely capable of keeping himself from screaming it. Nothing but the creaks of an old, settling establishment and the light hum of patrons below and an awkward, uncomfortable silence was there to greet him. Zheval looked down to the knife as if he hadn’t realized he’d grasped for it, the weapon held in a reverse grip with the blade pointing outward, ready to defend himself. ..When did he learn that stance?

He spent the next several minutes checking the bed, the windows, the closets; anything he could think of for sign of exit and entry. Everything was locked up tight. Not a single sign that someone had been in the room existed. Was he losing his mind? Another cursory glance over his shoulder 

If he hadn’t paid for the room, he likely would have taken off for the night. Instead, Zheval opted, instead, to sleep on the floor. He wanted no part of the bed for fear of whatever happened causing him problems once more. The wood was hard and cold against his flesh, but it still wasn’t any worse than the ground outside. At least was was warm, right? Again, he drifted off to sleep. Val.. I’m cold.. 

Those blue and gold eyes shot open immediately. He, true to his Viera nature, would have hopped to his feet if it wasn’t for the sudden pain in his head. The shaking in his limbs. The visions. He was in a fight. But it wasn’t to the death. It was... fun? Entertaining? A tournament?

He saw himself jump into a blade--surely a killing blow--just to deliver a knockout of his own. 

He saw the blue of the sky above. Felt the life slowly draining from his body. He was grinning.

Then he saw her. The sun blotted out her features. He couldn’t make out who or what it was. There came that sudden, familiar scent of vanilla and.. was it an angel? No. No such thing.

Princess..

Zheval gathered hold of himself as the seizure finally settled. The last of the convulsions slowly swept through his body and faded, and soon he found himself slowly regaining control of his limbs. The back of his hand came up to wipe the spittle from his lip as the realization hit him: he’d been here. The touch he felt was her welcoming him to bed. He’d slept on the floor that night for fear of.. what? Overstepping his boundaries? Was he her guardian? Was she his? Question after question continued to flood his mind as the same, pained sensation began to enter his head. He fled before it could. Outside of Ul’dah in Central Thanalan, the Viera found himself huddled up on the ground beneath the bridge. It was cold and dirty, arms wrapped about himself as he shivered in silence, gentle tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know who that was. He didn’t know why he felt the way he did. But he did know that he hurt. And he knew that he was suddenly very well aware of the ring that rest against his chest, threatening to bore a hole into his very being. It would take a while, but eventually the gentle sounds of the nearby stream would help lull the sobbing Viera to sleep. 

[darks-ink]

Spark

Prompt: How does being constantly exposed to high amounts of ectoplasm affect the citizens of Amity Park? Prompt by: @robotbeowulf Word count: 2,487

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

---

Danny shrugged, shifting his backpack to lie a little more comfortably on his shoulders, and pretended very hard to be a regular student. It wasn’t easy, but it hadn’t been easy for the last two years. The constant secret-keeping from everyone was wearing on him.

Not to mention the constant ghost attacks, of course. He was pretty sure all of Amity Park was covered in a thick film of ectoplasm by now, considering how much of it he and the other ghosts spilled and fired during the almost-constant battles. Sure, his parents said that the stuff evaporated and then returned to the Ghost Zone, but his parents also said that humans couldn’t have ghost powers, and Danny was the (mostly) living proof that that wasn’t true, either.

He was jerked from his thoughts—literally—by a fist, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him against the lockers he had been walking by.

“Hi, Dash,” Danny muttered, trying to hide away his weariness with apathy. “Good morning to you too.”

“Fentonia,” Dash growled back, leaning in close to Danny’s face. A little too close, thank you, ever heard of personal space? “Finally.”

Danny bit back the automatic reply—aw, were you waiting for me?—and settled for grimacing at Dash.

Not that that went over well, of course, because Dash’s other hand found its way to Danny’s shirt as well. With Danny well in his grasp, Dash lifted him, slamming him against the lockers again, this time with his feet off of the ground—no easy way of getting out. Not without using his powers, at least.

“What’s wrong, Fenturd?” Dash asked, pressing Danny against the lockers even harder. “Ghost got your tongue?”

Ha ha, how creative. How funny. Danny was sure he’d come up with funnier jokes in his sleep. “Fuck off,” he grunted at Dash as his back was slammed against the hard metal behind him again.

“Ooh, he’s got bite today.” Dash leaned back a bit, a vicious grin on his face, then crowded Danny against the lockers again. “Oh, no, never mind. Looks like he’s all bark.”

Danny snarled back at Dash before he’d really thought about it—before he could stop himself, really. It wasn’t even words, really, just an animalistic snarl and the pulse of his core that meant his eyes were glowing.

Oh, fuck. And Dash was way too close to miss that.

“Hey, there you go!” Dash… cheered? The fists clenched in Danny’s shirt released, and his feet thumped down on the ground before he’d really caught on to what was happening. Dash was already turning away from him, nudging Kwan. “See, I told you Fenton could do it too!”

That… was not the reaction he’d expected to get to ghostly glowing eyes. What the fuck?

Kwan laughed audibly, and Danny wrenched his eyes away from Dash and towards the other boy. The… the laughing, visibly cheery boy.

Seriously. What was going on?

“So, uh… No bullying anymore today?” Danny asked, and then felt like he could kick himself. Absolute moron. Who asks that sort of thing?

Dash snorted, apparently amused (amused???) by Danny’s idiotic question, and waved a dismissive hand. “What’s the point? I got what I was after.”

Okay? Good? That explained absolutely nothing. If anything, Danny felt even more confused. Had Dash seriously been bullying him trying to get him to glow eyes his? To snarl at him?

What???

Apparently he vocalized that last thought, because Kwan’s eyes turned back to him, a hesitant grin on his face.

And then Kwan’s eyes flashed a bright, glowing, cyan.

Danny, still leaning against the lockers he’d been pressed to, froze up automatically. He knew what that meant. Had spent enough time combing through his parents’ research—and with his own experience—to know that briefly glowing eyes couldn’t be caused by ordinary ghostly causes. An overshadowing ghost altered the eye-color of their host, but that was constant.

And, if there had been a ghost, Danny would’ve felt them. He’d grown more than strong enough to sense ghosts even if they were hidden in a host.

“He’s had them for a while.” Dash spoke casually, like this wasn’t a big fucking deal. “We couldn’t find anybody else with that brand of ecto-contamination, y’know, so Kwan was feeling super down about that.”

“Dash,” Kwan groaned, sounding put-upon. As carefully as Danny listened, the only thing he could hear was the undercurrent of care Kwan held for Dash. For his friend.

“Shut up, man.” Dash nudged his friend, then picked up his explanation that didn’t explain anything. “See, but I knew I had seen you do them too. The glowy eyes, I mean.” Dash underlined the latter with a vague gesture at his own eyes. “So I just had to push you into doing them while Kwan could see, to prove that he wasn’t the only one.”

“Uh.” Danny blinked at them, feeling like he missed everything Dash had said after the words “ecto-contamination”. What?

No, seriously, he knew he’d uttered that word a lot these past five minutes—even if only in his head—but what?

“You had to get him angry, though,” Kwan muttered, bumping shoulders with Dash. “You know that’s not the only way to make them glow.”

“Yeah, but it was the easiest to push him into,” Dash easily admitted.

And then, while Danny was still reeling, feeling like he’d missed at least seven steps in this conversation, Kwan stepped in closer and shot him a bright smile. “Thanks, Fenton. I feel a ton better.”

“Uh, yeah.” Danny blinked, watching the two of them wander off like nothing happened. “You’re welcome?”

“Man, what was all of that?” he muttered to himself, staring at the empty hallway for a moment before pushing himself away from the lockers. He desperately needed to talk to Sam and Tucker, see if they had any idea what all of that was about.

Somewhere, he kind of wished that Jazz was still in Amity. She would definitely know what the hell all of that was all about.

Seriously. Dash had just casually muttered the words ecto-contamination, and then suggested that it was common enough for there to be accepted variants of it.

How had Danny missed all of that?

!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

“There’s Val,” Sam whispered, leaning in closer. Danny followed her gaze and, indeed, there was the girl they’d been looking for all morning.

Well, it figured that they wouldn’t manage to pin her down until lunch, but it was frustrating nonetheless. Sam and Tucker hadn’t known what the stuff with Dash and Kwan had been about, either, so they had decided to ask the only person they could reasonably ask: Valerie Gray.

But that, in turn, meant that they had to just sit on the knowledge until lunch.

At least she had picked a distant enough seat that they could talk in private. Small blessings.

“Let’s hope she actually knows what’s going on,” Tucker muttered, before nudging Danny forward. “You go first, dude.”

So quick to sacrifice him to the ghost huntress. Danny shook his head but walked over, slipping into the seat opposite of Valerie. “Hey, Val.”

“Danny,” she greeted him back, raising an eyebrow at Sam and Tucker, who sat down on either side of him. “Well, this feels like an interrogation all of a sudden.”

He shot Sam a meaningful glance, but she just grinned back, pushing herself to sit more squarely on the seat. Rude.

“Danny had a weird interaction with Dash and Kwan this morning,” Tucker started explaining, breaking the tension before it could really go anywhere. “We were hoping you could offer… I dunno, some clarification, since you know them better than we do.”

She snorted, leaning back slightly. “They’re Dash and Kwan. Every interaction with them is weird.”

“Well, yeah, but they were…” Danny paused, briefly hesitant to mention it—what would Valerie think of ghost-powered humans?—before powering through. “They were talking about ecto-contamination, and known variants of it.”

The look they got in response was flat. Flat, and clearly confused.

After a long and exceedingly awkward moment of silence, Valerie cleared her throat and asked, clearly hesitant, “None of you noticed?”

“Noticed what?” Tucker frowned, glancing between the three of them and Valerie.

“That pretty much everyone in Amity Park has ghost-like traits?” She raised a questioning eyebrow at them. “Everyone, but especially the kids here at Casper High, has ecto-contamination so bad that we’re all, well. Becoming a little ghost-like.” She paused, shook her head, then asked. “None of you seriously noticed?”

Danny drew back, considering his words, but before he could really think about it, Sam had already flapped a dismissive hand. “The three of us spend so much time in and around Fentonworks that we’re already contaminated to hell and back,” she dryly explained. “And honestly, Valerie, how much time do we really spend with anyone outside our direct circle?”

“Fair enough,” Valerie allowed with a shrug. “Right, so, it mostly seems to be caused by the Portal and the constant ghost attacks. I mean, obviously, right?”

“Right,” Danny agreed, ignoring the way his stomach was turning. He’d tried so hard to keep everyone safe, but had the presence of ghosts been endangering them all along? Had the spilled ectoplasm really affected people, and so badly too?

“Now, what we started noticing pretty early on is that people generally only display a single ghost power, once they become contaminated enough to actually have a discernible ghost power. Some people consider them distinct variants: people with invisibility, with intangibility, flight, etcetera.”

Sam and Tucker both hummed, thoughtfully. Valerie raised her other eyebrow at that, then shook her head and continued on.

“Generally people don’t get contaminated enough to display more than those basic powers, but exceptions exist, I guess. And your contamination is probably way worse than anyone else’s, except maybe actual ghost hunters like the Fentons.” She made a face. “And that’s assuming their jumpsuits don’t protect them, which I doubt.”

“I’m pretty sure they do,” Danny mumbled, trying to inconspicuously watch both of his best friends from the corner of his eyes. The more Valerie explained about the ecto-contamination that apparently haunted all of Amity Park, the more their expressions twisted into something they usually called “suddenly understanding weird shit that had been happening”.

It was, unfortunately, a somewhat common expression these days. What with ghosts becoming a common thing, and all that.

“I… Some of the plants in my greenhouse grow unusually well whenever I’m near. Some even seem to react to my presence…” Sam admitted, her voice quiet, uncharacteristically reluctant. After a moment of hesitation, she tacked on, “And sometimes, when I really really don’t want to deal with my parents, they just… overlook me, like I’m not there at all.”

Like she was invisible, they all heard, despite the fact that Sam didn’t say the words.

Seemingly encouraged by Sam’s admission, Tucker added on, “I rarely, if ever, charge my tech. Their batteries just don’t seem to empty as long as I have them on me. And sometimes when I’m digging into code, it feels like… like I can alter it directly, like I’m tapping into some inner world that doesn’t—shouldn’t—exist.” Just like Sam, Tucker also paused for a moment. “When I’m running from a ghost or whatever, sometimes I run into an alley that I know has a dead end and never hit the wall.”

Like he was just phasing through it, going intangible before he hit it.

Danny swallowed through the clog he suddenly found in his throat, watching Valerie turn a meaningful look to him. She wanted him to tell her about his— his ghost powers. But he couldn’t just pretend all of his powers came from the contamination of living at Fentonworks, could he?

And he definitely couldn’t pick certain powers as acceptable and others as not.

“I… I guess weird shit has happened to me too, yeah,” he finally admitted, cautiously, hoping she guessed the source of his reluctance wrong. “But I never really thought about it, to be honest. Anything I could blame the ecto-contamination for could just as easily be caused by actual ghosts.” And in a way it was, of course. Anything caused by his ecto-contamination was caused by an actual ghost: Phantom.

“But,” he tacked on, knowing Valerie wouldn’t just let that lie. She was far too stubborn not to investigate. “Dash and Kwan apparently saw me with glowing eyes?”

Valerie hummed, then nodded. “That makes sense, I guess. I know Kwan has the glowing eyes variant as well, so that would explain why they’ve been targeting you.”

“It’s been around that long?” Sam asked, leaning forward, clearly curious despite herself. “I figured it would’ve taken longer than that to show up.”

“Oh, no, that was long after I got kicked out of the group,” Valerie said dismissively. “But Kwan saw me with a ghost scanner one day, and he begged me to scan him. I guess he was seriously worried that he had been overshadowed, even if overshadowing doesn’t work like that.”

“I don’t think he got rid of that fear, to be honest.” Danny shrugged, uneasy. “At least, he seemed pretty cheered-up when I, uh, glowed my eyes at him and Dash.”

Tucker snorted, and Danny could see Sam crack a grin as well, probably at his word choice. Well, fuck them. What did you call it, if not “glowing your eyes at them”?

“Anyway, I can’t help but notice that we all told you, but you haven’t said a word about what you can do,” Sam prodded, nudging Valerie. “Come on, Val.”

“Yeah, that does seem a little unfair.” Tucker leaned forward as well, an expression of genuine curiosity on his face.

And, honestly? Danny kind of wanted to know as well. Her ghost hunting suit probably hadn’t protected her, and her new suit definitely didn’t. If anything, the Technus-made suit probably had just worsened it.

“I…” Valerie visibly hesitated, then gave in. “I can fly, a little. It’s not really all that great, but at least I won’t break anything if I ever fall out of a tree or something.”

She said it with a light tone, like it was just a casual joke. All Danny could think of, however, was all the times he’d seen Valerie fall off of her hoverboard, especially at the start.

He carefully does not wince.

“That’s pretty neat,” he forced himself to say instead. “Less lame than glowing eyes, at least.”

Valerie grinned back at him, but before she could say anything the bell rung.

“Guess we’d better head to class,” Sam said with a grunt, pushing herself off of the bench.

“Yeah.” Tucker got up as well, then nodded at Valerie. “Thanks for the explanation, Valerie.”

Danny followed suit, shooting her a smile. “Same. Thanks, Val.”

She had given him a lot to think about.

[mothvalentino]

Okay, yeah, maybe he could've worded his initial response more thoughtfully. But Val, at his core, is an impulsive creature and the mere notion of Vox and Angel hooking up behind his back makes him feel... various ways.

A bundle of emotions that he doesn't have the time to untangle before Vox bolts on him. Fuck. He has messed up again, hasn't he?

Resounding curses echo from the walls as Valentino stalks out of Vox's domain, unsure if he needs to blow off steam first or find the other overlord to talk things out. He still has Vox's phone in his hand, the footage only confirming what Angel already told him.

He watches the clips again, indulging a strange brand of self-torture. His stomach lurches at the gore, at the injuries the two sinners dealt each other. Over him.

Gritting his teeth, Val decides to channel his agony into work, shooting several hardcore BDSM films with more violence than erotica. And directing the perverted scenes gives him an idea.

At the end of the day, he heads straight for his bedroom and steps under the new camera pointing directly at his resting place.

ཐིཋྀ "You want control? Reclaim it.", Val provokes the passive lense and then unwinds his wings, revealing the black leather harness he's put on before leaving the studio.

Nothing but tight straps connected by metal hoops spanning from his neck all the way down to his upper thighs. A shameless invitation. Even if Vox isn't seeing him right now, Val makes use of the phone the other Vee has left with him. Sprawling on his bed, the moth begins to take a series of very suggestive photos of himself. Lolling on the mattress with his hands groping sensitive areas, using the self-timer to get full-body shots from every angle.

Arching his back to accentuate his ass, taking a video as he tugs at the straps across his buttocks and lets them snap against his glutes, moaning softly at the impact.

"I just poured my soul out to you... After you do the one thing that I cannot tolerate. You take full control of me, without my consent."

Oh Vox is rapidly closing the distance.

"I even say the one thing that I haven't been able to say since even before Alastor ruined everything and abandoned me!"

He reaches up and very harshly pulls Val by the fur of his collar down to his level.

"A̼͍̻ͣN̘̘̙D̟̝͕ͩ ᴛ͇͇̝ⷮн̻̺ⷩ͜A̡͉ͣ͜ᴛ̡͍̞ⷮ'̘̙͍́S͙͉͛ A̘̺̺ͣL͖͜L̢̢̪ Y͇͍͔O̼̫͔ͦU̡̦͔ͧ F̠̘U͙̫ͧ͜-̢͔̼̄C͖̫̟ͨᴋ͖͔ⷦI̝͇͕ͥN͚͔͜G͚͙̦ нA̺̪ͣV͚͙̫ͮE̡̡̼ͤ ᴛ͎̦̘ⷮO͚͔͉ͦ S̡̘͖͛A͖͖̪ͣY̙͍͍!?"

He convulses briefly and grabs at his head as the lights flicker more rapidly, the power struggling as Vox tries not to unload on the city like an emp again. Letting out a distorted scream of frustration instead.

He jerks back with a few dozen sparks face resetting after a moment. "F-f-fine. It's fine." Vox forces his phone into Valentino's hands, "Watch the security footage yourself. Or better yet ask your whore why he enjoys messing with me so much. How the fuck should I know how the two of you think. I need to go for a fucking walk."

There's a bright flash as Vox flickers into energy and escapes through the nearest camera. He is in fact running from the situation.

The video suddenly playing on loop on the phone is a series of clips of the inciting incident in question. The insult to Vox's person that started their argument. Angel's implication, bringing into it Vox and Valentino's relationship as opposed to Angel's own. Angel continuing with the Val angle, having found that insecurity, going as far as to call Vox a cuck. Vox's warning shot with some electrocution, Angel hurt but intact being told to back off and given the chance to just stop. Angel stabs him in the neck, aims guns at him and completely escalates the situation to where now it's a real full out fight. Fading off as Vox in the video finally loses it and stops holding back. Playing again from the start revealing once more Angel approaching Vox.

'Throws' may not have been the right word for Vox to use but Angel certainly didn't know when to just stop openly provoking the mad egotistical overlord straight to his face. Not a smart choice considering Vox shot people for failing to meet quotas.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Robotic Workers to Soldiers

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Taken from the biography “The Fall of Dijballer” written by Uguntus Val

 Breaking a human is easy.

They have no armored exoskeleton, no reinforced scaled skin, not even an enhanced healing metabolism; it is an amazing feat that they have been able to survive on their own planet let alone survive the rigors of space travel.

They are weak and frail creatures of flesh and blood.  One could push them down a simple slope and there was a high chance they could break their arm.

We expected a war with them to be swift and merciless.

Our forces would descend upon their worlds like the waves a ravaging storm and sweep them clean away as we added their colonies to our domain, and continue the glorious expansion of our race. Yet for all our knowledge of human biology we failed to grasp the critical flaw in our plans and strategies until it was too late. The simple truth that could have changed the fate of the war in our favor had we learned it earlier on.

Humans were well aware of their frailty, and they adapted accordingly.

On the colony world of Dijballer we made our first strike. It was a temperate world perfectly designed for year-long farming and capable of sustaining a constant stream of crops to feed a dozen empires when fully developed.

The colony had only been on the planet for ten years and was centered around the initial landing site of the colony ship. A compact industrial center had formed to support the growing colony and several companies had established facilities to support the colony, including several robotics factories that supplied a majority of the work force. What made it even more tempting of a target was that by all accounts it lacked a sufficient military presence, only housing a token police force to maintain order.  

When the war began three legions were dispatched to secure the planet. The twelfth, the third, and the honored first legion that had been present at the beginning of every major war our people had ever fought.

They made planet fall just outside of the main settlement and began steadily advancing through the fields of crops, passing dozens of robotic workers mindlessly going about their work as if the thousands of alien soldiers marching passed was a normal occurrence. The machines were humanoid in shape with two arms and legs, often either using farming tools or manning heavy equipment.

Roughly ten miles outside of the city did we first encounter resistance. We were now in the center of the fields when the rear of the column reported they were under attack. A massive harvester had diverted its course and rammed a troop transport flipping it over. The surrounding infantry opened fire on the vehicle as it attempted to ram a second vehicle. Not being built for military use the vehicle quickly broke down and exploded in a shower of shrapnel and fire, setting several stalks of nearby crops on fire. It was here that the order to halt was given and the column began to reorganize. It was as the Privants were giving orders that the second attack began.

Thousands of farming units sprang out of the stalks on either side of the column like predators of old. In their hands were nothing but farming tools and yet they moved with unnatural swiftness. Before anyone could fire a shot they were among our ranks hacking and slashing us to pieces.

I’ve hear over the years how our soldiers were mocked. How pundits and politicians question how a fully armored legionnaire could be brought down by nothing but farming tools.

Were any of them to say that to my face I would smash their face in; for none of them were there to see what those machines could do.    

They dove and shifted to either side like a blade of grass in the wind. I saw my captain unload an entire clip on full auto at one and it casually darted to either side as if it was nothing but rain as it closed the distance.

When it was within arm’s reach it grabbed it’s scythe and drove it deep into the neck joints of the captain’s armor. The captain barely had time to swat away the metal scythe but the robot merely took its fingered hand and drove it into the unarmored joint itself.

I could hear the captain gurgling blood over the communications net as the robotic monster pulled its hand out of his throat, covered in blood and gore, and stabbed it in again and again and again.

While it was distracted goring my captain I brought my rifle up and brought the monster down with a single shot to the chest. The robot sparked and fizzled as it toppled over, its hand still embedded in the captain as it dragged his lifeless body down with him. I had little time to grieve for my captains death as another trio of farmer units rushed from the stalks at me.

All around me was sheer chaos as the robots swarmed over us like insects. Their fragile bodies meant nothing when their speed and enhanced reflexes made them near impossible to hit.

They knew were the weak spots in our armor were, they were capable of calculating the angle of fire from our weapons, they even somehow knew our ranking system and made sure to target our officers first.

The three that came at me lunged for me to close the distance and that was the only was the only thing that saved me that day. On the ground they could easily dodge side to side but midair they were cut off from that level of maneuverability.

I easily trained my gun and sprayed the machines with a full mag from my repeater rifle. The white fragments of their shells harmlessly bounced off my armor as their broken bodies crumpled before me. I barely had a moment to enjoy my victory before another massive harvester machine drove through our column.

Several of my comrades weren’t fast enough to get out of the way and were swallowed by those rotating blades of death. I heard their screams echoing on the communications net just as I had the captain and then they were cut off in an instant by a blood curdling crunch.

After that it was chaos.

Soldiers fought in tight circles or back to back with comrades as they fought off waves of robots. This went on for hours but to me, in those panic filled moments of terror, it felt like an eternity.

By nightfall the entire field was ablaze with fire just as the robots ceased their attacks. We gathered what remained of our dead and wounded and took stock of the situation.

Thousands of broken robot bodies lay strewn across the ground like discarded dolls, and the burning husks of the larger harvesters cast gloomy shadows dancing in the firelight. We had been out numbered a 3-1 and still managed to survive, and yet the victory was hollow to the core.

The twelfth legion was cut in half and lost the majority of their vehicles during the opening attacks, the third was at a quarter strength and had lost all of their officers, but worst yet was the honored first legion. The pride of several centuries of warfare, the first legion had been entirely wiped out at the front of the column. Their pride denying them anything other than a death on the battlefield as they refused to regroup with the other legions.

What remained of the officers of the twelfth legion was split between retreating to the initial landing zones or to continue with the assault. Only after the fighting had stopped was communication with orbital command reestablished, and the commanders in orbit almost couldn’t believe what had happened.

The twelfth officers requested an additional five legions be deployed to the planet and that the authorization of aerial bombardments. Debate between the twelfth and orbital lasted about an hour before the robots returned.

First signs of danger were the screams and weapons fire of sentries posted around the surviving column. Robots that had been laying on the ground thought destroyed rose back to their feet and attacked wandering soldiers.

The fear and terror spread throughout the survivors as everyone capable grabbed a weapon and began firing at the robots once more. In the confusion several soldiers fell to friendly fire as several panic stricken legionnaires opened fire on full auto blindly.

At the end of that night the third legion was almost entirely wiped out and the new rule of fully destroying the head and body of all machines became mandatory.

The war pressed on for another four months before we finally claimed the world.

All it had cost us was nearly four entire legions against an army of farming units.

The disgrace felt by the military was overwhelming and morale never recovered for the remained of the conflict. What’s worse was that throughout those four months the primary factories nestled beneath the primary settlement had been continuously producing more and more robots. What should have been a simple easy victory devolved into a grueling war of attrition.

When we finally stormed the office of the robotic factories we were able to download files from their mainframe and the horrid truth was realized.

Embedded into every robot humanity produced, regardless of their function, was a sub routine dictating military tactics, strategies, and combat methods. A maid unit designed for cleaning could be switched over in an instant to become a skilled sniper marksman with years of training with a kill count of triple digits.

For all of their frailty the humans had not lost the ability for death and destruction. They had imparted it into every machine in their service effectively creating an army of billions skilled in the art of death.

After the war was over I went out of my way to order one such unit to tend to me in my home.

I often wonder, as it goes about its cleaning work, that if I activated its military mode if I would be capable of taking it; though I doubt I can in my age now.

Instead it serves as a constant remind that one should never underestimate the nature of a being. No matter how delicate and frail it may appear, it may be hiding a dagger aimed straight at your throat.