#Wraith-King

[gandalf-the-fool]

[toxictrashdump]

pride month at Mordor 🌈

[wraithdance]

Simon/Price who are so accustomed to being the authority in a crisis that when they witness a major fire they immediately offer assistance to get others out. They tell the pretty, scowling fire fighter calling the shots that they’re military and can help but she tells them none to politely to get back with the other civilians and let her do her job.

Simon/Price who are startled pissed at the thought of being referred to as civilians. Outraged even! they’re going to get her number and under them by the end of the week.

[oh-dear-my]

Made a little antagonist centered malevolent animatic!

Song: I've got a dream from Disney's "Tangled"

[starry-bi-sky]

more clone^2

snippet 21: Danny is Bruce Wayne's Clone and--

Star, with the rest of the A-List girls: alright ladies! it's time for our quarterly 'cutest boys' list! Now I'll get straight to the point, in our number one spot is--

All girls, in unison: Danny Fenton

Star, writing it down on a whiteboard: and for our number two spot--

---------- Snippet 22: clone meet clone

Ellie, dramatically: Danny!

Danny, equally dramatic: Ellie!

Ellie, pushing past him and looking around: where is he! i wanna see the little guy!

Damian, with a sword, brandishing it dangerously: *in arabic* don't come any closer, stay back!

Danny, wrapping an arm around Ellie's waist and pulling her back: woah, woah - he's still adjusting to everything

Danny, turning towards Damian with his google translate open: [please don't stab her. this is Ellie my clone.]

Damian, lowering his sword in disbelief: 'there's MORE of you?

-------------- Snippet 23: Ellie has the same epiphany as Danny

Ellie:...hey Danny

Danny, pouring over his arabic book: hm

Ellie: since I'm your clone, and you're a clone of Bruce Wayne, and Damian is a clone of Damian Wayne, does that technically mean I'm his mom - uh. dad-mom?

Danny:

Ellie:...its a fair question

Danny: .....*deep sigh* you're his cousin until further notice.

------------ Snippet 24: wait for me ii (hadestown, live vers.)

(i'm not sure of the context, but i've been thinking of Danny saying this to Damian during a serious moment for days. the snippet title is the song that the dialogue below is from)

Danny, fixing up Damian's wraith suit: the meanest dog you'll ever meet

Danny, zipping up damian's jacket: it ain't the hound dog in the street. he bares some teeth and tears some skin, but brother,

Danny, adjusting Damian's gloves, pausing to look him in the eye: that's the worst of him.

Danny, he holds a finger up to Damian's eyes and points it at him: the dog you really got to dread, is the one that howls inside your head

Danny, grabbing damian's mask and smoothing it over his eyes: it's him whose howling drives men mad, and a mind to its undoing

------------ Snippet 25: Danny is Bruce Wayne's clone-- (Battinson Vers*)

Ember, in the middle of a fight with Phantom + Wraith:

Ember, knocks off Phantom's mask for the first time: lets see what ugly mug you're really hiding under there, Phantom--

Phantom: *the wettest, most pathetic looking pretty boy on the planet*

Ember:

Phantom, dryly: what, did your mic die out or something? all that caterwauling finally make you lose your voice

Wraith, unsheathing his sword: *vibrating with baby brother rage bc he knows EXACTLy why Ember is silent*

----------- Snippet 26: Damian is finally starting to play nice :)

Dany: hey... guys.... whatcha doing

Damian, hanging out with Sam: Me and Manson are plotting ways to crush the Mayor's plan to cut budget funding for the city parks and cut down the native trees

Danny: oh, i see.... is this safe?

Sam: probably

Danny: hm.

------------- Snippet 27: digging up cold case

Danny: ....if Damian is out with Sam tonight with their plot against the mayor....

Danny, turning towards his desk: then that means I can work some more on Mrs. Witherbury's murder case that she asked me to solve without Dames guilt-tripping me into bed :)

Danny, settling down at his desk with a thermos full of coffee: i'm glad sam and damian are finally getting along

--------- Snippet 28: sparring

Damian, frowning: your reflexes are incredible but your combat is downright awful, brother. it's truly a miracle i didn't skewer you upon our first meeting

Danny, got his ass kicked by his 7yo brother: *groaning in pain* not everyone has super secret assassin training, Damian. And I don't really have time to actually practice anything.

Damian: Mrs. Fenton knows martial arts and her form is proficient enough, I'm sure she would be delighted to teach you if you asked. I will join since I need to keep my skills sharp and my training was unfinished when I arrived here.

-------- Snippet 29: daytime surprise

Phantom, fighting Skulker in broad daylight: *under his breath* at least Lancer's english test will get canceled for this...

Phantom, dodging a blast from Skulker: *in ASL, furious* don't you have anything better to do, you fuck!?

Skulker: foolish ghost child, speak! I know you're capable of it - speak before you lose the ability to

Phantom: *flips him off instead*

Wraith, sending back a ecto-blast with his sword: please pay attention, phantom

Phantom, doubletaking: *in a hissed whisper* what are you doing here!? it's a school day, you should be at school!

Wraith: Tt. If the boot fits.

------------ Snippet 30: guilt

Danny with his head on his desk, his elbows propped up as he massages his hands: hn

Damian, lurking to the side with a guilty look on his face:

Damian: can i....

Danny, silently holding his hand out to Damian: hrm

Damian, immediately taking it and doing the massages + finger exercises: ...im sorry

Danny: hm... I forgive you

[dat-is-i]

it is pride month my dudes

[theworldsoftolkein]

Éowyn - by IrenHorrors

Éowyn and the Nazgul - by Blue Footed600

[yulen-the-ghost]

Xie Lian is a ghost.

He mourns the loss of his last believer and punishes himself by allowing all kinds of tragedy and mishaps to fall upon him, ironically gaining power, since his purpose as a ghost is to grieve.

The only protection he has is a fierce white silk that curls around his body and tries its best to keep him safe.

800 years later, when he hears the rumor about a boy with the human face disease, he visits the famous ghost city where he meets the ghost king, who is pleased to meet him. 

His face, however, is charged with some sort of… melancholy.

He was not expecting him to be dead.

Read the prologue here

[fanofspooky]

Scream King -

Clint Howard

[legitimatesatanspawn]

Ring Bearer Ages at the point of Fellowship's founding.

The One Ring:

Sauron: Not calculable due to existing before the planet. Assuming "Necromancer" entailed a physical form in Dol Guldur and wasn't slain when chased out, then physically 1918 years old.

Isildur: 234 years old. [dead; 3250 years since birth.]

Smeagol/Gollum: 578 years old.

Bilbo Baggins: 128 years old.

Frodo Baggins: 50 years old.

Samwise Gamgee: 38 years old.

Elven Rings:

Galadriel: 7049+???. Easily up to 22049 years old.

Cirdian: At least 10549 years old. If "Valarian Years" not "Solar Years" for the 3500 year Journey, then 288007049. (Didn't make the Great Journey to Valinor before the Sun was made.)

Elrond: 6517 years old.

Gandalf: Physical form existent for 2018 years. Otherwise not calculable due to existing before the planet.

Dwarven Rings:

All owners are dead. Not all are known.

Durin III is unclear in age.

Thror, 248 [dead; 476 years since birth.]

Thrain II, 206 [dead; 374 years since birth.]

Mannish Rings:

All owners are dead and previous selves not known. Unlife has lasted 4209 years.

For Reference:

Sun and Moon: 7049 years old.

Sun and Moon's Tree-parents: 15000 years old [dead; 22049 years since planting.]

Gondor: 3139 years old.

The Shire: 509 years old.

Rohan: 1417 years old.

[mrs-mikko-rantanen]

You know what no one talks about enough? The last King of Men to fall to his ring. The last one to become a Ring Wraith. I mean, we know how much Tolkien loved friendship. How much he valued the people he held close. We know how much it broke his heart to watch those people fade, he wrote about it all the time. So why would the men who slowly succumbed to the evil of the nine rings be any different?

The king who stood by and watched helplessly as his 8 friends, allies, kings he had fought with, surely, fell to the darkness. How heartbreaking it must have been to watch men who'd saved his life fall slowly to madness. How crushed must he have been to watch those he'd saved on the battlefield spiral into a darkness so deep that he couldn't reach them.

Do you think he tried? Do you think he ever stopped reaching out to them? A hand in the night, tears staining his voice as he begged "please, please come back, come home, come back to me!"

We know that when the One Ring tempted Sam, it was with promises to turn Mordor into a garden and a place of light and life and peace, the things Sam craved most in the moment. So did the Ring of the Last King Of Men promise to help him save his friends? As the eighth king fell, did it whisper to the ninth that not all was lost.

"Come with me," it promised, "I know where they have gone. Follow me; I can take you there."

The Ninth King would have resisted, of course. He'd watched all eight of the others fall, he'd have to have been a fool not to notice some sort of a pattern to their fate.

"I can help you save them." His ring called with a sing-song voice, "Together we can bring them back!"

The Ninth King tried to ignore the voice, but twirled the ring in his palm.

"Come with me! Come, come, they're waiting for you!"

Memories of feasts of victory, times of peace and joy. And he could hear them calling too. If he strained his ears, he could almost make out each of their voices in the twisted screams that circled his keep at night.

Do you think he cried when he put the ring on? Or as his jaw clenched as he put it on, determined to go into the dark and return not alone, but with his friends?

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Witch-king, Sky Scourge

Artist: Campbell White TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[wraithdance]

Good Boy [part 1/2]

CW: Mentions of canon childhood trauma & abuse, loss of virginity (Simon), using sex as self harm, my man being traumatized and bitch-less, awkwardness, eventual reader mention, lots of internal dialogue I’m setting sumthn up for the next part

Simon is aware he wasn’t pretty or particularly personable. He didn’t ever really need to be.

Even before the scars and the night terrors that kept him up as he meticulously arranged and dismantled his service pistol, he’d never been one to get the girl.

The years spent supporting his mother and saving Tommy’s ass, while also surviving his father’s blows, took up what was a joke of a childhood. There were no movie dates or pretty birds under his arm or texting his phone (not like he had one). Not even the time to wank to whatever model graced the cover of the cheap magazines his mother hid.

He’d lost his virginity in the most clinical way in the back of the butcher shop he’d worked as a teenager. Couldn’t remember the face of the bold older girl that offered to suck his cock when he went on break. Simon had been befuddled that she’d wanted to repay him with a quickie because he’d discounted the cut of meat she’d been sent to pick up for her mother. He’d accepted nonetheless and followed as she lead him to the back of the alley between the shop and laundromat.

Simon had been stiff, unable to enjoy the feeling of her hot, pink glossed mouth taking his prick as far as she could manage. He’d been too preoccupied with the fear of being caught by his boss and the uncomfortable feel of her teeth snagging the sensitive skin of his shaft. He remembered her offense when she’d asked him if she was making him feel good and he’d said no.

At 18 he was still unaccustomed to the concept of lying to spare another’s feelings.

Expecting her to give up he’d tried to thank her (which offended her more) and stuff his cock back into his work jeans. Instead she’d rolled her eyes and lifted her skirt, positioning herself against the brick wall. She’s all but snapped at him to hurry the fuck up and put his cock inside her.

His hands had trembled as he worked himself into her cunt. She’d hissed around the gum in her mouth when he’d pressed the head of his cock past her slick hole, barking that he was too big and to go slow. He tried, the restraint it took to not chance her ire and rut into her like a dog made his teeth crack with how hard he clenched his jaw. She’d yowled like the female cat that made home behind the trash can when it was in heat. He’d nearly slipped out of her afraid he’d hurt her. She’d called him a fucking idiot and demanded he fucked her until she said stopped. So he did.

The force of his orgasm nearly made him black out, through the muffled roar of his blood in his ears, he’d been able to heed her warning to pull out.

He’d been apologetic about the cum that dripped on her open toed shoes. She’d ignored him and scrapped what she could off with a business card he kept in his apron, while he buckled his pants. She’d come inside to grab her parcel of meat and ignored him. His boss had come from the back office and took one look at the retreating girl before shaking his head at Simon.

When he’d joined the military he’d lost what was left of his naivety. There was no room for apologies and mincing words when seeing the life drain from your enemies eyes. For the first time in his life his roughness and straight speech was an asset.

Tactical. Strategic.

Those were the kind of things they said in praise as they pat him on the back.

He’d embraced it, embraced the part of him that would always be his father’s son and he raised hell in honor of his majesty.

He couldn’t look himself in the eyes in the mirror much less imagine the kind of life MacTavish went on about. Always talking about a house in the highlands and a pregnant wife with a barn full of children.

‘Ye can’t tell me ya don’t want the same L.T’

Johnny would say in the dead of night. Always while ‘keeping company’ at Simon’s shoulder while he watched the world through his sniper. Simon’s hands had always sweat beneath his gloves at the talks of imagined lives outside of the shithole safe house they were holed up in. Sometimes he’d grunt noncommittally and Johnny would take the hint and entertain himself with something else. Other times it took a gruff

‘Shut the fuck up MacTavish’

Johnny would be blissfully quiet awhile and the part of Simon that was still his mother’s son would rear his head long enough to transmute a sense of guilt. It was always short lived because Johnny was persistent, forgiving.

He’d bounce back after some time and laugh at whatever joke Simon had in his arsenal in lieu of an apology.

‘It’s alright L.T we’ll find ye a nice Lass to settle down with’ MacTavish’s eyes would sparkle in mischief. Convinced that was the solution to every problem.

Simon thinks about it often when in the bare apartment he calls home when forced on leave. On nights he can’t think of anything but of the echoes of blood and blows across his body, he thinks of what it would be like to have something to come home to. He never gets too far because there’s no frame of reference to use. Just a nameless girl who’d taken his cock in an alley way.

Simon learned that the more he lost himself to the entity that was Ghost the more women gave him the time of day. It was like the self loathing and dark acerbic energy that kept him tethered to the living was a beacon.

The first time it happened he’d made a mousy girl cry. She’d been dared by her friends to approach him at a bar. He’d felt her eyes on him throughout the night, choosing to ignore her. The mask protected him from the itch that came with being perceived in civilian life. He’d been somewhat prepared for her to get the courage to come up to him, having learned that some people were stupid enough to go against their predator/prey instincts. He hadn’t been prepared for the soft hand that trailed across his back to get his attention.

He’d humiliated her. Towered over her and cut her down with words until dark spots danced at the corner of his visions, until she’d burst into sobs. He’d thrown down cash to cover his tab and left. The echoes of her friends calling him a fucking bastard on his heels.

Much like the first time he’d had sex he responded better to blatant requests to be fucked. The requests nearly always when out at drinks with his team. He’d gotten good at recognizing the telltale signs of desperate interest. The glance over of his mates, the dilated pupils as they took in his mask and covered form. On the days he couldn’t be arsed he ignored them. When he needed to feel something other than nothingness he’d meet their eyes. Signal with his head to meet him in the dingy hallway or the back alley.

Always the same as the first time. Spreading their legs against the brick, rutting deep and wasting his spend on the asphalt. With experience he’d learned to grip their necks and maneuver their bodies just so. Overtaking their senses and giving them the fantasy of being just a cunt for him to fuck. In the end he always felt like the one being used.

Sometimes they wanted more from him. A kiss, a call, a second time. He’d occasionally entertained it, the prickling desire to have that dream Johnny painted. It always ended the same. His career kept him away, he was too closed off, the novelty of fucking the guy who scared their friends wore off. And he was left feeling more like a shell.

He stopped recognizing himself in the mirror after a while. A stranger stared back at him with lifeless eyes and a body that belonged to someone else.

The night he met you he’d been unprepared. You’d stared at him like the others. Flickering eyes back and forth taking him in with interest. Gaz and Johnny had noticed and made jokes that set his teeth on edge. He’d told them to piss off.

He caught you staring at him once more, holding your gaze with lidded eyes. You didn’t look away or act coy and embarrassed.

Good.

Subtly he motioned to the bars entrance. You frowned.

He watched you stand up and collect your bags and he took down the rest of his tepid beer. Gaz and Johnny whistled loud and obnoxiously, until Price rallied them in with a half hearted threat.

Simon is making his way through the crowded pub keeping track of your movements. He’s got a cigarette out and lit when you cautiously tip toe out into the night.

He’s watching your nervous shuffling from behind the tendrils of smoke. You seem to make up your mind about something because your shoulders set apart and you straighten your back. Brave little thing.

“Can you model for me-“

“Lift your skirt-”

Your eyes are peeled wide in disbelief. He’s honestly just as confused but hides it with a flick of the cigarette ash.

“Wot?”

“Uh? I asked if you could model for me,” you’re not quite fidgeting but you aren’t really focusing on him. Your eyes are looking just past his shoulder in a facsimile of eye contact. Something about it bothers him.

He flicks the half spent cigarette to the concrete and pulls away from the wall. You don’t step back from his size or flutter your eyes like a pretty bird. You’re taking him in like you’re categorizing him.

“Wots this about modeling? I thought you followed me out to ask for my cock.”

Your nose wrinkles at the crassness.

“No sorry, I thought you just wanted to talk in a quieter area,” you look around at the alleyway for a spell before facing him. “Honestly it seems a bit unsanitary to have sex out here don’t you think?”

He snorts. He’d never heard any objections before. He’d also never had sex in a bed either though.

Simon had long since learned he was good enough to fuck in alleys or cars between shifts. Sometimes couches if he made it across the threshold. Never had any qualms around it until you mentioned it.

It’s a grating thought he doesn’t want to dwell on. He’s turning to leave when you step in front of him with arms raised.

“Wait!” He is glowering down at you unimpressed.

“I’m sorry I really did want to ask you to model for me!” You’re panicking and inching closer to the bar door as if hoping to block his exit with your body. A laughable thought. You must realize it too because your hands drop listlessly to your side.

“Listen, I’m an author and I need someone to pose for a cover mock up for a series.” He scoffs.

“And you thought I’d be a fit?”

“Well yeah!” Your eyes light up in excitement and you ramble out a stream of things he doesn’t quite catch. His focus on the curve of your cheeks and the sense of life you emit. His cock is half chubbed in his pants watching you.

After awhile your rambles trail off and you stare at each other. Realizing he had no plans to respond you sigh in defeat.

“Look take my card,” you’re reaching into your pocket for a wrinkly square. “I’m serious I really do think you’d be a great model for my series and I’d really like to treat you to coffee if you’re willing to hear me out.”

Simon isn’t sure why he takes the card, but he does. He’s looking at the hand doodled picture of a dog and the chicken scrawl beneath the text stating ‘Expert Dog Walker’. He gives you a flat look that causes you to grimace.

“It’s my day job, you know what they say about starving artists and all.” You joke.

He doesn’t laugh.

He instead pockets the thin square and steps around you. You’re on his heels following him inside. He gives you a look as a sign of dismissal that you scoff at but you take the hint.

He watches you leave from the corner of his eye while he settles down at the table with his team.

‘You’re back a little early mate.” Gaz prods.

“The lass dinnae look too happy with your performance LT what did ye do? Do ye need me to tell you how to put it in.” Soap claps a hand over Simon’s shoulder that he shoves off.

Price observes him quietly with arms crossed. Simon doesn’t tell them about your odd little request at all.

He fingers the card in his pocket throughout the night. He looks at your scrawled name as he washes the eye black from his face, your card tucked into the mirror.

He has the number memorized by the time he’s done.

[wra-1-th]

your broken wings will learn to fly

a stan uris centric fic about a boy with scars and the friends who stand beside him

in a world where the Losers Club does kill It in the summer of 1989, Stan Uris can't manage to escape It until he makes a choice he doesn't intend to go back on

read on ao3

welcome to the reddiesance!!!

im so glad that I've been able to participate in this event and meet some amazing people as we've worked to honour the 5th anniversary of It chapter 2. check out the reddiesance tag to find everything else, because there are so many talented people

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - graveyard shift

The dinging of the door alerts Sarah of someone walking in, and she barely glances up from her phone to see who it is. It's past midnight and somehow her coworker John managed to convince her to take over his graveyard shift at their convenience store. He owes her one, because she's been standing here for an hour and nobody's come in.

Not a surprise to her - nobody likes to stay out past sundown in Amity Park, even after nearly three years of ghosts appearing all over the place.

But still, it happens sometimes. So she doesn't look up. The dinging bell just lets her know that it's not a ghost, and that's really all she can ask for. The last time she worked late and a ghost came in, she was cleaning the shelves from some weird goo for an hour.

However, the lack of footsteps in the store after a few seconds worries her enough that she forces her head to lift. And a frown weaves its way onto her face when she sees no one at the door, nor anyone in the closet aisles.

...Shit, was there really a ghost here? Can they ring door when they come in? Normally she sees them just phase right through. And normally they glow, bright and jarring that leaves a migraine building behind Sarah's eyes.

Her eyes quickly scan the shelves again, looking for anything out of place -- anyone with too many heads, or too many teeth, or snakes for hair. She's pretty sure a coworker saw that once when they were working graveyard.

But she still sees no one. Apprehension raises the hair on the back of her neck, and she straightens up from her lean against the counter. Fuuuck. Was this one of those... marshmallow ghosts? An animal ghost?

Sarah really does not want to have to fight off a three-eyed raccoon looking-thing with eagle feet. She's heard the horror stories. And there was no way to contact the Phantom or the Red Huntress to come pick it up -- and she wasn't gonna try her luck with the Drs. Fentons.

Her fingers itch for the broom hanging on the wall behind her. It probably won't do much against a mutant raccoon-ghost-monster, but it'll make her feel better.

There's a rustle and crinkle in the candy aisle, and Sarah's hands are curled around the broom before she could blink. Her heart beating in her chest. She walks out from the counter, the bristled end raised like a bat in the air as she creeps apprehensively towards the noise.

There's nothing there when she peers around the side, and the aisle shelves are tall enough that she can't see over them.

She raises the broom higher. Sarah was in softball. She could take out a raccoon-eagle-hybrid.. thing.... easily. She just... needs to pretend its a golf ball. Except golf isn't softball so that's a terrible comparison.

Oh god she was gonna get her face ripped off, wasn't she.

John so owes her one. So much.

Creeping down the aisle, she keeps her ears perked for any new sounds. But all she can really hear is the soft pop music playing on the store speakers -- chosen by yours truly from her own personal playlist -- and the hum of the freezers. Ugh. This was not good for her paranoia. Like, at all.

Sarah's down at the end of the aisle when she feels a quick set of taps on her shoulder. Her nerves are already shot, so she shrieks and whirls around on her foot, swinging the broom blindly.

Only to be met with sudden and blunt resistance. Blinking rapidly, Sarah stares up and sees a black gloved hand gripping the broom handle tightly, small white bandages peeking over the side around five fingers. Following the hand down connects it with an arm, and then a chest, and suddenly she's staring at a black hoodie and black jacket.

When she tilts her head up, Sarah comes face to face with the bone-white mask and the terrifying, unearthly green eyes of their local vigilante, the Phantom.

...Holy fuck. It was the Phantom.

He was taller than she initially thought. Was her jaw on the ground? Probably. It was flapping like a fish out of water. "I- uh, you-- buh--"

Slowly, the Phantom raised his free hand and wrapped it around the handle of the broom. Sarah watches, wide eyed still and stammering as he firmly plucked the broom out of her hands and turned to lean it against the shelves.

Something about him doing that must've kicked her brain back into gear, because the first thing that comes out of her mouth is; "Your eyes are really green."

And she was going to lock herself in the freezer in the back for that one. She feels her face grow hot with embarrassment, and the Phantom only looks at her blankly. Her eyes shift nervously. "Well, it's true."

It was! The green eyes of the Phantom was his most defining feature other than that unsettling mask he wore. Especially considering they were the same color as some of the ghosts. It was one of the many, many creepy things about the guy.

Looking at it gave her the same, faint headache as when she stared at a ghost for too long. So Sarah drops her gaze a little to avoid it.

The Phantom remains silent, but he raises his hands and signs something to her that she doesn't understand. Fuck, that's right. He didn't speak - and Sarah doesn't know any ASL.

Sarah cringes. "Sorry, I don't know ASL."

She can feel his burning green eyes boring into her, and he remains as silent as the grave as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a phone in a plain black case. She watches him turn it on -- or at least she assumes he does, there's a privacy protector covering the screen -- and type something into.

He holds it up to her face when he's done, and she squints at the screen. In the notes app, a small text reads; 'We're ready to pay.'

..Oh. This wasn't Sarah's night. Embarrassment flashes hot through her and she forces out a laugh in order to try and quell it, Phantom shoves the phone back into his pocket. "Oh! Oh, right! I'm sorry, I'll uh- get up to the front--" She stops in her tracks.

Wait. Did that message say 'we?'

She smiles nervously, tilting her head up at the Phantom as her brows thread together. "Um," she swallows dryly, "we?" Didn't... didn't the Phantom work alone?

As if startled, the Phantom jerks. And for the first time since he showed up, he blinks and turns around. Which personally, doesn't bode that well as the Phantom swivels his head from side to side like he's looking for someone.

Sarah thinks, after the Phantom stalks up to the end of the aisle and looks around, she hears him sigh. And when he walks back, he snatches the broom with an elegant twist and knocks it against the shelves.

Thud, thud, thud!

There's very, very quiet shuffling that Sarah would have missed if she hadn't been looking for it, and then silence for a few seconds, before suddenly there's a small child pushing past her side and over to the Phantom.

And in the process, scaring the shit out of Sarah.

She squeaks and jumps, nearly tripping over her own feet as the child makes a spot next to the Phantom's side. "Where did you come from?!" She says, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

The child says nothing, just stares at her through a creepy bone-white mask reminiscent of the Phantom's. Although unlike the Phantom, he was wearing some... kind of... dark red ninja outfit?

Sarah really wasn't quite sure. It was partially covered by a jacket that clearly belonged to the Phantom and with the sleeves rolled up multiple times to his elbows. The jacket alone nearly obscured the sword attached to his hip.

...Why the hell did the child have a sword.

She looks between Phantom and the child, at a loss for words. Why-- why did the Phantom have a kid with him, why was the kid wearing a mask like his.

"You have a child with you." Sarah says bluntly, her voice flat. It betrays how shocked she feels. The Phantom doesn't say anything, as she should have expected, but he does nod shortly.

The child bristles slightly, but says nothing. Part of his mouth was uncovered, and she watched it twist downward into a scowl at her. Unlike the Phantom, his eyes were not green. She couldn't see his eyes at all, actually. They were shadowed by the mask.

There's the sound of paper thwipping, and like a magician pulling out a card, the Phantom holds out a note card to her. He stares, expectantly, and Sarah reluctantly takes it.

Written in neat writing and bold sharpie are the words; "This is Wraith."

...And that's it. Sarah glances up at Phantom. Then at the supposed 'Wraith'. Then back at Phantom. "You're bringing a child with you to ghost hunt?" She asks, and okay, maybe she's not able to hide all of the judgement leaking into her voice. "And you gave him a sword?"

The Phantom stares at her blankly, or well, probably blankly. All of his expressions are unreadable with the mask he wears. But the kid, Wraith, bristles again like a stray cat. His scowl deepens, he puffs up, and he opens his mouth like he's about to say something.

...Only for the Phantom to immediately snap his hand out and cover his mouth. Wraith makes an angry sound, and Phantom drags the boy into his side, seemingly nonplussed as he twists his wrist and pulls another note card out of nowhere.

"He is perfectly capable of handling himself." The card reads, and then continues; "I would not have been able to stop him anyways. Wraith would have followed me regardless."

Did he have these prepared?

Best not to question it, Sarah decides. The Phantom has always been strange. So she just nods mutely and stuffs the two notecards into her back pocket. "Okay," she says, and moves around the Phantom. "I'll check you out up front."

[emiliamildner]

"Woman of day, you mean everything to me." / "Prince of night, you’ve come back to me." ☀️✨🌙

I have so much work to do but this is what I draw instead. It's alright though, I've convinced more people to read about my favourite couple so it's all worth it.

Brishen and Ildiko from Radiance by Grace Draven

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