#her ghost got stuck to it in her panic of being dead

[bluerosefox]

Possessed Pearl's

You know how in some ghost stories sometimes its not a person or a land that's haunted but the items?

Well what if, when looking for a mother's day gift for his mom, Danny is looking around a pawn shop and finds a necklace, it's missing some pearls but it's just enough to pass off as a decent gift. Danny humms but decides against it and goes to leave it....

That was until he gasped out blue frost and spots a ghostly woman appear out of the necklace with a somber smile. She isn't as seeable as the other ghosts in Amity though, meaning she doesn't have enough ectoplasm on her own (that might change the longer she's in Amity and around Danny though) and that right now only Danny can see her.

And Danny well... hes been doing his hero gig for a bit now, might go and ask if there was anything he can do to help.

And later Danny's good deed... bites him back. Oh boy. Because now he has the Bats looking into Amity Park... Wait what do you mean Martha is now strong enough to be seen?!

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Part 8 - Romance Isn't Dead

Slasher Handler Masterlist

NSFW under the cut.

CW: Bones, flashback, high anxiety/panic, violence and gore, brandon being brandon (assholery), crying, manic pixie dream ghost (assholery), MREs, descriptions of knives/multi-tools (not in use)

You can’t fucking breathe. It’s like your diaphragm is frozen and you can’t pull air into your lungs. Your vision is tunneled onto the skull in the box, the bright blue scrap of painters tape with Simon’s messy scrawl. Behind and under you, you know he’s saying something. All you can hear is the blood rushing through your ears.

The last expression you’d ever seen on Brandon’s face flashes before your eyes.

A big hand closes over your mouth and nose.

You flail. Before you even know you’re doing it, your elbow comes up to slam against the man behind you. The hand disappears. Using the momentum of your swing, you pitch yourself sideways. But a huge arm wraps around your waist. You’re trapped. You’re trapped. The killer is at your back and you’re trapped.

Simon’s voice cuts through the panic. “Stop squirmin’ before you hurt yourself, precious. Or I’ll make you.”

Every muscle in your body locks up. You burst into tears.

It’s awful, the way he coos at you. But when he gathers you in this arms and cradles you, you can’t help the way you cling. You’re torn between burying your face in his neck and being too terrified to close your eyes.

Images from that night at the ski lodge flash behind your eyes. Finding Stacy bleeding out from her shoulder, already too weak to stand. Your manager, propped against a wall with his guts spilled in his lap. Amber, her throat slit long before you and Brandon stumbled across her. Brandon, who’d followed you downstairs as you looked for matches and candles. The same Brandon who had been trying to convince you to share a bed with him when the power went out.

“To conserve warmth,” he’d said, with that that stupid smirk on his face as he followed you into the kitchen area.

“No, Brandon,” you’d finally hissed at him, whirling on him with a long, unlit white candle in your hand. You poked him with it as you whisper-shouted, sick of his shit. “No. No. Fucking no. What do I need to say to get you to get it? I don’t sleep with my co-workers. And even if I did, I wouldn’t sleep with you because you’re an asshole who can’t take a hint. Go find Amber if you’re so hard up. She’s actually interested in you.”

“Amber’s a slag,” Brandon said, not bothering to whisper. “What, you’re not actually fucking Riley, are you? Won’t fuck a co-worker, but you’re fine shagging a neighbor.”

“I’m not fucking Riley,” you’d snapped, still at a whisper because you weren’t about to be goaded into shouting.

“Then what’s the problem?” Brandon’d snapped right back. “Stop being so stuck up. I bought you drinks, I walked you home more than once-”

“I told you not to!”

“-I’ve brought you flowers and chocolates. I got you coffee from your favorite spot, and a pastry-”

“You think I’m interested in dating you because you picked up a danish on your way to work?” You’d wanted to pull your hair out. Wanted to wrap your hands around his throat and shake. “Brandon, I fucking hate cherries and you-! No, that’s not even the point. I’m not interested. I’ve never been interested. Leave me alone.”

His fingers closing around your upper arm, tight, had made you push him away. Not as hard as you could, just enough to startle and put some distance between you. But he’d slipped in something on the tile and fallen to his knees.

“Shit,” he’d yelped. “What the fuck? Ugh, the floor is wet. You’re lucky I didn’t break something.”

You had snorted, turned your back and picked up the matches that were laying on the counter. Lighting one, and then your candle, you’d turned back as you heard him getting up. You’d opened your mouth to say something scathing, but… “Brandon, what… is that?”

There’d been something dark and wet on his hands, his sleeve. Whatever it was, he’d slipped on more than a trickle of it, coming from under the table. And when you rounded the table, there she was. Amber, in a pink pajama set and a pool of her own blood.

Yours was the first scream of the night. Brandon’s had been the last.

And now the man that had killed both of them is petting your hair and shushing you. You gasp as you pull yourself from the flashback, teeth chattering with remembered cold. A wave of goosebumps sweeps over you. You’re very aware of the gloved hand that rubs up and down your calf.

“A couple of deep breaths now,” Simon murmurs. You can feel his lips on your forehead through the cloth of his balaclava. “Deep breath in, there you are, precious. Let it out. Slow yourself down. That’s it. There’s a good girl.”

Another memory flashes through your body. Simon’s hands holding your hips steady as you rode him, just last night. His voice smoky and soft, “Easy, easy. There’s a good girl. Let me do all the work, yeah?”

You’re wracked by another wave of sobbing.

Eventually, you tire yourself out. Your limbs are suddenly just so much dead weight. Your eyes are so sore it hurts to blink. Every hitched breath shakes your whole body. You don’t fight it when Simon makes you tip your face up so he can see how puffy and red your face is. Only let out a shaky breath when he lifts the bottom of his mask just enough to let him taste the tears on your face.

“That was the worst night of my life,” you rasp.

Simon hums at that. “Worse than the hospital?”

“I thought I could trust you,” you say. You sniffle, then continue. “I knew you weren’t safe. But I thought I could trust you.”

“Can’t you?”

You think about that for a long moment. Have to concede, “Don’t think you’ve ever actually lied to me. Well… you lied about your name. Fae rules.”

He chuckles at that. “Callin’ me a fairy?”

“Equal opportunity serial killer,” you murmur. If you weren’t so tired, it might have been funny. Right now, it feels like the words are all that carry you from one moment to the next.

“Cute.”

He lets you sit in his lap for a little while longer. It reminds you of being locked in his apartment that first week after the lodge. You’d sobbed yourself empty so many times. Felt hollowed out just like this. You’re going to need water, soon.

Finally, you put your feet on the ground, so you’re perched on Simon’s knee. He lifts a water bottle to your mouth, tips a mouthful at a time for you until you feel ready to hold it yourself. When you look at him, the skull is less menacing than in your memories. But his eyes are just as cold and dead.

“You’re fucked up,” you say to him. “You know that?”

The way his eyes crinkle at the edges means he’s genuinely grinning. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

“That’s good, clever girl. Can you tell what I’m thinking?”

You shrug. “Any time I try, I get it wrong. So tell me.”

“I’m thinking,” he says, leaning in to kiss your cheekbone. “That you have eleven minutes left.”

Everything in your body freezes. “What?”

“Haven’t found the key,” he says, kissing your cheek again before pulling his mask back down. “Clock’s still ticking until you’re out of the cuffs.”

The urge to burst into tears again wars with the urge to scream. You take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out slow. “Why are you like this?”

“Probably all the trauma,” he drawls. His hands lift you to stand and he pats your ass. “G’won then. Key’s in the box. You have plenty of time.”

Looking back at Brandon’s skull makes you feel ill. “Can I have the key you have?”

“Too late for that, precious. Don’t have enough time left to trade.”

“You fucking fucker,” you mutter around a hitching breath. A few deep breaths and you make yourself look at the skull again. Try to look at it as an object, a pile of shapes, not the remains of a person.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to step closer to the box. But you do. And you realize that the skull is on top of something. Cloth is folded up under it. On the left side of the box is a small, black hard case. You step over to that side, crouch down to pick the box up. Avoid the profile of the skull as much as possible. It has simple clasps. You take a deep breath and hold it before you open it.

Inside, surrounded by foam lining, are what look like three folding knives.

“It’s not in there,” Simon tells you. “Once the timer stops, you’ll have plenty of time for those.”

You don’t bother to answer, just put the case down next to you on the ground. The only other option for looking for the key is to move the cloth and, by extension, the skull. You clench your hand into a nervous fist, take a deep breath, and let it out. The cloth, when you touch it, is stiff. A gentle tug wiggles the skull a in place, just a bit.

You put your hands on the edge of the box and close your eyes for another few deep breaths. Fight the urge to vomit. Try to think.

Simon put it there to get a reaction out of you. Labeled it so you’d panic and cry. He knows you, so he probably knew you’d have to interact with the skull with a time limit. The key is in the box, somewhere, under all of that cloth and the skull.

The key… is under the skull.

Before you can let the nausea set in, you open you eyes and reach out to poke the skull hard with one finger. It tips, the bulk of it falling away from the jaw. And there’s the key, taped to the palate. A tiny metal cylinder, just like the one around Simon’s neck.

Even though you know the answer, you ask, “Do I have to touch it?”

Simon, of course, doesn’t say anything. You tug the cloth closer to yourself so you don’t have to reach too far and lay your fingers on the cheekbone. It’s cold, solid, and dry. You’re not sure why you expected different. You use your thumb to pick at the tape, focusing on that and nothing else. It comes away remarkably easily. The key falls from its spot with a soft clack against a tooth and lands on the cloth.

Unlocking your cuffs feels anticlimactic after all of that.

“Three minutes to spare,” Simon says. He sounds impressed.

You sniffle a bit as you rub your wrists. “New personal record.”

“You did yourself proud, Precious.”

The truth bubbles out of you before you can think better of it. “I can’t think of a reason not to hate you right now.”

“That’s because you’ve got some sense in your head,” Simon says. He stands, turns his back to you to go to the table. He picks up two of the MREs, reads off, “Chili with Beans or Mexican Rice and Bean Bowl?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Gotta eat more than crackers,” he says. “Might as well have some while I tell you about the rest of our little adventure together. Come sit at the table.”

You stand, look at his back where he’s picking grapes from the bag. “What’s outside the door?”

“The not-so-safe zone,” Simon says, without turning. “You go out that door, the next part of the game starts.”

Hunting trip three-point-oh. You sigh and walk across the mattress to the chair at the table. “Mexican rice, please.”

He passes it over. “Good choice.”

He’s quiet while you reacquaint yourself with the heating element and examine the rest of the package. He opens his own MRE and cracks open a bottle of water, offers it to you first. You use it to start the heating process, watch him do the same.

“So,” you huff, crossing your arms. There are a few minutes until the food will be hot. “What’s the next part of the game?”

“We’re gonna play a bit of capture the flag,” he says. “You ever been paintballing?”

You stare at him, jaw dropped. A headache starts to form under your left temple. “Have you lost your mind?”

It’s not often that Simon looks affronted. “Paintball is fun.”

You can’t help the disbelieving laughter. “Then why didn’t you take me to paintball?”

“Gotta train you on gun safety first,” he points out. “And most places make you play on teams.”

“And the guns aren’t real,” you counter. “That’s the real reason, right?”

He shrugs, “I prefer knives. But yeah, I’d want you to have something real.”

That reminds you. “What are the knives for?”

Simon goes to retrieve the little carrying case, snags his chair on the way back. He places the box on the table, turns it toward you and opens it. He picks up the leftmost blade and flicks it open with a quick motion. He hands it to you, black handle first as he takes a seat.

The handle is thick and the whole thing is a bit heavy. You turn it in your hand and realize that it’s a multi-tool.

“This is a Leatherman Free K4,” he says. “Decent multi-tool, lots of uses. How does it feel in your hand?”

How are you supposed to know? “Fine? It’s a knife.”

“Show me you can close the blade?”

You find the mechanism pretty easily, close the knife without incident. Simon nods, presents his hand, so you give him the knife back. He fiddles with it for a moment, and out pop a pair of scissors. And he hands it back.

“This one,” Simon calls your attention to the second item. It has a black handle as well, but the frame is open so you can actually see the tools. “is a Leatherman Skeletool CX.”

It’s impossible for you not to poke around. There are 8 little tools attached the the knife, including the scissors. A few you don’t really understand, but there are three separate screwdrivers and a bottle opener. You can think of a few times in the last couple of years a multi-tool like this could have come in handy.

You snort. “Skeletool?”

“Hush,” he chides you, smile audible in his voice as he hands it over. “This one has pliers, and a few other tools the other one doesn’t. Shorter blade, a bit lighter.”

“I can kind of feel the difference?” you offer.

“Don’t worry too much about it. Open and close it.”

You do. Pliers first, because you can. Then the blade. “Cool.”

He hands you the last one, a tiny thing that’s all silver, as he takes the second from your hand. “This one is the Skeletool KBX.”

You flick it open and closed without him asking. “Itty bitty.”

“That one’s very straightforward. Just the blade and a bottle opener on the handle.”

You pick up the little package of pretzel nuggets that came with your meal and cut into it. The plastic splits like butter. “Dangerous.”

“I dunno,” you admit. “I haven’t used them yet. You gonna tell me what they’re for?”

Simon hums, a noise you secretly have categorized as one of his “happy tiger” noises. You look up to see he’s got those eye wrinkles that mean he’s pleased. He’s looking at the little blade in your hand.

“Do you like them?”

“They’re gifts,” he says. “One for your usual purse, one for your backpack. The little one for the next time you want to go out dancing. After lunch, I’ll show you how to hold them.”

Staring at him, you think that you’d call the way his shoulders come up toward his ears bashful if he was anyone else. “Did you get me romance knives?”

“Skull’s got me in the doghouse,” he mutters, picking up his now-hot food. “Gotta give you something nice to balance it out.”

“Drugging and kidnapping me got you in the doghouse,” you correct him. “The skull has you under it.”

“I’ve got experience digging myself out,” Simon says with a shrug. “Eat.”

You grab your food and start extracting it from the heat pack. “You want to get back into my good graces? Tell me what the fuck happened in 2007. What the fuck does Roba mean?”

Simon chuckles. “That’s not a story you want to hear while you’re eating, sweet thing.”

“You made me touch Brandon’s skull,” you point out as you tear the packaging open. The smell of hot food makes you suddenly aware of how hungry you are. “So you had better start talking.”

“Promise I’ll tell you more when we’re home, Precious.”

“Swear it.”

“Cross my heart,” he says, flat blue eyes staring into yours. “Hope to die.”

“The whole story.”

“Promise you a summary that won’t make you vomit more than once,” he offers. “And I’ll rub your feet.”

You scoop a spoonful of rice and pop it in your mouth. “You’re going to rub my feet regardless.”

Simon gives a dry little laugh as he pushes his mask up over his mouth. “Yes, ma’am. Now eat. I’ll tell you the rules of capture the flag.”

[multifandomimagin3s]

Them as Dads - 141 + König

Requested by Anon

Fluff, hints of angst

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon's childhood was, to say the least, horrific.

No child should have had to experience when he went through.

Those experiences have stuck with him all his days, emotions buried deep down to a point where he doesn't feel them anymore.

There's a distinct divide between Ghost and Simon - and since he's considered legally dead, he has no reason to drop his mask anymore.

Needless to say, when he found out he was going to be a Dad, he short-circuited.

Didn't even say a word, and just left.

Of course he felt guilty for it, and he knew that what he did was wrong, but he needed to think.

The last time he had even been around a child was his little nephew...

And that tragic part of his past truly was the final nail in the coffin for him.

He was terrified of being like his own Father.

He did eventually come back but for the duration of the pregnancy, a cocktail of emotions swirled in his stomach.

The day he held his child for the first time, he was stunned.

This tiny little human, with their little button nose and - his eyes.

He grew angry - angry at his Father, and by extension the World.

How could anyone bring something so small, so fragile, so perfect any harm?

Needless to say, he's a very protective Father.

If any of the Team were to meet the baby, he probably wouldn't even let any of his comrades hold them.

Maybe Johnny - but that's at a push, and he'd be hovering around him the whole time like a shadow.

He'd be soft for his child - but he'd try to be the strict parent, teaching them to be ready for whatever the world may throw their way.

If he had a daughter, would let her paint his nails - would sit there still as a statue, watching with soft eyes at how her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth in concentration.

Speaking of, regardless of the child's gender - boyfriends / girlfriends / significant others would absolutely be interrogated before they even step a foot through the door.

"Who the fuck are you?" "You're 16?? Cunt, you look 30!"

It would essentially be like that scene from Bad Boys 2 - Soap would definitely be Will Smith in that scenario, accepting no criticism~

Would try to be there for every life event and would feel a deep seated guilt if he couldn't because he'd been deployed.

Overall, from day one, he'd made a promise to himself that he wouldn't let history repeat itself - he'd give his child everything he ever wanted growing up and more.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

I can see him as a chill Dad.

He wouldn't let his child get away with murder, but he would be good cop 99% of the time.

Would absolutely spoil them rotten - they would have to so much as look at something they liked and he'd get it for them.

It would be his Mother that would have to try and get him to reign in the spending a bit.

Also carries the baby around in one of those baby carriers across his chest.

I think he has a big, close-knit family so the child would have a ball playing with all their cousins of mixed ages.

If he had a son, definitely tries to style his baby hairs into a little mohawk with gel.

Lets his kids express themselves however they want.

They want to dye their hair? He's driving them to the shops to get the supplies.

They want a piercing? As long as they're old enough, he's fine with it - and if they want him to go with them for moral support, he's already in the car.

I think the only think he'd be awkward about would be periods.

He'd try to be helpful...but he's not great at handling it.

C/N: Dad, I got my period.

Johnny: Oh - OH! Okay, that's - that's fine...ehh...do you...do you know what to do with it...or?

I can also see him just running into a shop in an absolute panic - asking the store clerk for assistance because he doesn't even know what he's looking for.

Returns home with three massive bags of supplies.

He'd be supportive with whatever they wanted to do in life - if they wanted to go to University, he'd help them with their application; if they wanted to get a job, he'd be helping them look for vacancies, driving them to their interviews; if they wanted to join the military however...he'd be reluctant, but he would never discourage them for pursing anything.

The only thing he'd have an issue with...is if his daughter got a boyfriend.

He'd not be as...hostile as Ghost, but the silent threat is always lingering in the air.

If anyone ever hurt his child, he can switch from fun-loving Johnny to Sergeant in the blink of an eye.

Captain John Price

That child has this man wrapped around their finger from day one.

Would give them the world if he could.

Would never smoke his cigars anywhere in the vicinity of them, and would hide them out of reach - especially during the curious toddler stage.

I can see him cutting up their grapes into smaller pieces, paranoid that they'd choke otherwise.

Has dozens of photos of them wearing his hat - even got them a toddler version of his own because they liked it so much.

Doesn't matter how old they are, they're still that little smiling baby in his eyes.

So needless to say, he's very protective.

Doesn't threaten potential partners - he doesn't need to, he's a Captain in the military, so nobody would be so stupid as to try and hurt his child.

Only brings the child on base when he knows that only people he can trust are there - ie. the 141 taskforce.

Follows the toddler as they waddle around, waving happily as they pass people - Soap ends up joining the little adventure since the little one took his hand and he didn't have the heart to let go.

Speaking of, despite not being given the official title, Soap becomes Uncle Soap the moment he claps eyes on Price's child.

Gaz too - he sent Price the photos he took of them wearing his sunglasses, a beaming smile on their face.

It came as a shock to everyone when they saw the child approach Ghost.

It even shocked Ghost when the child made eye contact with him - and didn't cry. Instead, they smiled, tugging on the leg of his trousers to be picked up. And, even more surprisingly, he did.

Price never has to worry about keeping his child safe - because god help whoever tried to hurt them when they have 4 highly trained SAS soldiers coming for them.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

He’d be one of those young, cool Dads.

Buys himself and the little one matching shoes.

Also matching outfits are the thing, especially during the toddler stage.

His kid would be the drippiest kid in the playground.

FaceTimes and calls home whenever he can when he’s deployed, seeing their little smiley face just makes his day so much brighter.

When he’s home he’s more than happy to spent chill days just watching cartoons with them on the couch, making pillow forts - he probably enjoys it more than the kid to be honest.

I reckon he’d struggle to actually parent the child, and would rather be their best friend than an authoritarian figure - ironic, considering he’s a Sergeant.

So it would probably be up to the child’s Mother to reign him in when he’s being a bit too soft or blasé.

Helps his kid build the best Minecraft house.

Loves being able to bring the child on base, showing them off to the Team.

Price secretly loves having the little one around, and they’re often found chilling together in his office.

Would absolutely spoil them - whether it be new toys, sweets or anything they wanted, he’d get it for them without a doubt.

Uncle Soap once spiked up the little one’s hair to match his own mohawk - Gaz wasn’t mad about it at all, and thought it actually looked cool as fuck.

If he had a daughter he would definitely sit down and learn how to do little braids in her hair.

Would also let her put little clips and bows in his hair, painting his nails to match.

He’d just be so soft for his child.

König

When the child was little, Konig was absolutely terrified that he would end up accidentally hurting them.

They were so small, barely even taller that his knee when he was standing, and all he could think about was what if he accidentally stood on their little foot or walked into them without noticing.

So, most of the time, he carried them around.

Would read books to them at bedtime, teaching them German and English to the best of his ability.

I don't think he'd wear his hood around them often, preferring his child to see his face rather than two eyes surrounded by black cloth.

Was genuinely surprised when they didn't cry after seeing him with it on; their little hand touched the cloth before breaking out into a sunny grin, "Dada!"

He probably cried a little bit after that.

He didn't have the greatest time growing up - so I think if his child ever got bullied, he would struggle to compose himself.

In his eyes, his child was perfect, so for anyone to go and make them feel bad about themselves - or worse yet, make them cry, it makes him see red.

Doesn't go and threaten the child - he'd not cruel. But the sight of a giant, masked man looming over all the other parents at school pick-up is more than enough to put the fear into anyone who had been picking on his kid.

Would probably teach them how to fight and defend themselves from a young age - he wouldn't always be around, due to deployment, so it gave him some peace of mind knowing that they would be able to defend themselves.

[inthememetime]

Alfred finds and adopts three homeless teens while the whole of the Batclan is away, the three teens are of course The Fentons. Alfred on the other hand had been dealing with a bit of Empty Nest Syndrome and takes the trio in, so by the time the rest of the Batclan filters back there are three extra people in the Manor but the Fentons deliberately ghost the rest of the residents.

I love this for four reasons:

The potential for Alfred, who wishes Bruce would stop adopting small violent children, realizing that HE is the same.

You can't tell me Alfred, Danny, Dani, and Jazz won't be BFFs. Jazz is the only (mostly) sane person in this house besides him. Dani absolutely WILL spy and report on injuries in exchange for more of that casserole. Danny and Alfred have similar sarcastic wit.

"If we had a nickel for every billionaire with a secret identity we know, we would each have 2 nickels. Which isn't a lot, but weird it happened twice."

The SHENANIGANS!!!!!

Shenanigans include:

At first, Alfred doesn't tell the Batfam because they're a family of detectives. Surely they'll notice. Over time, it becomes a contest of who can make them suspect the most without being found.

Alfred either playing it off or staring with a raised eyebrow when one of the Batfam asks why/if he's talking to himself.

Jazz can only be turned invisible in the nick of time so many times before somebody finds out about her. "It says here, Ms. Fenton, that you have a brother?" "Yes, Danny. He died. But don't worry, he got better!"

When Tim is forbidden caffeine for a week, Danny drinks his coffee super fast or Dani replaces it with chamomile tea with black food coloring.

Dani: "You know Dick, you really shouldn't do that."

Dick, after a moment of panic, realizing there's nothing in the room with him. "....God?"

Dani, realizing how much chaos she can cause: "yeah, that's me! God."

Danny and Dani take turns being human just to walk past open doors. They all look enough alike to Tim, Dick, Damien, and a young Jason in uncertain light that the rest of the fam has to do double takes.

When someone calls Constantine over as a favor, he takes 2 steps into the manner, says no, and RUNS.

"So I've heard the voice of God, and it sounds like a 14-year-old girl."

"....how hard did Bane hit you again?"

"God says Jason is the one who stole your book."

"...right ok."

Bruce decides he's gonna go be Batman while wounded. He snuck out, so Al calls his Secret Ghost Squad.

Batman is repeatedly interrupted (*cough* saved) by 2 OP glowing metas. Constantine will no longer cross Gotham's borders.

Danny: "You need more ectoplasm. You're a growing half-ghost."

Jason: *shoots the wall* "WHAT THE FUCK WHO WAS THAT?!"

Danny: would you believe it was God?

Jason: NO

Jason figures it out first because he's being parented by a dead guy. He actually doesn't mind that much because he gets to visit the GZ

Cass figures out second because she's observant.

Dick figures it out third by spraying 'God' with paint. He then realizes he attacked an invisible creature that can go through walls with no idea how to fight it.

Tim figures it out by deliberately putting salt in his coffee to see what would happen.

Damien finds Cujo. He is Upset that Cujo already has an owner. Danny tells Damien in exchange for Damien to stop yelling insults at him. (Dani calls him Weak for this, and tells Damien 15 minutes later because he thought she was calling HIM weak and had Opinions)

"Oh shit."

Steph bribes the 'house spirits' for prank help, and then tricks them. They tell her out of Respect.

Duke starts talking to himself about star output on his homework, gets stuck, and SpaceBoi helps. Duke's 10 minutes into stars actually being interesting for once before he realizes he's talking to a ghost.

Bruce has been introduced to them by Jazz. Alfred made her after the 4th sleepless night due to researching the surprise metas.

Dani: its cool dude, but now I have to go prank Tim. Bye!

Vlad shows up for a private meeting with Bruce Wayne. The ghosties reveal themselves in order to kick his ass.

Alfred is the only person who can get away with calling Danny 'Daniel' and Dani 'Danielle'. Anyone else has Serious Regrets.

The Joker breaks Alfred's leg in a bombing. He's never seen again. Danny, Dani, and Jazz are a little TOO innocent

[ythankucaptainmccoy]

CoD: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader - Found

I felt inspired to write this today after being fired from my job that I put my heart and soul into for nine years. I don’t know why but all of the sudden I was like I’m going to do this. So here is the finished version of what I saw in my head. I hope you all like it and my inbox is open for asks or requests right now. I’m stuck on CoD men at the moment. This one will be featuring König as well.

—----------------------------------------

It was late when Ghost woke up with a start as he came out of his nightmare. He had been having the same nightmare for the past week after (Y/N) had gone missing. It was a standard mission of retrieval, but when he had taken a round in the leg Soap had to help him walk. That was when she had split from them to draw the enemy away. When they made it to the evac site she didn’t arrive.

Ghost was adamant that they wait, but Soap had convinced him they should go and that she would be okay. He slowly got up and made his way to the kitchen going through the motions of making his night time tea. As the kettle was placed on the stove he could still see her eyes and the worry in them when she made the decision to draw the enemy away. How he had begged with his own eyes for her to stay. 

It was the last time he would probably see her again, and that thought alone reminded him of his mother and brother's family’s murder. The thought of her dead and discarded made him suck in a breath as he felt the panic rising. (Y/N) would know what to do when he had a panic attack, but she wasn’t here. She wasn’t here because he wasn’t man enough to beg her to come with them, and that he couldn’t do this without her.

The screaming in his head was getting louder, and his chest felt like it was constricting. This attack was getting worse by the moment as he imagined her corpse coming towards him wailing at him. He jumped and fell backwards onto his ass scrambling for his knife. He held it in front of him shakily until his vision and hearing started coming back to him. “Simon drop the knife no one's gonna hurt ya’ here”, a voice he should know soothed.

The voice started getting more recognizable, but he was still trying to get his bearings. Then he recognized Price, the old man was holding up both hands when Ghost realized what was happening. He dropped the knife as if it had burned him and listened as Price talked him down. The wailing he thought was her was the kettle going off, and the panic attack had played with his mind.

After he had come back around Price had him sit at the table as he made the tea. Price was telling him that Kortac had a lead on (Y/N), and that König had volunteered to go retrieve her. That would make sense as (Y/N) and König had been good friends back before she joined 141. He nodded along as he listened to Price talk about how they coudn’t go in, and that's why Kortac had taken the job. 

After Price had made sure he was going to be okay he went back to his room to try and get more sleep. He rolled over several times trying to get himself to sleep, but it wouldn’t happen. He got up and went out for a walk around the base noticing all the spots he and (Y/N) would go to be alone. His favorite spot was the sniper training tower where they had had sex the first time.

She had been angry about Soap getting the better of her on sniping and he volunteered himself to help her. They had been dancing around each other for a year when he finally made the first move which led to them shagging in that tower. He smiled remembering how she had moaned and called his real name. How she writhed under him and how afterwards she lay there in his arms until Soap had called up making mentions of how no more shots had been fired. 

His smile quickly fell as he thought about how she may never come home. He kept walking, coming to the mess hall where he remembered her taking a ketchup packet hitting it just right to make it explode in Soap’s face and how they had all laughed. She was the light to his darkness and no matter what, she was always in a good mood until someone made a joke about how she should be home in the kitchen. He made his way back to his room praying Kortac could find her and bring her home to him.

***MEANWHILE IN SOME RANDOM ASS DESERT***

It was a hot afternoon and (Y/N) was trying to stay alive in a hostile environment. She had been captured right after Ghost and Soap had made their safe extract, but escaped and made it into the desert outside of the major city. She had to wait for nightfall before she could go into the city to steal some food or anything else she may need. To be honest she missed them, but there was no way she could get word to her team without possibly compromising them. 

(Y/N) missed being on base, missed the others, but she truly missed Simon. She wanted to be at base sneaking into his room or him into hers to help each other sleep. She thought back on the first time she had sex with him in that sniper tower, and how he had her writhing and moaning. (Y/N) wanted to lay her head on his chest and relax because she knew that right now he would be having a hard time sleeping.

The sun slowly set and soon she would be making her move. She needed more water so her first stop would be the well at the edge of the city. Then she needed to get food and more bandages. (Y/N) knew where she could get the bandages, the food was going to be tricky. She started making her way towards the city. She checked with her binoculars to see the well only to find it guarded. 

“Shit they got wise”, she murmured. Well she would have to sit and wait to see if they would leave or stay. It got dark and they stayed, making her decide to go back to her small encampment. It was far enough away to get a fire going. If she didn’t die of dehydration the night would certainly make her freeze to death. She sat at the encampment praying that she could go into the city the next night to scavenge.

The night passed by and (Y/N) tried to find shade in the small dilapidated stable. It was where she would sleep during the day. Her stomach kept waking her up as it cried for sustenance, but she didn’t have anything to satiate it. If and when she made it home she was going off base to her favorite pub to have a burger and good bourbon. If Gaz and Soap were here they would at least be cracking jokes and trying to cheer her up. She fell asleep again and didn’t wake until right before sunset. She got up and started the walk back towards the city.

The city seemed clear as far as She could tell. The men who had been guarding the well weren’t there now. (Y/N) watched for a couple more minutes just to be sure, and once sure she raced to the well. The water rippled when she bent down cupping her hands, and sucking down water. She drank until her stomach started to cramp. Once her thirst was quenched she darted from alley to alley until she reached a drug store. 

(Y/N) knew that the back store room didn’t lock because she was the one who had broken it the first time she broke in. Under the cover of darkness she slipped in and scoured the shelves grabbing what she needed and filled her pack even taking some bottled waters. She made her way to the back pharmacy where the locked door was, but couldn’t get in. The fridge back there had to have some penicillin which she could use, but she would just have to go without. 

She slipped back out into the alley and started taking note of where she needed to head next. There was a market a couple streets over that sold some raw meats. Some of the shops would be closing up so she had to be quick. She made her way to the markets, but they were all closed. They must have had them close up to keep her options limited.

There was nothing left, not even scraps that she could pick from. This was a failure, but she had to move on. Just as she started back the way she had come from a truck pulled up across the street and armed men climbed out. “Shit shit shit”, (Y/N) cursed. She was going to have to be careful making her way back to her camp unless she wanted to be captured again or worse.

She rounded the last corner when she saw a man looking in her direction. She ducked back into the alley, but he had already alerted his comrades to her position. When the man rounded the corner she ducked down and went for his legs making him fall over her. He dropped his rifle and they rolled in the alley trying to get to it. She could hear the other men approaching when she finally headbutted the man. 

(Y/N) scooped up the rifle and fired a round into the man's skull. She encountered two more men that she quickly dispatched. There was another truck still running, and seeing her opportunity she took it. She hopped into the driver's side and tore out of the city as fast as she could. There was no way she could stay near the city now that they were certain she was there. She continued on for several miles hoping to come across a small village.

There was no such luck, and she was starting to get tired. When she looked at the truck's dash she saw that it was around five in the morning. She continued for a short amount of time when she saw a small house in the distance. The road had disappeared a long time ago and hopefully this small house was unoccupied. When she pulled up she shut the truck off, and grabbed the rifle. 

After clearing the house it was in fact abandoned. It wasn’t all that dilapidated and the bed looked inviting, but her paranoid brain wouldn’t let her sleep there. She took the cushions on the old couch downstairs, and took them to the pantry that unfortunately was empty and placed them on the floor. She drank some water as she grabbed an old curtain covering a doorway and put it in the old pantry on top of the couch cushions then placed the backpack in the far back.

(Y/N) watched the sun rise as she checked on her wound. It needed new bandaging, and she wrapped it with the bandages she had taken. The wound seemed to be festering as it oozed some. Once it was wrapped she went back inside to crawl into the pantry closing the door behind her. She lay her head on the backpack and pulled the curtain over her like a blanket keeping the rifle beside her just in case. The hunger pains were growing, but there was nothing she could do as she slipped off into sleep.

Little did she know that a friend of hers was looking for her in the city she just fled. She woke a few hours later, shivering. She knew she had a fever since she was shivering and it was the hottest part of the day. She lifted her shirt and unwrapped the bandages to see the wound was red around the edges. It also had some discharge and she knew that it wasn’t a good sign. (Y/N) knew she was more likely to die of infection at this point. 

She should have broken into the pharmacy for the penicillin after all. She pulled the makeshift blanket higher and relaxed back in her makeshift mattress. Sleep came easy as her fever got worse. Mumbling in her sleep as the fever continued to ravage her body. A noise and her eyes slowly and lazily fluttered open. It had to be a hallucination she definitely didn’t hear footsteps through the house.

The footsteps were going all around the house, but then they started towards her hiding place. She sat up with a lot of effort that had her breathing heavily, and grabbed the rifle. Lifting it made pain sear through her, and she had just pointed at the door where the footsteps stopped. She held the rifle up as she listened for the person to walk away, but her body gave out causing her to drop the rifle. 

The clattering and her gasp from the pain had the stranger on the other side almost ripping the door off its hinges. She reached for the rifle again, but the stranger was quicker and stepped on it as she tried to pull it from the floor. Pain erupted in her body as the adrenaline left her and weakness hit her like a truck. She collapsed backward as her world spun and started to darken. She tried to keep the darkness at bay, but it consumed her.

(Y/N) started to come around as something cool touched her brow. When she opened her eyes she could see someone with their back turned toward her. One small lantern sat in the corner set on the dimmest setting. She had to get out of here not knowing what this person had planned for her, but when she went to move her strength was almost non-existent and let out a groan. The stranger whipped around and quickly shone a bright light into each eye.

(Y/N) tried to focus her eyes as the figure started talking in a language that sounded familiar, but quickly switched to English. Then a name hit her as her vision cleared some more and she could see the blue eyes and sniper hood. “ König?”, she rasped. “Easy Mause you need to rest”, he told her. “How… how did you find me?”, she coughed. “Your new friends asked me to come fetch you, but you are not fit for travel, and I don’t want to risk you dying on the trip to the extraction zone”, he relayed. 

“We should move now” she told him. “No Mause you have had a high grade fever and you need to rest. Not to mention you have stopped breathing on me twice already to the point of needing resuscitation”, he argued. “I feel… fine”, she said, sitting up with a harsh wince. “No Mause I thi…”, König didn’t get to finish as she got up and walked out of the tent. He quickly followed as she walked towards the truck he had hidden under a desert camo tarp. 

He watched as she got half way and swayed on her feet then down to her knees. He raced forward sliding to her as her upper body fell sideways. He cradled her against him as he looked her over. She was a ghostly pale color and shaking even though she was sweating. He quickly hauled her up and took her back into the tent where he checked the wound. He changed the bandages and made sure the wound was clean. 

When she woke again this time she was alone in the tent, but she could hear König moving around outside. He seemed frantic with his movements so (Y/N) pulled herself up and slowly got out of the tent. “What are you doing?”, she questioned. “I should have listened to your advice last night, Mause. They have some small patrols looking for you”, he relayed as he packed the gear into the truck. She swayed slightly as her strength started waning. 

König took notice right away quickly scooping her up and putting her in the passenger seat of the truck. “Stay here while I get the tent put away”, he ordered. She sat and watched the horizon when she noticed a cloud of dust. “König leave the tent there’s a patrol headed straight for us. He whipped up looking in the direction (Y/N) gestured to. He leapt into action running to the driver side while she started the engine. Flooring it caused the truck to lurch forward and (Y/N) groaned.

She watched as König radioed in for extraction and that there were enemies gaining. Confirmation came over the radio back to him as a Pave Low appeared on the horizon. Gunfire whizzed past their heads, but König pressed on. Sliding to a stop he pulled his gun out of the truck returning fire as he yelled at (Y/N) to head for the heli. She was almost there when she heard the grunt and impact of a body falling behind her. 

When she turned König was on his back still firing back as he yelled again for her to go. “I’m not leaving you behind damnit!”, she yelled above the heli. She grabbed him and dragged him as pain lit up in her side. She was sweating from the pain as he continued returning fire. She heard the ramp lower and gunfire coming from the ramp. She could feel the blood starting to ooze from the torn stitches. Tunnel vision had started and she could feel her strength fading, but she was so close. She couldn’t do it. She screamed in frustration and pain as she felt the impact of the ground. 

Somewhere she could hear a familiar voice as König was yelling at her to leave him. It all happened so fast she saw someone grab König as someone else provided cover fire. Then she felt weightless as her vision wavered. She lifted her head briefly and was met with another masked figure, but those eyes looked so familiar, but why she didn’t know. 

The weightlessness left as she was placed on some blankets, but she could still feel the cold metal under her from the heli. She could hear more yelling as she tried to get herself to sit up. She reached out trying to find something to help her when a hand held hers. She felt the heli lurch upwards and away as her vision and head swam trying to make sense of everything.

Then she heard a voice shouting and she knew that voice it was Soap, but he shouldn’t be here then she recognized Nikolai yelling back to him. She wanted to confirm that it was in fact Soap and Nikolai she heard, but she blacked out as she felt her shirt being lifted and heard the fabric being cut. Those deep brown eyes she saw earlier while being carried into the helo followed her into her darkness. 

Waking up was a complete bitch if (Y/N) was being honest the bright lights were killing her already pounding head. She took in her surroundings slowly noticing she was in a hospital bed and that there was a man in the hospital bed beside her. He was awake and looking at her with those blue eyes. “Hey Mause”, he whispered. Her eyes went wide as she realized König was maskless. 

He was handsome with black hair and those piercing blue eyes. “König your hood”, she gasped. “It’s okay Mause I trust you and your team”, he chuckled. She was about to say something else when she realized something on her other side moved. Her head whipped around to spot Ghost in the chair beside her bed. His shoulders were moving and holy shit was he laughing. “Simon”, she breathed in a whisper. 

“Hello love”, he said as he leaned in pulling up the bottom part of his mask. “Simon we have an audience and I haven’t brushed my teeth yet”, she mumbled. “It’s alright love”, he told her as he kissed her hard and rough. This went on for a few minutes until (Y/N) remembered König was trapped in here with them. Ghost went in for another kiss as his hand traveled down her side skipping over her wound. “Ghost! König is here”, she hissed. 

“It’s fine love, besides I think he is enjoying the show isn’t that right König?”, Ghost asked. When she looked, König was trying to readjust himself discreetly. “Maybe I should let him join us so we can share you when you're healed hmmm”, Ghost hummed. (Y/N) whimpered, causing Ghost to smirk as he looked at König. “What do you think, König, should I let you share her with me once she is healed to thank you for saving her?”, Ghost questioned. (Y/N) looked over at him with a smirk as he responded, “Once you’re healed Mause then you're ours' '. 

The nurses came in to check on both patients while Ghost watched from his chair. He had his woman back and the discussion that he and König had while she was still asleep was coming to fruition. He had known that König was attracted to her when they had worked together before, and (Y/N) had always made mention that she would trust him if they brought another person into the fold. He watched over (Y/N) and König as they both drifted in and out of sleep. 

—--------------------------

That's it, I hope you all liked the little twist at the end and maybe I’ll make a part 2 of this with the three of them. Until next time, I hope you all have a lovely day!

[wakanda-nonsense-is-this]

Ghost of Us — Chapter 5

Master page <last next>

This is the sequel to my book Ghost of You. Go check it out before reading this one.

Pietro Maximoff x fem! Mutant!reader

Warnings: The usual

Word Count: 1.9K

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know :)

Pietro’s P.O.V

A grunt escaped my lips as a sharp pain shot through my ribs. Immediately, my eyes opened as I lay on the ground. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the surrounding darkness. And once they did, I grew more confused.

What the hell happened?

My surrounding became clearer the more aware I became. The scent of pines reached my nose. The grass and dirt under my legs as I slowly sat down. The flutter memory of sweet lips on m-

The moment that thought entered my mind, I became painfully aware of the absence of warmth her closeness provided me as we fell from the sky. I scanned my surrounding but found no trace of her. Too fast, and too early, I stood up, but the moment my legs straightened under me, they gave up. Quickly, I took a hold of the nearest tree. I took a deep breath as the dizziness left my body.

I looked down at myself and was not surprised to find myself bleeding through m shirt. I shrugged nonchalantly.

It would heal.

But she wouldn't, something whispered at the back of my mind, and worry swallowed me whole. She could be hurt. No, she could be dead.

Alarms flared in my mind. Ignoring the pain in my leg, I gave one step then another until I was running the fastest I could with blood running down my thigh from something that had stabbed the flesh.

Every second that passed without seeing her, conjured images of her lifeless body laying in my arms. The images were strangely familiar and made my heart ache.

She had to be somewhere around. But she wasn't. My breaths became erratics as panic flooded my system. She wasn't here.

I put my hands on my knees and took a deep breath. Panicking wouldn't help me find her, but fuck, if the thought of losing her made my insides twist painfully. After a painful deep breath, I straightened and made to move, but the sound of branches snapping above my head made me halt.

I looked up and there she was, hanging like a damn doll from the highest point, the only thing keeping her afloat being the fabric of her shirt stuck in the branches. I felt my heart stop beating for a second as I couldn't discern from where I was if she was still breathing.

With shaky feet, I started climbing. My leg was in vigorous pain, but at least it had stopped bleeding. The higher I got, the less I could feel my leg, but that didn't stop me.

Nothing would.

Not again.

I immediately grew confused, where did that come from?

I shook my head to clear my thought. It didn't matter, I had a mission, and couldn't get distracted over concussion thoughts.

When I finally reached her, it was like being punched in the lungs. Her soft hair was coated with blood that ran down her face and chest. Bruises and scratches adorned her ghostly pale skin. A big patch of blood on her shirt caught my attention, I couldn't see the wound, but in the way it wouldn't stop leaking blood, I knew it had to be serious.

I couldn't distinguish if the movement of her chest was the breeze or her breathing, and that terrified me. As fast as I could, I crawled along the bough of the three to get as close to her as possible. I placed my hands around her waist and slowly tugged her towards me. The branches holding her uptight released her, and before she could fall, I pulled her ice-cold limp body to my chest. I didn't have time to check if she was alive, it was getting dark, and I needed to find help as fast as possible. Or that's what I convinced myself of because I knew if she was dead, I wouldn't survive it.

With her safely secured in my arms, I descended as fast as I could, avoiding making sudden movements that could worsen her wounds.

Once on the ground, I repositioned her body, one arm behind her knees and the other behind her shoulders, so I could move faster, and keep an eye on her.

I never had an issue with my healing, it was mostly fast, but it did take some time, something I didn't have right now. My leg was fucked, and I couldn't run, so I walked, and sprinted for as long as I could manage.

Darkness surrounded us as the sun faded away, bringing coldness in its absence. I kept walking, I didn't know where, I just walked. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes into hours. We were lost, and she was hurt, and I couldn't do anything for her more than the stupid tourniquet I made a while ago.

At this point, my leg was completely useless. I knew a little rest would heal it enough, but there was no time. I was afraid time had already run out, and that the girl in my arms was anything more than a body.

It was so dark I didn't see the void in front of us. Grunts escaped my lips as we rolled downhill. I tightened my arms around my girl and didn't let go. I tried to slow us down by gripping onto something, we were going too fast to be able to make out anything but the pain of our descent.

Before I knew it, we reached the bottom. For a moment, I just lay there. My ears were ringing and my head hurt. I must have hit it with something.

A tiny whine woke me up from my disoriented state. I held my breath and waited. The body over me stirred, and a painful moan escaped her lips.

My body protested as I sat down, avoiding moving her as much as I could. Slowly, I moved her battered body, so she was resting in my lap. With delicacy, I didn't know I possessed, I cupped her face. The moonlight allowed me enough light to see her gorgeous eyes slowly peel open.

Y/n's P.O.V

Back when I was in the asylum, darkness would be the first and last thing I would see. I guess, in a way, it was a form of torture. One they knew worked wonders on me, especially before they did procedures on me.

I didn't know it then. They feared me. They were so scared they didn't dare touch me before chaining me in the dark, because they knew what the darkness did to me. They made me weak so they could torture me. The warm-up, I think they would call it.

I have to say, they really knew what they were doing. Leaving me in complete darkness for hours before they came to fetch me, gave my mind millions of possibilities to imagine what they would do to me next. Not knowing what they were going to do to me, made everything worse. Torturing me wasn't enough, they had to break me.

And they did, for many years they succeeded. But they never foresaw the variable that is called Pietro. I wish I could say he mended me and put me back together, but that would be a lie. You couldn't mend something that would break every day. So no, he didn't fix me, but he didn't have to, because he did something better. Pietro Maximoff gave me something to look forward to every day. So when he left, my world collapsed, and it was like i never left that place to begin with.

So when I opened my eyes to complete darkness being held by him, I knew I had to be dreaming, because Pietro Maximoff was no longer mine.

I was sprawled in his lap, his hand cupping my cheek as he absently caressed my skin. I tried to sit down, but the sharp pain that shot through my ribs and stomach made me cry out in pain and panic. I hadn't realized when I first woke up, but I was now acutely aware of my wounds. A sob left my lips, as the skin around my wound stretched.

“It's okay. I've got you” Pietro croaked, his other hand stroking my hair as he whispered sweet nothings in my ear.

“It hurts, Piet.”

“I know, scumpul meu. I know” His hold on me tightened as he rocked us back and forth. It really is bittersweet, that even after everything we've gone through, the only time he can hold me is when I'm on the brink of death.

“We really need to stop meeting like this” I humorlessly laughed. I really hated this, and after all I've gone through, I desperately needed a break. Wong would have a field day hearing this story, I couldn't wait to tell him all bout Pietro again. He might act uninterested, but he loved the gossip I brought to the sanctum. I smiled at the thought. God, I missed them so much.

“No, no, stay awake” I felt his finger brushing through my hair. I hadn't even realized I had closed them. “Please don't die on me” He begged, his mouth on my forehead. I was half passed out, but I couldn't help the snort that left me. If only he knew.

“Oh, believe me, this is not the way I'll die” I assured him, just before consciousness slipped through my fingers.

Pietro's P.O.V

“FUCK! No, no, wake up” I could hear the panic in my voice, but I didn't care. My hands were shaking so much, it would've been impossible to check her pulse. I rapidly lowered my head to her chest and when I heard her heartbeat, I almost fainted with relief. Without thinking, I gathered her in my arms and simply hugged her for what felt like hours.

This was the first time in the day when I knew she was alive. She was badly hurt and lost way too much blood, but she was alive.

The adrenaline wore off ages ago, but out of nowhere, energy surged through my body. The pain was still there, but it was more manageable than it had ever been. I have no idea what just happened, but it didn't matter.

With her delicate body safely tucked in my arms, I stood up and walked as fast as I could without wounding her any further. Kilometers of trees and green surrounded us, making me lose hope that I could find a place where she could rest. I looked down at my arms and noted her skin had gotten paler, and she had started shivering. I brought her closer to my chest in hopes she would absorb some of my heat.

I really had no idea where I was going, and I needed to figure it out now. Earlier I can swear I saw some birds flying north, if we follow that route, maybe we-

I stopped in my tracks and looked at my surroundings. We were the only people here, I was sure of that, but deep down I knew there was someone with us. Out of nowhere, an icy feeling overcame me, it was weird, like cold water. I absentmindedly remembered someone describing the feeling as 'having a bucket filled with ice thrown over your head'. I shook my head. I was getting paranoid.

I resumed my walking, but suddenly, as if being pulled by a rope, I headed west. I had no reason to head that way, but call it desperation or familiarity, I went with my instinct. And just when I thought I was wrong, I made a turn between some thick logs, and a wood cabin appeared in front of my eyes.

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[hhighkey]

Haunted // Chapter Four, answers and doubts

Inumaki Toge x OC (female)

Chapter Rating: general

Story Contains: unhealthy relationships, strangers to lowkey!friends to lovers, family issues, OC is in high school going into university after summer, she thought curses were ghosts, bad parents want their child dead, 18/19 character ages, toge is so in love, eventual sex prior to relationship, soft dom toge, dacryphylia, over protective/ possessive toge, jealous toge

Word Count: 4062

KEY: ‘text written with single quotations are writing/typing in notes or messages by toge' and bold text is when japanese sign language comes in

Tags: reply to be added

Masterlist

-

Keiko was awoken by the tiny, rough tongue of Jelly licking her cheek, with soft mewls crying for her. With a soft groan she swatted at her cat for him to leave her be, she'd barely gotten any sleep last night. The first moments of waking up were bliss, she was stretching out and pulling her blankets back over her. But not after long, her eyes shot open as everything came rushing back. She sat up in a panic and looked around her room to realize somehow she was in her room until her eyes landed on the clock. 1:05PM. "Fuck," no wonder Jelly woke her up.

It was hard for her to swallow, felt like something was stuck in her chest as she came to her senses. Oh no. Where was Aki? Kaito? How did she even end up back in her bed? Her mind felt foggy as she tried to remember- and she couldn't. All that came to her was the monster attacking them, a bright yellow light from her hands, and then sorcerers. Keiko sat up, placing her hands over her eyes as her breaths turned started to hyperventilation, heart racing. Breathe. In. Out.

She began to sniffle. A feeling of despair gnawed at her as she tried to remember everything that happened yesterday. Trying to help Kaito wasn't supposed to lead to any of that.

A softness rubbing against her tore her thoughts away from yesterday and down to where her cat nuzzled himself into her.

"Hi baby," she cooed, picking Jelly up and cradling him to her chest. For once he didn't struggle, "yesterday was bad... I'm lucky to be alive."

Lucky to be alive. Her own words sent shivers down her spine as the gravity of it all came crashing down. As quick as her and Aki joked about getting to the bottom of her ghosts and family, they quite literally got thrown in the middle of one part of their 'investigation'. Over and over the young girl cursed herself for being so dumb, for putting them in danger. The one time she grew a pair it almost got them killed. Remorse slowly took over her panic as tears welled in her eyes, one getting free as it trickled down to her mouth. Keiko had no idea how long she was asleep for, but she didn't feel rested. A dull ache took over her head as she did her best to stifle her cries that soon turned into soft hiccups of pure sorrow.

The soft meows of Jelly made her smile through her tears as she bitterly laughed at how pathetic she must look. With a deep shaky breath, Keiko moved Salem off of her and went to stand up. Her body was meet with the chill of AC, her bare feet cold against the hardwood. She hugged her body with her arms as she stood glancing around her room feeling like an ant stuck somewhere new. The milk white walls of her bedroom adorned by pastel pictures, decorations- felt like they'd enclose in on her any second. Her hands shook by her side as she sucked in a deep breath,

Something was out of place that caught her attention from the corner of her eye.

A note. Keiko instantly grabbed the pink paper off her night stand and began to read it,

Sorry about having Inumaki put you to sleep, you got a little freaked out. Whenever you get up, head outside and a member of our faculty will bring you back,

-Gojo

ps, I didn't have paper so I used some of yours hope you don't mind

Her eyes scanned over the note multiple times before she could recollect it all. Jujutsu High. The place Aki talked about, which somehow they managed to end up at not even twenty-four hours later. Slowly the names and faces of the sorcerers she met came back to her as well. At first she'd just thought it was all a bad dream when she remembered.. as it was what it felt like. Sorcerers. But in fact it was all real and maybe now she could get answers. "Shit", she mumbled remembering she didn't know if Aki and Kaito were still there. She stumbled for her phone, which was plugged in right in its usual spot, immediately bringing up her texts between her and her best friend-

1:16 pm

KEIKO: AKI pick up

After a new minutes there was still no response, it made Keiko's heart pound even as her brain fought to remind her they were all safe. She wanted a response to have confirmation though. However, reading that note helped curve the gnawing, the itch at the back of her head that kept telling her she was forgetting something. The main thing that weighed her down was now gone and the note from Gojo helped to relieve it.

A few more minutes of staring at her texts passed before Keiko finally gained the strength to move to her bathroom.

Grabbing clothes from her dresser and closet, she felt like a zombie following routine as she entered her ensuite bathroom. At first glance in the mirror, she saw an exhausted girl with dark eye bags staring back. Her hair was oily and flat past her shoulders, even her skin looked like it had a sick tint to it. Keiko sighed at the site of herself as she began to take her clothes off to shower.

Warm water cascaded against her smooth skin feeling blissful and allowing her to relax. Showers were a way for her to decompress, to escape her constant over thinking and paranoia. She felt like she could be in heaven for a few long minutes before having to face what she had to do today. But she knew that it wouldn't last as she was learning the hard way in the last twenty-four hours. She wondered how much things were going to change for her.

It didn't take her long to leave the bathroom once she turned off the water. She jumped around as she finished drying her hair and browsed through her makeup. Ankle socks, a skirt and cute button up adorned her body as she soon scrambled to find a light cardigan. Her hair was down her back slightly damp against her clothes as she was putting on her stan smith's then going to grab her designer purse.

When she finally worked up the courage to leave her room, Keiko felt like there was an extra barrier she had to get through. Her bedroom was a place she could feel safe, it was light and welcoming, a fun girly aesthetic she adored. It had personal touches and bright colors, in order but also lived in. A great contrast to the mansion. The estate had everything perfectly in order, perfectly clean, and dreary. The perfect place to feel like a prisoner.

With a sharp breath, Keiko willed her herself to move with soft footsteps echoing in the lonely hall. As she continued to walk down corridors and down a grand staircase, she'd passed only one person- the new maid whom she shot a smile towards. Nobody besides Aki knew that Keiko being able to leave the estate by herself this easily had never been a thing. Someone always watching. But now Keiko could grasp the large doors to the outside world with her own fingers and pull them open. Freedom. Fresh air.

At the bottom of the stairs up to the doors was a black car off to the right. It was a car she'd never seen before but she assumed who it belonged to.

As she descended, a lanky man with brown hair and glasses stepped out of the driver's side. 

"Hello Keiko, my names Ijichi and I work for Jujutsu High. I'll be taking you back— if that's okay."

-

The drive out to Jujutsu High felt long. Keiko stared out the window watching all the scenery go by as they drove into thicker trees and mountains. She hadn't remembered any of this yesterday, but that was understandable. No wonder nobody knew of this place, it was so hidden and as buildings came into view- she didn't even think that was the school. Whoever told her their guise as a buddhist temple wasn't lying that it was a good one. It was effortlessly beautiful with the old temple like buildings, the statues and lamps, and greenery that helped lead them in that showed their age.. she felt herself with a soft awe in the place. Sun fought to stream through the leaves as it left pockets of yellow on the ground.

Ijichi hadn't spoken on their drive, instead he watched the young girl carefully, "beautiful right?"

"It is. Do all the sorcerers live here?"

"Some. There's other... schools, in the country as well. Most work independently though."

The car came to a stop and Ijichi was instantly out and walking to her side to open the door for her, "hopefully your visit today will be kinder than yesterdays."

"Thanks," she smiled at him.

The few steps forward that she took, she instantly felt transported to another place. The air was cooler with all the shade as she walked besides Ijichi, looking around at everything she could. There was a stillness around her that made her footsteps on leaves and stones echo around her. Groups of hydrangea blended into the shrubbery but bringing pops of color to the stoned paths.

Standing past the break in trees and lamps was a familiar sight. Inumaki. He was dressed in the same purple uniform as his hair blew lightly in the wind. Even from her distance she could feel his piercing eyes on her body. Her heart pounded as her and Ijichi got closer to, she was actually excited to see him.

Keiko smiled as they reached Inumaki.

"Gojo wants to talk to you, figured you could use some familiar company in the mean time." Ijichi explained as he took his leave, "I'll let him know you're here, he got distracted while waiting."

Without another word Ijichi left the two to their own devices. Keiko and Inumaki stared at the other with small sparks in their eyes, flushes of pink coming to their cheeks.

"Konbu," he said softly.

"Hi, how are you?"

"Shake," his voice was so kind, it felt like music to her ears.

"I'm glad you're here. I don't really know anyone else enough..." her voice faded as she wasn't sure why she got so open so quick, they didn't know one another at all.

"Tuna tuna," he reached his arm out to guide her. She assumed he wanted her attention in one way or another. It was a little odd for her to hear someone say onigiri ingredients as speech.

She assumed Inumaki was taking her to wherever Gojo was, to wait. But she wondered if he volunteered to be the one tor got stuck with her. However, those thoughts soon left as she was in awe once more by the sights of the school. Inumaki watched her with curious eyes as she was light on her feet looking around. She seemed happy. Or at least in great contrast to how she was prior. He liked the way her dark hair swayed in the wind, blowing into her face along with the amazed look on her face.

The pair stopped when they reached what Keiko assumed to be a main building of the grounds. She continued to peer around until she felt a soft tapping on her arm. Inumaki was staring at her with eyes that appeared to want her attention, he cocked his head towards the stairs. Keiko was a little lost but she followed regardless. He had taken a seat on the bottom stair and tapped the spot next to him for her to sit, which she followed suit. A pit formed in her stomach as their sides touched and as her eyes wandered over the parts of his face that were visible.

Like he had yesterday, Inumaki took out his phone to type on it. The small bouts of anticipation that came with watching his fingers made her encapsulated in him.

'How are you doing?'

Keiko smiled from his concern for her, "I'm okay, I feel good knowing my friends are okay mainly, guess it's helped my stress. But feels like I'm going through a weird routine so I don't upset myself right now."

'That's good to hear... I think you'll be okay you seem strong'

"Think so?" she chuckled as she read his words over again, "Just was scared is all. I reacted."

'Like I said you're strong'

"Can I ask about your cursed speech thing?"

Keiko watched as Inumaki hesitated over the keyboard on his phone, slowly typing below his former responses, deleting, and then re-typing. Immediately she felt guilty asking about what must have been a personal ordeal.

'It's called the Snake and Fangs seal of my clan. I was born with it. I'm not sure how much you understand but I can infuse my words with cursed energy. It's why I don't speak and how I later discovered onigiri ingredients couldn't be be used with cursed energy.'

"Is that why when you said 'explode' that curse literally exploded?" Inumaki nodded, "wow. That's like really cool but, I can imagine it's hard.." her voice faded out. If only he could choose when the words had the cursed energy, that was a pity for him.

'Do you remember anything about what you did now? It was really interesting.' he typed quickly.

"I'm trying to remember. All I wanted was for them to live. And I guess I just made it happen." she shrugged, looking down at her hands, "Is that why I'm here?"

'Probably.' Inumaki could see the drop in her mood as he could practically see the gears turning in her head, he didn't want her to think too hard. He continued to type furiously, 'Why don't we talk about something else? You seem uncomfortable.'

"Yeah I wouldn't mind that," she chuckled feeling grateful at how perceptive he was, "do you live here full time? Do you guys like learn normal school things? Calculus? Bio?"

He laughed, and it surprised her as if she expected that to be something he couldn't do. She looked at him and involuntarily smiled as she saw his eyes crinkled at the side, boy was she curious about the lower half of his face.

'Nope, don't mind not learning math.' he paused before he continued typing as she stared at his screen, 'but yes I live here, when I'm not training or on a mission I do whatever I feel like, they're not really restrictive, but I'm also not a first year student.'

"How many students are here? How old are you? I just turned seventeen a little bit ago."

'Me and six others. One isn't around though. And I'm almost 19.’

"Oh, that's a lot smaller than I'd imagined. Guess it makes sense. Not everyone sees these curses, I've put together." Keiko sighed in dismay as she thought back to how alone she felt for years.

'I'm sorry you had to deal with that for this long. You're not alone with it now though. It's confusing seeing things others can't. Tell me a little about yourself?'

"Oh I don't know where to start with that one," Keiko shrugged, "I guess I was your everyday case of a kid with super strict, kinda crazy parents. I'm not kidding I've never left the general Tokyo area." Inumaki's eyes looked surprised at that, "right?" she giggled, "I don't mind school actually, enjoy being with my friend Aki, my cat- and oh I love shopping. Makeup, skincare, perfume, jewelry, clothes. All of it. Basic I guess."

'Not basic, that suits you if you enjoy it.' Inumaki really liked something about Keiko. He chalked it up to being he was one of the people to save her and the others. Maybe he felt like he had a duty to her and to help guide her on this new, scary path she'd have to go down. Inumaki knew she wouldn't get a choice, Gojo didn't let people walk away.

"You? What do you enjoy?"

'Watch a lot of Youtube videos in my free time, maybe read. Panda keeps telling me I should get into cooking'

"Cooking is fun! Sometimes because it's a lot of work in my opinion... But I can't get over that you guys have a panda.."

Inumaki laughed again then went back to typing, 'Panda's a cursed corpse, he's basically filled with cursed energy. Our principal made him with his cursed energy years ago I'm pretty sure'

"I'm not kidding, if I hadn't been in shock all of last night.. I definitely would have been more affected by a big talking panda."

"Shake," hearing his voice sounded at this point. She'd talk and he'd type (quickly too), so each time his smooth voice hit her ears it sounded like music.

"Hey would you um.. want to exchange numbers maybe? You've been so welcoming and it would be nice to have someone to contact.."

"Shake," under his high collar he smiled, thankful for the high fabric hiding his excitement.

"Here I'll just type my number out on your notes." Keiko typed out her number, "there you go, and thats for k-e-i-k-o," she finished with her name next to it.

Handing the phone back to him he nodded, unbeknownst to her, pink growing on his cheeks. Inumaki thought she was cute and it didn't help she was trying to make the effort to 'talk' with him- oh no. They shared a comfortable silence before Keiko's phone started going off.

At first she didn't feel the vibration in her purse as she'd been focused on the him that he had to point towards it. Her heart raced with an excitement needing it to be her friend, "oh sorry, I think it's Aki."

4:02 pm

AKI: heyyyy i can see ur alive! i'm confused as fuck

AKI: just woke up

KEIKO: yes but literally i'm also confused and worried

AKI: cool soooo my house like rn??

KEIKO: wait you got brought home too?

AKI: yeah... SUPER weird.

AKI: come over now

KEIKO: so funny story im back at the jujutsu high place.. so i'll come over after?

AKI: cool... make them tell you what the fuck is going on

KEIKO: i will try but their teacher is weird asf, also how are u feeling?

AKI: like normal it's crazy.. i remember you doing something tho. like i know i got hurt but i don't feel a thing

KEIKO: brb

AKI: oh?

Just as Keiko was able to get ahold of Aki, she was torn away from her phone by a voice she dreaded hearing. Gojo. He stood staring down at where she was with Inumaki, a big smile plastered on his face, which for some reason made her feel annoyed. She wanted to be with Aki right now so they could hold each other, cry this out, figure out where to go from here. Aki finally had to see everything Keiko had been burdened with all her life so she knew how hard it could be to comprehend it.

"Glad you could make it Keiko!" Not like she had any choice, "why don't you follow me?"

"Sure," Keiko sighed.

Keiko gave Inumaki a tiny wave goodbye as she followed Gojo into the building. A little flitter of tingles felt alive in her stomach as she left his view and a door closed completely shutting her off from him. Each step around an unfamilair corner before they got to an empty room with couches confused her as if it were a maze.

"Take a seat."

"Thanks." Keiko sat down and Gojo sat across from her. Keiko looked like another confused kid he's recruited over the years; looking around in awe and unable to make eye contact. But she also seemed like she just didn't want to be there.

"Feeling okay?" she nodded so he continued, "sorry to have to drag you out here so fast again, but I did lots of thinking last night and I need to get to the bottom of this before I have to talk to the higher-ups. And well, I'm curious Keiko, who are you?"

Keiko frowned, "my name's Hayashi Keiko and I'm in my final year of high school. That's all."

"Hayashi?" Gojo perked up at this, eyes quickly widened before she caught himself from showing a reaction, "you related to Jiro?"

"Yes..." she looked at him in an accusatory way, "how do you know my dad?"

"Dad, huh? That's interesting. Makes sense though. Do you not know your parents are jujutsu sorcerers?"

Keiko felt numb, "Uh," it made sense. Why they confirmed they could see the 'monsters' she could too and why she had no idea what they did for work, "I mean no but..."

"I don't know anything about your mom but your dad... he's one of my higher ups."

Confusion was overwhelming for the young girl. Why had this been hidden from her? Maybe they just wanted to protect her? Keiko felt her head begin to spin- or was it the room? The air felt thick as she took a sharp breath in and let it out shakily, "what do you want from me?"

"I want you to join Jujutsu High."

"No..." Keiko said bluntly, "I'm good."

Gojo hadn't been expecting such a harsh and immediate response, "why?"

"I already have my life, I'll be going to university soon."

"You should think about it. Keep doing what you want but people here can help you." a serious glint shown behind Gojo's sunglasses where she could see bits of light blue, "you should be careful at home, your dad specifically is my least favorite of all my bosses. He probably shouldn't even know we've met."

Keiko's nose scrunched up in distaste. For years she despised how her parents treated her, but they'd never done anything to harm her. They were now allowing her, as she was older, to go and live her life- maybe they just wanted her to learn strict morals. So Keiko didn't want to hear this. She couldn't even wrap her mind around her dad being such an important sorcerer.

Gojo continued to speak, but she wasn't listening. Something about her dad heading down a road that wasn't acceptable. How her mother would stand idly by. All lies.

She didn't want to hear any more of what Gojo had to say. Her head continued spinning and her legs felt weak as she made herself get up from the couch. She didn't believe Gojo received any explanation or answer from her as she ran from the room she felt as if she'd pass out. But Keiko didn't look back and ran down the semi-familiar halls that she thought she could navigate back to where Ijichi's car would be- even if it was quite the walk or run away, she didn't care.

When she finally pushed open the doors that lead her to outside where she came from, Inumaki was still seated right where she left him. At this point tears were welling in her eyes as she became overstimulated from yesterday and today- it was finally hitting her as her family was now involved. Inumaki jumped up and tried to head over to her as he saw the state she was in, "takana?" she just shook her head as she pushed past him and down the steps.

Keiko appreciated everything jujutsu high did for her and her friends, but she needed time away from all of this. She could sleep better at night knowing she wasn't alone and seeing ghosts- but now she'd always have Gojo's warning stuck in her mind. 'You should be careful at home.'

"Think I scared her?" Gojo said as he appeared in the doorway of the building looking down at Inumaki, watching Keiko walking off with Ijichi not far behind as he'd been waiting.

"Shake."

[sarcasticgaypotato]

Well if you INSIST... ;) As you might’ve gathered from the last post, Mara is in a Curse of Strahd campaign, but no major spoilers here.

Freshly stuck in Barovia, Mara teams up with a group consisting of a fire genasi sorcerer named ‘Priscilla’ and her human fighter bodyguard named ‘Vayle,’ an aasimar paladin named ‘Beau,’ a rabbitfolk bard named ‘Quince’, and another fighter of, at the time, unknown race, but unnaturally tall and very pale, named ‘Alecto.’ The group comes to name itself ‘Community Dagger,’ who you can see here in some adorable art from one of the other players!

Mara and Alecto hit it off immediately with Mara tending to Alecto’s wounds and Alecto taking a protective role in battles. Alecto’s mysterious, but then again so is Mara- who has not told anyone of her condition or why she hides her face, leading to the only way of reading her expressions being the movement of her ears, which stick out of her hood.

Some one-on-one bonding and intense emotional scenes later, and Mara is the first to discover that Alecto is in fact a Deva- an angel who cannot permanently die, but loses some of her memories every time she perishes. She barely remembers who she is or what her life was, but she knows that she has a son who was kidnapped and she is going to get him back.

Mara, a holy woman, is naturally a little shocked at this realization, and quietly panics under her veil because this entire time she has been having some not-so-holy-thoughts about Alecto and her very big muscles, and it might be a sin to think about an angel like that- she’s not sure. Mara’s a big ol’ repressed lesbian nun- complete with intense touch starvation on account of the ‘I can’t touch anyone with my bare hands or they’ll die and I literally have a kiss of death’ thing.

Still, she swears to Alecto that she’ll do anything within her power to help her find her son and the two of them gain another relationship heart in this gothic dating sim that we’ve forced our DM along for the ride on.

If I recount the entire almost year-long campaign we’ll be here all day, so I’ll just go over the biggest Mara bullet-points.

- In a fight against one of the villains from Priscilla’s backstory and his pet Displacer Beast, Mara rolled multiple natural 20s on animal handling checks and managed to not only keep it from attacking, but sway it over to her side. She named the beast ‘Ghost,’ and proceeded to have frankly supernatural luck with further animal handling checks (including another nat 20) leading to a well-trained, friendly giant murder-cat that trails behind Mara wherever she goes.

- Alecto is naturally the first one to see Mara without her veil in a moment of trust and vulnerability,

(Mara art from the incredible @bondibee​!)

But Mara wasn’t looking quite as good as she does in this picture. Mara’s necrosis is rapidly getting worse, reaching all up her arms, across large portions of her face, and over her heart. Mechanically this is represented with an unavoidable, resistance-ignoring 2d10 necrotic damage anytime Mara’s blackened skin is touched (or if any vampire-spawn are stupid enough to drink her blood...). Damage which, fun fact, stacked with the spell ‘inflict wounds,’ which Mara was forced to have prepared every day. Less fun fact, this is actively killing Mara. Her goddess’s protection is holding back some of the damage, but she’s on borrowed time.

- So in the last post when I said Mara’s mom died of a mysterious sickness? That was a bit of a lie. Elora Delune, Mara’s mother, got very sick very rapidly, asked Mara to care for her siblings, and then was gone the next morning. Presumed dead and mourned for as such. ...Guess who’s undead? Mara’s mother, who had also contracted the same necrosis as Mara, ended up in Barovia, succumbing to the rot and becoming a feral, tortured undead that Mara and the others were forced to fight. After an emotional fight, Mara managed to get through to her mother enough for Elora to ask Mara to put her out of her misery, which a grief-stricken Mara agreed to.

- Mara’s necrosis + inflict wounds combo (affectionately named ‘nasty touch’ for its ability to do, at the time of its last use, 7d10 necrotic damage that ignored resistances with a 3rd level slot) found itself being used in a time of need, despite Mara’s hatred of performing harm and especially of using the necrosis. Then it was used again, and again, until Mara was struck with horror at just how easy it became to excuse its use in the heat of battle. In the wake of a fight with an outcome Mara blamed herself for, she resolved not to ever use it again.

- After a long emotional journey of accepting her own mortality and recognizing that she had been living half-a-life on ‘pause,’ Mara formally asked her goddess to stop holding back the progression of her illness and let the cards fall where they will, accepting whatever comes next, be it cure or death. She also asks her goddess to instead watch over Alecto, as the two of them continue to get closer.

- Mara’s appearance is gaunt and drained of life, blackened veins snaking all across her body. She gains a vulnerability to bludgeoning damage as her bones are brittle, and any piercing or slashing damage releases black smoke that reduces her ability to regain hitpoints. She grows weaker and despite her attempts to insist the group continues as planned, they all insist on finding a cure to save her before anything else.

- This results in the group finding themselves in a temple deep underground filled with pools of holy water, where Mara decides to try an unorthodox method. Alone save for Alecto nearby, she wades into the pool and uses a high-level moonbeam to illuminate the water with radiant light before submerging herself and intentionally drowning herself. Letting the holy water fill her corrupted lungs, Mara might’ve died if not for Alecto’s Healing Hands giving her just enough hit points to survive the intense onslaught of radiant damage and near death via drowning.

Pulled out of the water at just the right moment by Alecto, Mara is on the brink of death but at the same time, reborn. No trace of necrosis remains, leaving her skin its usual purple-ish hue, her features lively and seeming nearly a decade younger, but most importantly, her touch? Harmless. The two embrace in the midst of the temple, sharing a moment that very nearly could’ve become a kiss... but not quite.

- Finally free from her curse for the first time in hundreds of years, Mara is overwhelmed with emotion, full of hope for the future that she always dreamed of; settling down and raising more children, living a quiet, domestic life.

...Then she got bitten by a super powerful werewolf within 24 hours and was cursed again. (’curb your enthusiasm’ theme plays)

With ‘Remove Curse’ not being strong enough alone to break the curse, mission ‘fix Mara’s curse 2: electric boogaloo’ gets put on the to-do list.

- But... on the bright side; Mara and Alecto admit their feelings for each other, finally share a kiss, and have a night of playful mischief together pretending to be young again. This comes after months and months of delicious simmering away of gay feelings on both sides, and is to date one of the sweetest romances I’ve had the joy of participating in. The monochromatic moms are one hell of a duo.

---

There’s Mara Post part 2! I’m still leaving out plenty, but this post is long enough as is. Mara’s terrible luck with curses currently remains, and although Mara is eager to be rid of her lycanthropy, I’m personally having a lot of fun with it. ,

This character is genuinely so much fun to play, partly because of how very different than me she is. Maternal, wise, and inexplicably French-accented.

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 26/40

Part 25

TWs for this chapter: Fire Grief Gore (implied) Insecurity/jealousy, but the second part is mostly lighthearted and discussed almost immediately

"You got any plans?" Martin asks. The fire in the middle of their 'camp' -are they really stopping for the night if there's no night anymore?- gives off little in terms of heat, but it pushes the illusion of normalcy, which Martin is grateful for. "After we fix this?"

"If  we fix this," Tim shrugs by the other side of the pit.

"When  we fix this," Martin remarks a bit more firmly. He feels a lot more like himself today, 'camping' with his friend and with his boyfriend stuck to his side, still clad in Martin's green hoodie that clashes so much against the rest of his outfit.

It's easier to believe it like this, that Gerry doesn't want him just because of Jon.

Oliver isn't home.

Of course he isn't, he left months ago after another row of fighting. It hadn't even been the worst by far, but they just- Graham was tired, and Oliver was always busy.

Graham looks at the table again, running a finger over one of the curved edges of the spiderweb.

Perhaps that's why he's thinking of Oliver after all this time.

Despite his collected, professional looks, Oliver's got a very endearing weakness for "the occult", as he likes to call it. Somewhat of a guilty pleasure, he often says.

Said.

Anyways, Oliver would've been all over the table, with its web design that if you look at juuuust close enough, turns out to have hundreds and hundreds of names written into the canal-like grooves, in a font so tiny it reminds Graham of that carved rice grain at the Ripley's museum.

Perhaps- perhaps he'll give him a call.

They didn't end in the best of terms but it doesn't mean they can't build a relationship again, right? Doesn't mean they can't be friends. He once loved Oliver, that can't be gone just because he's no longer in love with him, which is something Graham often tells himself despite being very much sure of the opposite.

Maybe just lunch, and then a visit to the flat so he can fawn over the table. Run a finger along the edge like Graham likes to do when things are overwhelming, only to look up and find it's been hours since the last time he did so.

Only if Oliver isn't busy, though.

"And you were," Sasha says. Her voice feels- it doesn't feel like her voice, and there's a pang of panic in her stomach. If it's not hers, whose is it then? "I- you never picked up the phone."

The man looks a bit pale still, looking at her like he's seen a ghost.

"I'm- no. I think I might have- Jon?" He turns to give him a questioning look, and Jon shrugs.

"Hm. I didn't think you'd recognize Graham's real appearance," Jon hums casually, almost to himself. "Maybe because you were dead when she was taken. Anyways, you were on the ship at the time. Bad reception, and then the satellite killed you."

"Excuse me, the what?" Sasha blinks. None of this makes any sense, why is Oliver here and why was he dead? Who is this Oliver person, what-

"Graham-"

"My name is Sasha," she shakes her head. That's the main thing she has to be sure of. She's Sasha. She may have been Graham once, but now Graham is Sasha and that's all there is to it. "Jon, care to explain what's going on?"

Jon gives her a worried look, the corner of his lips turned down in a concerned gesture.

"Back when you were only Graham," he starts slowly after a moment, "you knew Oliver. I think you were-"

"A couple," Sasha nods abruptly. She remembers, intimately. But this makes no sense... was- how did she never notice Oliver was an avatar? He was always a terrible liar, she would've- "How- how did you end up like this?"

Oliver's eyes -they're light gray now, she realizes, like the color has bled out from them- slide to Jon somewhat nervously, like this encounter isn't going as neatly as he wanted.

It's very Oliver of him to have planned the whole thing, Sasha thinks with a spark of fond amusement. They must cut an appalling picture smack in the middle of his no doubt carefully orchestrated dramatic encounter, the Distortion and the Them dogpiled up on the Archivist.

"Oliver," she says, her voice firm. "Jon is alright, with some luck he's not going anywhere while we talk. But now, I think you owe me an explanation."

"I owe- what happened to you?" Oliver asks back, still looking for all in the world like he did all those years ago when Sasha asked him what his plan was if Barclays didn't work out, bewilderment and confusion warring on his usually calm, handsome face. "You were safe! I- why are you not Graha-"

"Don't call me that," Sasha snaps. "Don't ever call me that."

Ollie's face clears up all of a sudden, the way Sasha remembers it doing whenever he caught onto the plot twist of a movie. His eyes soften, and he looks at her gently, sadly.

"Stranger?" Is all he asks. His voice is careful, almost apologetic, and it makes Sasha want to cry. It's- this new existence is confusing at the best of times, and there are so many things she didn't get to tell Oliver, so many things she only thought about after he left.

Is this the constant in all of her lives? Loved ones left behind none the wiser, unsaid words that weigh her tongue down?

"...There was a table," she says after a moment. A table, popping up in her life again and again, to rip her away and fill her absence with poison. To hurt those she loved wearing a face that isn't hers, killing her a little more every day. "I got it at an antiques sale, you know I liked- you would've liked it. It was black shiny wood with a spiderweb design. Very on-brand for your aesthetic," she adds with a wet-sounding snort.

"...That's why I couldn't see your root," Oliver says after a long, tired silence. "It wasn't you anymore."

"I'm going to pretend I know what that means."

"It's- Jon can explain later, I'm sure," Oliver sighs. "I- Jon? Was it because of me?"

Sasha feels Jon move under her, partly to shrug, partly because of the Web urging him to escape. She readjusts her position to hold him down, and he gives her ankle a grateful squeeze.

"At this point I'd say it's just as likely that it was because of her past association with you as it is that it was because of her future association with me," he says in the end. "I'm not too keen on figuring out the Mother's mess anymore."

"I'd say that's wise." Oliver runs a hand down his face, and Sasha's stomach contracts with a sudden, fierce rush of fondness, as she knows with unerring certainty what words will come out his mouth next. "This is not going how I expected."

"Always glad to rain down on your plans," she grins.

Oliver snorts at the familiar exchange, shaking his head softly as his lips stretch into a smile. The dimple forms on his left cheek still, Sasha notices with muted amusement.

She loved him so much. Those should've been her parting words, instead of a scathing remark and a sarcastic 'wish-you-well'. And now they're quite literally two different people -many different people, in her case-, and whatever bridge still connects them to the past is now weak and crumbling.

Will it feel this way with Tim too? With her daughter, her wife, her cousin? Though she's back after so long, she's not the person any of them lost, just enough of it to hurt them.

"Sasha..." She can hear Jon under her starting to speak, and she shakes her head.

"I'm fine. Just- I'm fine." She turns to Oliver again. He's still giving her that pained, sorrowful look, and Sasha looks away. "Tell him what you need to tell him."

Oliver sighs, and moves around them to crouch by Jon's head.

"I'm sure you've noticed by now, but-"

"Humans are dying here," Jon interrupts. "It makes sense, but it's still unexpected."

"Do you know what that means?"

She feels Jon nod.

"It's not a big leap," he says, and Helen snorts.

"You don't need to be Martin to figure it out?" She asks.

"Exactly," Jon says, and the smugness in his tone makes Sasha smile. "The Watcher isn't loving the revelation, I must say."

"I didn't think it would," Oliver agrees. "There's plenty still here, but mine isn't the only End domain."

"Not by a mile. And other avatars are not as into the passive observer style as you are," Jon says. "Which is a bit surprising from you, by the way."

"Is it really? t's not like trying to help ever did me or anyone any good." Oliver shrugs.

"It did me a lot of good, I'd say," Jon's voice has turned almost contemplative.

It feels like an eternity, before Oliver responds with another question.

"What about everyone else?" he asks in a careful, measured tone.

And then another one, before Jon speaks again.

"I... can't speak for anyone else, but- but Oliver, I'm grateful I woke up. For many reasons," he says thoughtfully. "Even if I shouldn't be."

Out the corner of her eye, Sasha sees Oliver nod slowly.

"What will you do about this?"

Jon sighs. "I don't really know. The Mother and the Watcher are both trying to take me to the panopticon, but I suspect they each have a different goal once they get me there, and I can't say I care much for either of their plans, whatever they are."

"That'll make them happy," Oliver observes. Then, after a moment, "you know what's funny?"

"Historically, I don't," Jon says in a dry, monotone voice that makes Sasha snort. "What is?"

"I could feel you, back at the hospital. You were halfway into my patron by the time I opened the door for you to leave if you wanted," Oliver says. "You weren't afraid of dying back then. You felt mostly... irritated."

Jon sighs. "I didn't want to- I couldn't stand not knowing what had happened with the others. Or why this had happened to me."

"I figured. But yes, you weren't afraid." Oliver shrugs. "You are now, though."

There is silence, as Jon contemplates how to respond to that.

"Didn't have much to leave behind back then," Jon shrugs. "Sasha? I think it's time we get going. Helen left."

"Oh?" Sasha turns around, only to find that Helen and the door are nowhere to be seen, and she's already halfway through getting off Jon. "Well, that sucks."

"It's okay, it worked for a lot longer than the last time," Jon smiles up at her as he gets up, his eyes already turning the poisonous neon green of the Beholding. "I'll see you soon, and... thank you, Oliver."

"It was nothing. Really," Oliver says quietly, watching Jon walk away. "So... so you cut him off from the Eye?"

"Both of us," Sasha corrects him. "One of us can weaken the call so he's conscious, but both of us can make him stop."

"That must be useful."

"It is." Sasha shrugs. She should say something else, but she can't for the life of her figure out what. She's no longer the Graham he knew and loved a lifetime ago. "I better get going. I have to keep up with him."

It's only about a dozen or so steps, that Oliver speaks again.

"Sasha?" He asks, and it's the same tone he used for her old name before, despite the word itself being different.

"Yes?" She half turns to look at him, keeping an eye on Jon even as her heart hammers in her chest.

"It was- it's nice to know you're back," he says. His lips are curled in the gentle smile that not once failed to make Sasha respond in kind, not even now.

"You too," she says. Then, because she has to, because it wouldn't be fair otherwise, "I'm different- I'm not the one you knew. Not really."

Oliver seems to mull this over for a couple seconds, before looking back up at her with those uncanny pale eyes.

"I'm not, either." He shrugs. "But... those two didn't end up well anyways, did they?"

Sasha snorts; it feels like a weight is dissolving off her stomach, and she gives him another smile before she goes to turn again.

"Don't be a stranger, Ollie."

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

The Eye feasts and feasts and feasts, gorging gluttonously on its brethren themselves feeding.

The other entities have ever resented it for that, but there's little they can say when it was the Beholding and its avatars that brought for the world they've been crawling towards for millennia. Feeding it with the suffering they cause is the least they can do.

And still, the feeding isn't quite as satisfactory as it should, not after the Archive's continual revelations, which the Eye is increasingly peeved about, were overlooked by the Pupil in his search for triumph.

More humans have to be being created now, despite the world's new state. Even the Lonely bred its own stock. Surely they won't all end up waltzing into Terminus' cold, impassive embrace.

The eye feasts, but what before felt a scrumptious banquet tastes like ash, and scatters just as fast.

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

"You got any plans?" Martin asks. The fire in the middle of their 'camp' -are they really stopping for the night if there's no night anymore?- gives off little in terms of heat, but it pushes the illusion of normalcy, which Martin is grateful for. "After we fix this?"

"If  we fix this," Tim shrugs by the other side of the pit.

"When  we fix this," Martin remarks a bit more firmly. He feels a lot more like himself today, 'camping' with his friend and with his boyfriend stuck to his side, still clad in Martin's green hoodie that clashes so much against the rest of his outfit.

It's easier to believe it like this, that Gerry doesn't want him just because of Jon.

"Hm. I don't know. Traveling, maybe. I liked that before. And now I don't have to stay at the Institute, so..." Tim shrugs brusquely. "You?"

"Well... we have to stay up north until Gerry's carrots are ready to harvest-"

"Stop that," Gerry smacks a hand against his thigh, his face coloring charmingly in the light of the fire.

"I'm serious! I've got plans for those carrots," Martin snorts. "But yeah, after that... I don't know? I don't want my flat back, and Jon probably lost his already..."

They- maybe the cottage? If they get Daisy back, they could purchase it from her. If they don't- well, she won't be asking for it back anyways.

The three months they spent there were nothing short of heavenly, and Martin remembers even the awkwardness of learning to move around each other with undeniable fondness, boundaries and tastes learned slow and carefully, like they had all the time in the world.

They'd been very naïve, in hindsight.

"The bookstore and my mother's house above it are still standing," Gerry pipes up. "We'd have to find out if Gertrude did something with the papers; hopefully it won't matter that the owner was dead for a while."

"It's still sad though," Martin boops him on the nose. It's hard to feel down when faced against Gerry's absurd sense of humour.

"Oh, tragic. I hear he left behind two grieving boyfriends, he was apparently supernaturally handsome and charismatic."

"Bit of a big head, though. But hey, there's no accounting for taste," Martin shrugs, then smiles when Gerry places a kiss on his shoulder. "But yeah... I guess it's an option. I just didn't expect you'd want to live th-"

"We can raze it to the ground, sell the plot and use the money to purchase something," Gerry cuts in, his voice casual and light.

Tim's eyes flash orange across the campfire though, so Martin guesses there's a lot more feeling in the remark than what Gerry meant to put into words.

They sit in silence for a moment, until Martin softly squeezes Gerry's shoulders.

"I wouldn't be opposed to a little flat, I suppose. Granted that there are no wet towels left on the bathroom floor."

"What kind of unconditional love is this?" Gerry laughs.

"If Jon loves us less because of improperly dusted surfaces, I can love you less for having to step on a towel at three in the morning." Marin smiles. This feels good. They will fix this. They will.

"I still can't believe you two tried cleaning in front of Jon," Tim snorts. "Did you learn nothing from the first three months down at the archives, Martin?"

Martin shrugs. "I learned he liked his tea with two sugars, he was less of an ass when I made it that way."

"Your taste in men sucks," Tim says for the umpteenth time, rolling his eyes to the sound of Martin's laughter.

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

"We'll need to stop him soon," the Dist- Helen says. Her voice reaches the Archive as if through water, the call of the Spider adding to the natural muddying of the Spiral.

"So soon?" Sasha- yes, it's Sasha, the real one. "He said we shouldn't do it too often, didn't he? Or they'd get impatient."

"It will be a short one," Helen reassures. Just like everything else Helen does, it's not too reassuring. "I've been keeping something for him, and he's going to need it before you go into that one."

"...You know? That was also very annoying back when you were Michael."

The Archive feels its lips curl into something resembling a smile. With all the overlap between Stranger and Spiral, it's not too surprising that they bounce off each other so easily.

"You still went to the cemetery, didn't you?"

"That says more about my lack of self preservation than it does about your powers of persuasion, if you ask me," Sasha says dryly. "Should I sit on him again?"

"Oh, for sure. She's not going to like it one bit." Helen's sharp, angled smile is all too easy to picture.

"Wonder why she hasn't stopped you yet, then."

"Can't reach me in here," Helen responds, and the Archive hears a loud creak, like old hinges and wood. "Dear Tim did quite an exhaustive cleaning last time he was in me."

"...You're just saying stuff to make me curious on purpose aren't you?"

Helen chuckles. "There's just enough Beholding in there."

"Real funny," Sasha says, and then there's a pair of slender arms wrapping themselves around its torso, and then a long hand does the same around its wrist, and the call fades off into the background.

Jon blinks owlishly up at the sky, a bit disoriented as he always is whenever Sasha and Helen call him back.

The sky blinks back, and Jon rolls his eyes before focusing on his captors.

Sasha's barely older than a teenager today, he realises with a pang of sadness. It's- not having known them personally, it's easy to ignore the many victims the Not Them took, the many lives it cut short far too early.

Young Lisbeth Ackerman had meant only to squeeze in a last minute rehearsal for their acting club's performance, even willing to ignore the prop table that had unnerved them so much the whole week.

Still, this body's strong and heavy enough that it will take Jon some effort to break free when he inevitably starts trying.

"Hi. Want me to sit on your stomach?" Sasha asks, leaning her head on his shoulder as she tangles her fingers behind his waist. "Your lap?

"Hi... My- my lap I think. I should be able to see- Helen said she had something for me?" He turns to look as they lower themselves to the ground, and finds that the hand on his wrist extends into a forearm and then an arm clad in a pristine purple suit jacket that disappears behind a bright yellow door.

'That doesn't bode too well for Martin,' says Helen's voice behind the wood, and Jon's heart skips a beat.

"H- Helen?" He asks, his voice hoarse with anticipation.

'-oesn't. But I'm- I wonder if you'd be this far gone, if I hadn't turned you away when you first came to me.'

"It's time," Helen says; Jon can only barely catch a glimpse of her mischievous grin through the cracked door.

And then a lone tape recorder pokes through the threshold.

'Is that what this is, then? Making amends?' A tired sigh. Has he always sounded this exhausted?

'Not really. I- we were always going to change, I think. Our only choice is how we do it.' The sound of something being pushed across a flat surface, and Jon remembers the eerie stillness of the office, the hopelessness after Anabelle's revelation. 'I hear you collect them?'

'Only until it's time.'

'Time for what?'

'I don't know.' An amused huff that is echoed from behind the door, even as Helen's hand convulses around his wrist. 'Doesn't it frustrate you, Jon?'

A little, choked up laugh that has Sasha giving him a little squeeze in her arms. 'You'll have to be a bit more specific.'

'All these rules about what should and shouldn't be done. We are power. Why should we be contained?'

Helen's hand flinches and spasms, and Jon reaches out almost desperately to grab on to her jacket. There's- this feels like Eric Delano's tape, and even back then the Spider never did factor avatars helping each other into her plans. There's something here that he needs to hear, and she will not stop him.

'I think... Because I want to be contained.' Jon says so many months ago. A man not yet broken but starting to crack, held together only by the flimsy promise of hope. 'If I'm going to be a monster, I'm going to be one on my own terms.'

Jon feels his breath catch on his throat, as the feelings that back then accompanied the words rush back into him.

'How noble of you.' Helen says, and Sasha snorts on his lap.

'Selfish, really. It's the only thing I have left.'

'Didn't she say it wouldn't matter, in the end? The grand scheme of things, and all that?'

'It matters to me.'

'So you'll spend the entire journey there being miserable, just for the sake of some moral high ground?'

'If I weren't miserable in this situation, I wouldn't be Jon. I- maybe the Spider dropped me gift-wrapped at the Eye's front door, yes. But it can't take that from me-'

"...It can't take who I am," Jon speaks over his own voice.

There's- Sasha's weighing him down, and Helen is still trying to cling to him, and the Eye and the Web are pulling him forward while his pained heart pulls him back, and it's just- it's just too much.

He earned his happy ending, and they tore it from him. Just like his life, his loved ones, his home, his hope for a future.

His hands clench -the burnt one with a spasm of mind-clearing pain- in Helen's jacket, in Sasha's sweater.

"Jon?" Sasha whispers against his shoulder, her breath hot through the fabric; a reminder that she's alive because of him. Because of his actions, not the Eye's, not the Spider's.

"Let me up," he says, and when Sasha leans back in surprise her face is illuminated in an eerie green glow that makes her skin look pale and greyish. "I need to be up."

Helen's hand spasms so violently it releases its hold on his wrist, and a moment later Jon feels the sharp sting of her knife-like fingers in the flesh of his forearm, trying to anchor herself by whatever means possible.

And Jon looks up.

At the panopticon so far away, at the empty expanse before them where he Knows the Mother of Puppets waits patiently for her little toys to return, dancing to the tune she plays so cheerfully.

The glow of his eyes Illuminates the way ahead, and for a moment Jon fancies himself a beacon, a lighthouse standing impassively while the storm rages around it.

The world around him trembles, rises up to meet the one who created it, who gave it a new purpose.

"I think," he says, his voice deep and laden with power, just like he remembers it being when he brought the world down. "I'm quite done being told what to do."

And the call breaks.

It feels like coming up from a deep dive and breaking the surface to take a deep breath, like he can see the world around him clearly for the first time since his time at the cottage.

The pain of Helen's fingers digging into his flesh is sharp in a way it wasn't before, like it's Jon who's feeling it rather than the Archives, which he guesses is just the thing.

"...Are you okay?" Sasha asks, and Jon nods a bit shakily, grateful for her arms around him as he doesn't feel too steady on his feet at the moment.

"I just- I'm going to need a moment," he says, squeezing back at Sasha's chubby frame.

And so they stand there, their silhouettes profiled by the bright, angry orange light of the burning city waiting ahead of them.

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

This new domain feels... odd, is the best way Gerry can describe it.

Familiar but not quite right, like visiting your childhood home after a few decades, and finding you no longer fit in it, if you ever really did.

All around them hundreds, maybe thousands of people walk towards their own death, dragging their feet along the bright, pulsating red root that marks their individual ends.

"This one feels worse than the Stranger," Martin grumbles by his side.

"You think so?" Gerry hums absentmindedly.

There's something almost peaceful to the victims' journey, a sort of poetic acceptance to their long-awaited rest. Like-

"Gerry?" Martin's hand lands on his bicep, pulling him to a stop.

"Hm?" Gerry blinks, looking up at him with a lazy smile.

"...No." Martin frowns, snapping his fingers an inch from his eyes. "Cut it out, I'll pinch you."

"Cut what- oh, fuck!" Gerry flinches away at the sudden jab of pain, his mind coming back into focus. It feels a little like waking up from the dormant, pseudo-conscious state he remembers from the book and-

Ah. Of course.

"Are you with me?" Martin asks, his hand still heavy on his arm.

"Let's revisit that later, but yes," he blinks a couple more times, careful to keep his eyes on Martin instead of focusing on any of the victims. "Where's Tim?"

"We were having a conversation before you went Walking Dead on us," Tim's voice behind him sounds decidedly grumpy.

"What happened?" Martin's hand moves from his arm to cup his cheek, and Gerry feels his face warm up at the tenderness in the gesture. It's not- despite being so liberal with his own touch, he's not too used to others reciprocating in kind. "I thought the Eye-"

"The book," Gerry's voice sounds a bit hoarse when he forces it out again. "I'm- I did spend a good chunk of time wishing for an End of my own, I suppose."

"...Ah."

"I'm fine now, it's- it just felt familiar," Gerry says as reassuring as he can even as he still hears the siren call of Terminus all around him. "I'm sorry for scaring you."

It takes a few more moments, but Martin eventually huffs with what could pass as amusement. "Just warning you, if you do it again I'm just going to drag you out."

"You know what? That sounds perfectly fair, you deserve your own 'dragging a stubborn mule of a man away from a fear entity's grip' experience, it's life-changing." The smile comes to Gerry's lips a lot easier now, and he scrunches his nose at Martin just to make him snort and shake his head in fond exasperation.

"So funny, mister Keay..."

"This is very sweet and all," Tim grunts behind them, "but could we please get going? This place is not even scary, it's just depressing."

"I'm sorry it's not up to your standards," says a new voice, and Gerry whips around with Martin in tow.

The newcomer is a slender, young black man with short cropped dark hair, giving them an unimpressed stare with his eerie grey-white eyes.

"We don't want any trouble," Gerry says, slowly and carefully. There are three of them, but End avatars are different. He's not too sure any of them can even be killed anymore, but all they need is to pass through; better to do it without any fanfare. "We'll just be on our way."

"Everyone is, it seems," the man rolls his eyes, before pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, ignore that. Sorry, I'm not having a great time."

Gerry risks a look at the travelling corpses in lieu of voicing his retort, and the man shakes his head.

"Yes, I know. It's not like I can do anything about that, though, so-"

"It's- you're him," Tim's voice cuts through like a knife, and Gerry's surprised to see his brow furrowed in thought. He hasn't heard of this particular avatar, and he can't imagine why Tim would've either. "With the- Martin, the veins."

"The- what?" Martin scowls in confusion.

The newcomer seems collected and peaceful, but Gerry keeps his gaze trained on him; he's met kind monsters before.

"You came by the Archives to warn Gertrude she would die," Tim says, and Gerry has to rip his eyes from the man then. "Jon asked me to look for him," he says, and the tiniest pinprick of orange glow alights in the depths of his dark eyes when he turns to look at them. "He said the Web kept me from finding him. His name is Oliver Banks."

Gerry feels Martin's hand twitch in his arm, as the man nods in response to Tim's words.

"Apparently I’ve made of trying to help archivists somewhat of a hobby," Oliver shrugs, before his gaze settles on Gerry. "You feel like the End."

"Books fear me, the Entities want me," he says with a shrug as Martin's hand flinches on his arm again, and Tim snorts. "Are you going to let us through?"

"Ah. Gerard Keay, then." Oliver's gaze is a bit unnerving still, but Gerry holds it as steadily as he can, with the certainty that he's simply not going to die until- "You're going after Jon, aren't you?"

Huh.

"How'd you know?"

"Your root ends with him," Oliver half-shrugs, tilting his head to the side as his gaze intensifies. "Or... starts. I've never seen anything quite like you."

"He gets that a lot," Martin cuts in dryly. "Now if you excuse us, we ought to get going," he adds, when Oliver doesn't immediately look at him.

"Yes, I suppose you should," Oliver nods in the end. "They aren't too far ahead."

"Got it, thank you, bye."

Gerry arches an eyebrow as Martin marches on, pulling him along by his grip on his arm.

"They?" Tim asks behind them, but Martin is channelling a draft horse and they're out of earshot by the time Oliver responds, if he even does.

They stop when they reach the end of the territory, which is as any other liminal stretch between domains; just empty, barren land with little to no defining features other than a rock or two.

Martin very tellingly doesn't let go of his arm.

"So. Are we going to talk about that?" Gerry arches an eyebrow.

"About the dead people walking, or you wanting to join them?" Martin huffs, going to sit on a boulder a few feet away.

Gerry snorts fondly, walking calmly up to him.

"I told you why I wanted to walk with them," he shrugs. "Are you going to tell me why you were jealous of that man?"

Martin's head whips up to look at him like a deer in the headlights, and Gerry feels a burst of triumph in his chest. Getting one over Martin doesn't happen often, and he doesn't think he'll ever stop enjoying it.

"I wasn't- where on earth did you get the idea that I was jealous?!"

"Martin, not six months ago you were looking at me like that," Gerry rolls his eyes. "So either you're jealous, or you have a very curious way of showing me you don't like me."

"You know what, I'm starting to question it myself," Martin grumbles, his face colouring a little when Gerry laughs. "Stop that. Come here."

"Coming, coming," Gerry says consolingly, taking a seat next to Martin and throwing an arm over his hunched shoulders. "What is it?"

"...Jon was in a coma for about three months," he says in the end.

Gerry nods. "Melanie did mention something like that when I woke up and she was threatening him with a knife, yes."

Martin's lips twitch, but they don't quite smile, and his eyes are still downcast and, when Gerry leans in a bit closer, going somewhat grey.

"I went in to see him every day," Martin says, his voice not white sullen anymore, just... defeated. "Every day for three months. I talked to him, I asked him to come back, but- and this Oliver guy went in once, gave him a state- it wasn't even a statement, he just spoke to him! And-"

"And Jon woke up?" Gerry completes the thought when Martin abandons it. Then, after a weak nod from the man, he adds. "He's an avatar of the End, Martin."

"It doesn't matter," Martin remarks sullenly. "All I know is he pulled Jon back. I couldn't bring him back from the End, I couldn't bring him back from the Buried, and I wasn't even there when you called him out from the Dark. I keep failing him when he needs me the most and-"

"If it helps somewhat, you didn't even try to pull him out of the Buried, I'm still convinced you could've reached him."

"...Gerry, how on earth would that help?" Martin deadpans, and Gerry holds his hands up in surrender.

"I said if. All I'm saying is I just know you went straight for the tapes idea because of the Lonely. It worked just fine in the end, but if you'd called him, he would've heard."

"But then-"

"The End is different, Martin." Gerry's arm goes back to its place on Martin's shoulders, his free hand coming to tangle their fingers together. "Terminus doesn't give up its victims so easily. I doubt anyone but one of its avatars could've opened the way back for Jon, especially if the Web was involved."

"...It's very stupid, isn't it?" Martin mutters after a few minutes.

"You can't help how you feel." Gerry squeezes his hand. "As long as you understand it's not something you need to be worried about."

Martin snorts softly, before pressing a kiss to Gerry's cheek. "I should learn from you, then?"

"Oh no, I'm not possessive but I'm very jealous," Gerry shrugs with a sheepish smile, "I just dealt with it in a completely different way, apparently."

He squeezes Martin's hand again when he breaks down laughing, satisfied with his efforts. Gerard Keay, paragon of emotional maturity and healthy communication.

"Am I interrupting?" Tim's voice breaks him from his reverie, and Gerry looks up to find him standing a few feet away, arching an eyebrow at the tableau they cut.

"We were just done," Martin responds, somewhat breathless still. "Did he tell you who Jon was with?"

Tim shakes his head, his brow furrowed. "He just said some other avatars. Helen, I guess."

"Maybe he found Daisy?" Martin asks, his amusement fading into intrigue.

"Maybe..." Tim mutters.

Gerry arches an eyebrow. "You don't sound too happy about that."

Tim gives a half-hearted shrug, and a tired sigh.

"I saw her change, down at the tunnels. It was- I never said it because Basira had been running herself ragged, but... at this point, I wouldn't want anyone to find Daisy, not even him."

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

All around her it smells like fire and burnt hair and cooked meat. The smoke tastes of salt, like evaporated tears, and she can hear anguished cries coming from countless ragged throats.

These aren't prey, she decides. The hunter feeds on panic and adrenaline fueled by the eons-old instinct to escape or be killed. She despises the taste of sorrow, of hopeless desolation. Of those that have given up and lost all the fight they could give.

The fire licks at her sides, at her paws. It singes off patches of raggedy sand-coloured fur, and makes every step on her already misshapen legs even more agonising. Her form, which is only suited for giving chase and taking prey down, is all but encumbering as she tries to make her way through the burning buildings.

What was she looking for here?

Was it- retribution?

She came here to settle debts, to pay harm with harm. To find-

"And to what do I owe the honour? The great and powerful Archivist, and his pet monsters?" says a voice, up, up, up in one of the burning buildings, and the hunter's chest swells with a snarl that crackles louder than the fire around her, before she jumps.

The building's wall cracks under her weight, her claws digging deep into crumbling concrete to pull the hunter up. The smoke chokes and blinds her, but the sting barely registers in her mind. All she has to do is go up, up, up.

"I'll be honest, we could've taken the long way. I was just curious," says another voice, and the hunter flinches, her torn, leathery ears perking up in recognition. Is this the prey she's looking for?

"-were already a little nosy prick back then. Sometimes I still regret not having killed you, your pain was so tasty," a voice says. It's hoarse, like the speaker has spent years inhaling smoke, and bitter. It sounds like mean laughter and pained cries, and the hunter's hackles raise.

"It's a very popular opinion, I've found," says the other voice, quieter, tired. Unamused.

The Hunter's brain flares up with alarm as recognition finally hits. This is the voice in the deep, the one that spoke of home, and he shouldn't be here- or- or should he?

The hunter stops her climb for a moment as her smoke-addled mind snaps and chases at itself. Which one has the blood that sings to her? Which is the one she's hunting?

"But then again, I wouldn't have this sweet, sweet little corner of hell to myself would I?"

"Ideally, no. I suppose you've enjoyed it so far?"

"Who was this again?" asks a third voice, one that sounds like confusion, like lies. It makes the Hunter angry, she doesn't like its kind. It was voices like it that took her into the deep and tight and crushing, where her will broke along with her mind and body.

"No one, really."

"Oh, is that so?" the first voice cackles. "Look at that, becomes an eminence and forgets about the ones who made him. You wouldn't be here without my mark, Archivist."

"You say that like it's a bad thing, though I can see why you would be under the impression that I ought to be grateful for that."

"Jon- the fire is-"

"Of course you'd be one of those," the voice laughs again, "all holier-than-thou and pretending you're above the rest of us. Pretending you're not the worst of us. Does it make it easier for you to sleep at night, after what you did?"

"I don't sleep much," says the voice. Then calmly, quietly. "I'm going to kill you, Jude."

"Jon?!" the lying voice asks. "You said-"

"You're bluffing," the first voice barks. "You're feeling their pain aren't you? Feeding off of it, like the parasite you are. Are you enjoying it?"

There's a pause, during which the hunter crawls higher up towards the smoking window the voices are coming from. She's so close, so close to being done.

"I am."

"Why would you shut down an easy meal?"

"That's just who I am, I suppose." The response doesn't wait this time, and the voice in the deep is firm and calm, before it adds almost sheepishly, "that, and I really don't like you."

The steel frame of the window is partially melted, soft and malleable under the hunter's claws, and she can finally see inside the room, preparing her hind legs for a jump. The woman reeks of wax and smoke, facing away from the hunter and towards-

The hunter freezes.

And she knows all of a sudden, with the sort of instinct all great predators are born with, that she's no longer the biggest danger in the room.

The creature on the woman's other side pulls at her as much as his presence terrifies her, soothes her and agitates her in equal measure.

Apex, whispers some tiny, primal voice at the back of her mind, and a low, anxious growl leaves her throat.

She should leave. She should turn tail and run and make sure to never again cross paths with this being, to never-

"You can't be angry at me still, Jon. You shook my hand didn't you? It was your fault, like everything else," the woman laughs, and the hunter sees red.

The woman crumbles like sand under her weight, and her claws dig into soft, pliant flesh that tears so easily, that bleeds out choking rivulets of thick black smoke that swirls up into the hunter's nose and eyes.

Boiling wax sticks to her teeth and sears her gums and tongue as the hunter bites and tears and chews. The woman is not so much afraid as she's shocked at the pain, at finding herself a victim. Prey.

Swallowing her bit by bit satisfies a deep, old hunger seated deep within the hunter's stomach, and she feels herself relax at last.

It took her a lifetime but she did right by her pack, which is what matters, she thinks as she plops down on the hot floor to lick the wax off her paws.

"Jon, what the hell is that thing?!" The hunter whips her face up at the voice. She's on the shorter side, plump-faced and with a large, soft belly, and she reeks of the Stranger.

The hunter hates her immediately.

She climbs to her feet again; her humped back bumps against the burning ceiling, searing some more fur off.

"Uh, you- you may want to go into Helen," the man says as the hunter takes the first step towards them. He's small in size, and were it nor for the power the hunter feels contained within his frame, she could swallow him in a single bite.

"I really don't," the stranger says. She takes a step back, and the man steps before her. "Jon-"

"It's- she can't hurt me," the man says, though he doesn't sound so sure. There is a certain hint of fear to his scent, a dubious, sad sort of terror. What scares this monster, the hunter realises, is not knowing if he should be afraid of her. "I- do you remember me?"

The hunter snarls.

He smells of old paper, of shiny plastic and blood. Of suffering, so much suffering that the hunter wonders for a moment how it is that he's still walking around.

He smells of- of everything.

Darkness, lies, pain, deep, fog and all the others, they swirl around inside him like he's containing them all, like he's made out of them all.

Another step. She cannot kill him, but she can kill the stranger.

"Y- you said you'd kill the other one, maybe you want to redirect that murderous energy?"

"I- no!" The man's face pales. He takes a step back as the hunter advances towards him. "No, she- Daisy?"

"This is the cop?!" The woman retreats all the way back to the crumbling, smoking door. "The one that tried to kill you?!'

"Daisy, can you hear me?" the man asks again, and the hunter responds with another snarl. She doesn't want to fight this being, but she will if he stands in the way of her prey. "We've- we were worried about you, all of us."

There's a thin, pale scar in the man's throat, and something aches in the hunter's chest.

"Please," says the man. His voice is soft, and it reaches the hunter as if through many miles of rock. "Please, Daisy. I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't think she'll do you the same courtesy, Jon." The stranger has managed to open the door behind him. "Come on."

"Sasha, I can't- I need to at least try to-"

"She's clearly not recognizing you, let's get out of here!"

"We can't."

"What?!"

"Don't- Sasha, listen to me," the man gives the stranger a worried, anxious look that sends a pang of recognition through the hunter's mind. "Don't try to run, she wants to chase you."

"I- why me?!"

The man's eyes, large and dark and sad, turn towards the hunter again.

"She's not too fond of the Stranger."

"Well- well, that makes two of us," the woman stutters, but she lets go of the door. "Jon..."

"She's in there," Jon- the man says. "Daisy, I found you once-"

The hunter snarls, but he trudges on, unimpeded. He's always been so stubborn.

"No, listen! I've been looking for you! Basira's looking for you!"

The name feels like a whip across the face, and the hunter recoils. It's a name of- of coconut and yellow, a name whispered with a last, dying breath.

'Will you find me?'

It pulls at her like a hot-red hook through her entrails, the name, the man's voice.

'Always.'

There's dirt closing off all around her, sharp stones digging into her flesh, and try as she may she simply cannot draw a breath that doesn't smell of rotting old wood and rain. Her ears are ringing with thousands of agonised screams, and the hunter can't tell if it's the Desolation's prey or her own, or if there's any difference at all.

"Jon, I- fuck!"

"Daisy- !"

The man's blood on her tongue tastes familiar, and his fear is delicious and filling and wrong. It burns her tongue and makes her choke like she just bit into something foul, but her jaws are locked around him and she feels-

She feels defenseless.

She was so afraid of this, of losing control, of losing herself.

But she did it for him, for- for her. It was worth it, to give herself away one last time. Why does this hurt? What is she missing?!

"Daisy!" The man is screaming in pain, and it hurts, the word jabs at her blood-lusted mind like a knife, and the concern in the man's voice is the cruel hand twisting the weapon in the wound. "Daisy, please!"

"Daisy, the quiet!"

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

"You know... I still stand by my opinion that the carousel was far too on the nose, but this isn't a much better look," Tim sighs.

The heat of the fire all around them feels like a pleasant, almost familiar warmth, and the victims' pained cries taste absolutely scrumptious with sorrow. It serves to remind him of what he is, and he hates it.

The flames nearby flare up, fed by his resignation.

"I don't know where you got the idea that these things know how to be subtle," Gerry says, pulling him out of his mind. When he looks over, the man is almost done putting his hair into a messy bun, which he ties with a hair tie Martin pulls from his own wrist before pulling the hood over his head and tug on the drawstrings, presumably to keep the ash out. "If it makes you feel better though, you're as far removed from an avatar of the Desolation as you could be. I think the reason it brought you back-"

"Was to make me miserable, I know," Tim grunts, as they resume their trip across the burning city. "I just- I hate it here."

Or more accurately, he hates that he doesn't hate it. That knowing everyone around him is for once in as much pain as he constantly is in gives him a sense of vindication he hasn't experienced in years.

He could stay here, he thinks.

They pass the remnants of a burning hospital, and Tim breathes in the hopeless cries of those who will just never find peace again, not in this place. He could make it so that each and every one of them suffers what he suffered- what's the saying?

Misery loves company.

"Are we going to run into someone here too?" he asks after a while. "I don't think I ever met anyone from the Desolation."

"I don't think so," Gerry says carefully. "This place is....recently unoccupied."

"What's that even mean?" Martin turns to look at them with an arched eyebrow. "How would you know?"

Gerry shoots a look at the infinite, unblinking eyes that cover the sky.

"Right-" Martin nods, "dumb question."

"Was it Jon? Like he did with the- with the thing that took Sasha?" Tim asks.

"I... Think? I only get vague knowledge, nothing too specific. Right now all I know is this place is looking for someone to sit on the big chair." Gerry looks at him out of the corner of his eye, and Tim keeps his gaze fixed firmly on him. "How are you doing?"

"I don't like what you're implying," is all he says, sending the closest flames flaring up into the sky.

"That's good. I don't like it too much either." Gerry looks on ahead. "But here we are."

"Here we are? What- oh." Martin says before following Gerry's gaze. He seems to deflate, but his colour surprisingly doesn't wane when he turns to look at him. "Tim?"

"I'm not going to stay here," Tim says so shortly it sounds strained even to his ears, like he's trying to convince himself more than he's trying to reassure Martin. "I won't. I-"

"Tim," Martin repeats, gentler this time.

"What?" Tim clenches a fist in the fabric of his jacket.

"I'm- I know you wouldn't do this-"

"I wouldn't." But he would, wouldn't he? Hasn't his entire existence been about causing pain, ever since he woke up? To Jon, to Martin, to himself- hasn't he fed on it, fueling his fire with their loss? "Martin-"

"I know. But- but I think you need to look up," Martin's hand feels warm for once, the chill of the Lonely chased away by the fire's heat.

"I don't want to," Tim shakes his head. "Just- just guide me out."

"...I get the feeling that won't get us anywhere," Martin says gently. "Gerry? Am I wrong?"

"It would be too easy, I think. We've established the Desolation will gladly feed on him, and- and the Watcher wants to see him choose."

Tim shuts his eyes tight, resenting in a way he never did when he was human the bright orange spots that explode behind his eyelids as he does. He- he doesn't want it.

Not the pain blossoming at his chest, nor the power he can feel at his fingertips, or the voice -his own voice- that tells him this is justice, that he deserves this.

Who knows pain if not him? Who knows better how to rip these humans to pieces, how to show them just how insignificant and hopeless their lives are, until all they are is an agonising longing for that all that they have lost, all they have destroyed?

Who-

"Tim. You have to look." Martin's voice is still gentle, but firmer this time.

"I really don't want to," Tim says.

I really don't think I can.

"You're not alone this time." Martin's hand on his shoulder squeezes a little, and surprisingly doesn't flinch when Tim lets out a dry bark of laughter.

"That's rich, coming from you." There he goes again, striking where he knows it'll hurt the most, where-

"It is, isn't it?" Martin's voice sounds like- Tim opens his eyes to see the sad, gentle smile spread across his features. "I think it makes sense, though."

"It does."

"I would know."

"You would."

Martin doesn't react to the jabs, doesn't retaliate with the pointed, barbed remarks Tim knows he's capable of dealing.

"I don't think you want to be here anymore," he goes on casually, like they're talking about leaving the office early. "I don't care much for it either."

The crackling of the fire calls him, the screams of those that are like him, that decided to take out their hurt on the world, to strike first, lest it strikes them down.

"Martin-" it feels like the smoke is choking him, even though that shouldn't be possible anymore. "I don't think I can say no."

"I think you need to try." Martin squeezes his shoulder again, and his voice is so calm, so casual that Tim clings to it to try and anchor his own whirlwind of emotions, before looking up.

The House of Wax museum looks just like he remembers. Just like he dreamed it would look like burning to the ground.

It smells of burnt plastic and wax, and through the smoke-blackened windows he sees silhouettes, so many silhouettes. Some are human of course, clawing at the walls and at themselves and each other and screaming through tear-hoarse throats.

Some others move far more gracefully than they should, trapped in a haunting dance even wreathed in flames as they are.

He- this is for him.

This is the little tailor-made corner of hell afforded to him by the grief and the spite that simmer at his core.

In here, it doesn't matter how much he lost, how much he hurts, because he can make sure everyone else hurts more. Isn't this what the Desolation means for him, a way to pay back the world for how much it took from him?

"Tim?" Martin asks gently. "Are we going?"

Tim wants to say yes, he knows he should. He doesn't want to stay, he's relieved to realise; his feelings about that haven't changed and the burning wax museum is not as much a lure as it is a sad reminder.

Where is he going to go?

Walking away from this doesn't mean he doesn't take it with him everywhere he goes. Not contributing to torture the people trapped in this domain doesn't mean he will not do the same to the people out there, he doesn't think he knows how to do anything else anymore.

"I- Martin, what for?" They don't really need him, do they?

"What? We're looking for Jon-"

"Well, you can keep doing that. Gerry's the one that can find him, not me," Tim sighs. "Just... just fix this mess."

Make everything right so that Tim can go back to sitting in the dark in Martin's old flat thinking about everything he lost.

"That's exactly what we're doing," Martin says firmly. "All three of us. You said you didn't want to stay."

"I don't." Tim shrugs, his eyes still glued to the blazing building, and it almost hurts to tear them from it to look at the other two. "But Martin- this is what I am. It's always going to be what I am."

"Don't be-"

"Martin, just- stop," Tim interrupts, punctuated by a loud crack from one of the museum's windows. "I've tried to fix it. It doesn't work. Maybe it's time to accept that. Maybe there was something else in there at some point, but it's gone. This is all that's left."

Martin's face crumpling down just accentuates his point, he feels like. Dealing with Tim is like trying to handle broken glass, you're bound to slice your hand open at some point, no matter how careful you are.

"Tim-"

"Hey. I'll say something too," Gerry cuts in, leaning around Martin to look at him. His eyes are Watcher-green and he has no doubt the man is seeing more than what Tim means to let out. "First off, I think you're an asshole."

What.

"...This is your pep talk?" Martin gives his man a very unimpressed look, but Gerry merely shrugs.

"It's true. You get under my nerves, but they love you, so I'll deal with you," he goes on. "You hurt people when they try to help you, because you're hurt. It sucks, sometimes we get dealt a shitty hand."

The flames covering the building flare up in response to Tim's irritation, but he pays them no mind in favour of glaring back at the man. "You would-"

"I would know, that one's not going to stick with me." Gerry clicks his tongue. "But I digress. What I mean to say is I'm impartial here. You can't try to rationalise this as Martin being Martin and trying to cheer you up because he likes you, like you were doing just now."

"You're making a real good case to get me to come." Tim's eye twitches. He sees Martin's eyebrows raise, and his lips twitch like he's holding back a smile. "It's not like I think Martin's a doormat or-"

"Good! He isn't, but he and Jon are willing to let you get away with a lot of crap I don't particularly care about." His eyes are fixed on him with laser-like focus, yet he speaks casually enough that Tim gets the feeling he isn't even interested in the conversation, which is- Tim no longer feels too guilty about melting his hand by the carousel. "I only met you after the Desolation brought you back, so I have to imagine you weren't always an insufferable prick, just most of the time. But I did notice something about you."

"Oh?" Tim grunts, annoyed. "Really? Aside from that charming diagnosis of my psyche, you had time to notice something about me?"

"I'm observant like that," he says, and his neon-green eyes flare up a little. "I've only seen you use what the Desolation gave you one time, you know? Which is quite tame for avatars with your particular alignment, like I told you."

"I- what?"

"Come on, Tim." Gerry smirks. "I'm sure you remember lighting up Manuela Domínguez like a summer bonfire."

Tim clenches his fists by his sides. "Don't- it's not like I enjoyed it, I had to do that!"

"Oh you had to?" The asshole has the gall to fake shock. "Why?"

"Because-" Tim starts then stops, his indignant snarl stuck in his throat.

Because Jon was in danger.

Gerry's smirk grows more pronounced the longer he stays quiet, and Tim- Tim hates him for that-

"What about-"

"Stop."

"-the tunnels? With Julia and Trevor?" Gerry steamrolls over his objections, like he doesn't know the answer, like he doesn't know it's because he was trying to buy Jon time to get to Martin, to help.

"What's your point?!" he bites out. The asshole is still just standing there, looking like a particularly smug turtle with the hood of Martin's hoodie pulled tight around his face.

"My point is you're trying, Tim, whether you think it's enough or not." Gerry shrugs, and the animosity melts off of his face. "It's really the only thing we can do, any of us. It's what Martin and I will do. Now, are you coming with us, or not?"

Tim blinks. And then he blinks again. And then a third time.

The building still burns behind him -inside him-, but it's no longer the only thing in his mind. He saved Jon, that time up north. He helped save Martin, helped protect Basira. The Desolation never meant for him to do anything other than cause more pain either to himself or others, but he did it still.

He takes a step forward, and then another, and Martin and Gerry fall into step beside him, all three of them in silence.

He can only guess they did what they had to here, because they come to the end of the burning city not long after- or rather, the end of the burning city comes to them, marked by a tall, blackened building with claw marks up its side.

"Jon was here not too long ago," Gerry's eyes flare green again as he looks at the building. "We're closing the gap."

"Is that how he pulled you out of the Lonely?" Tim grunts as they watch him walk further on, looking at the ground like a hound sniffing for a trail.

"It's very frustrating, isn't it?" Martin snorts by his side. "But very effective, I'm afraid."

"I suppose," he says. Martin is smiling at him when he looks up. "What?"

"I knew you'd come."

"...I have to try, I guess," he sighs. "Is that a house up ahead?"

It looks far too normal than it has any right to be, just an old manor with a large garden, and moth-eaten curtains billowing out every open window.

"I... guess?" Martin arches an eyebrow. "Doesn't look too bad compared to the others we've seen, does it?"

"It doesn't, and I don't like it," Tim scowls. It feels... familiar. Like it's sapping warmth away, like even the Watcher averts its gaze from it. "I think we'd better take the long-"

"We have to go through the house!" Gerry's faint voice reaches them, the man merely a point of bright green profiled against the building's silhouette, waving his arms at them.

Martin winces. "...Looks like we have to go through the house."

"We have to go through the house," Tim sighs.

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

"Doesn't that feel weird?" Sasha asks, because she's mostly sure she's not in mortal danger anymore but also because that has historically never stopped her before anyways.

"I figure it feels better than going naked through the apocalypse," Helen says, sticking her head out her door a few steps away. "Besides, she's done worse."

The other woman doesn't answer.

She's clinging to Jon's hand like a kindergartner about to cross a busy street, and hasn't said a word other than his name from the moment she climbed out of the bloody, misshapen hide naked and covered in gore, and now she walks behind him in silence, dressed in the ill-fitting, torn garments of the woman she mauled to death.

She looks- frail, is the only word Sasha can think of.

Despite her lean frame being lined with muscle, despite her height and her teeth sharpened to a point, she seems lost and confused, like Jon is the only thing she's sure of anymore.

Bit of a surprising look, for someone who made him dig his own grave before she decided not to execute him.

A few steps ahead, Jon sighs.

"I- please don't bring that up. Out loud, I mean," he says.

Sasha arches an eyebrow. "First off, if you keep looking into my head, you'll see things you don't want to see-"

"That's very ironic, coming from you."

"-and second off, why? Is it a bit too R-rated for her?"

"Sasha," Jon sighs again, and she bristles.

It still irks her, to think of all that happened, all that she couldn't help with because of her stupid detour to Artifacts Storage.

"It wasn't your fault," Jon says, a lot more patiently than Sasha would've thought him capable of. "And Daisy- she's different than she was back then."

"Must've been one hell of an apology." She crosses her arms over her chest.

"Not really..." Jon looks away, his gaze fixed at some point by Sasha's shoes. "... it's not like I can forgive her for that. She knows that."

"Then? What changed?"

"She did." Jon shrugs. "It's never going to make it right, but- but she's no longer the person that could justify those things. That would do them on the first place."

"Hm," she huffs, and Jon gives her a tired smile.

"We may not be humans anymore, but we're still just... people. It's always going to be messy." He looks forward then, before squeezing at Daisy's hand and gesturing at Sasha to keep moving. "We should go on; I'm getting cold."

[chryzure-archive]

aligned, impractical though it may be

ALT TITLE: azure……… torn in so many different directions when he really only wants to go in one: chrysi’s.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: sooooo. the second part to this wound up being so long i had to adjust the chapters. sorry about that. hope the quality is up to snuff.

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———

xxii.

Even in the tumble of memories, Azure sensed something was wrong. Something smoky and acrid clung to the corners of the manor, sank deep into the nooks and the crannies. 

And, even dead, Azure could sense his Chryseis. 

He couldn’t sense her now, however, and it terrified him. 

He rushed for where he saw her last—but the further and further he got from the well, the less solid he seemed. The meager light from the moon and stars shined through his fingertips. The ground rushed under his feet, visible through his shoes. The wind rushed through him, not so much as stirred from its course. 

Azure grit his teeth. He couldn’t fade away—not yet. Now wasn’t the time. 

He only had one prayer keeping him collected—a continuous plea of Chrysi, Chrysi, Chrysi, begging her to be okay, to be safe and happy, and Azure would not disappear until he was certain that no harm had come to her. 

Panic drummed in what should’ve been in his chest, a replacement for where his heartbeat once lived. His awareness of the world around him shuddered and jumped as he rushed by. Sometimes, large swathes of the woods disappeared, as if they’d never existed in the first place, and though Azure didn’t want to waste any time, he had to stop and force himself to anchor to the world. 

He needed to exist to help Chrysi.

It took much longer to reach the Manor than he’d expected—too much time, made worse by how it had passed in a blur. 

The front door gaped open when he came to it. Blackness rested beyond, hungry and reaching. A quick glance over the rest of the Manor revealed none of the windows ablaze with light either. 

It looked abandoned.

Thick fear fell over Azure. 

Merde. 

Where was Jacks? When he’d disappeared, he’d hoped that Jacks might at least step up long enough for Chrysi to get her feet underneath her again. 

But instead, the Manor looked dead through and through, and that meant the same for Chrysi. 

What happened when he was in the bottom of the well?

Azure drifted closer to the Manor, trying to ignore the false feeling of his chest being too tight. He no longer had a body for air to move through—this was all an elaborate illusion, made from his own mind. 

The doors gaped wider—Azure detected the sound of the doors banging against the walls. Wind whistled through the opening, like air through a gap in a child’s teeth. 

Despair almost took him then. It fell over him like a sheet and it pulled tight, until he could only see the world through a watery film. His awareness wavered at the edges. 

Then—

Something touched him. 

Azure whipped around. The sheet tore away from his vision and the night was beautiful and clear and—

—a man wearing a plague doctor’s mask stared at him. 

Alarm shot through him. Azure stumbled back. 

The plague doctor merely watched him silently. His hand was still raised from where he’d touched Azure, like he’d forgotten he’d raised it in the first place. 

A light flicked on in the back of Azure’s mind.

If this man could touch him, and—with a quick glance at his garb—with clothing that old-fashioned, then that meant that he was also a ghost. 

How many of us are here? he thought vaguely. He wished he could’ve asked Chrysi for more details, back when she’d asked him if he thought ghosts existed in the first place.

And just like that, Azure snapped out of his stupor. 

This plague doctor got his attention for a reason. 

“Do you know where she is?” he asked, desperate. 

A long shot, sure, but Azure hated the look of that dead husk of a Manor staring him down, as though it were a bull rearing back to attack. 

The plague doctor didn’t move for a moment. His hand still remained stuck, frozen in air. He didn’t so much as tilt his head.

Then, with creaking slowness, his raised hand shifted. His forefinger raised with infuriating apathy. His arm edged around, so strangely that Azure thought he heard him squeak like a rusty hinge, until he pointed in the direction of the gardens. 

Azure’s heart—or memory thereof—dropped. 

Just past the gardens, he remembered, was the lake. 

He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew that there was good reason to be frightened. Why else would Chrysi leave the Manor looking like a corpse? Why else would she be wandering the grounds without so much as a light? 

Nodding his thanks at the plague doctor, he rushed for the gardens. 

Please, he begged any god listening, keep her safe.

He wasn’t quite sure anybody could hear him. 

The gardens approached him much quicker than the Manor had. A part of Azure still inquisitive wondered if that might have more to do with Chrysi’s proximity—the promise of the one that mattered most to him. 

Or that she has linked herself with me in trying to keep my body from decaying, the witch-oriented part of his mind suggested. 

Azure had to admit that theory held more credence than the others. She had given him an exchange of energy, a magical link strengthened by death. 

He blurred into the garden and, for a moment, it looked just as dead and abandoned as the Manor. Even in the nighttime darkness, the old stone statues were clearly marred by dark water-stains. The hedges had shed many of their leaves, leaving their gnarled branches bare and reaching forward with tangled claws. A gust of wind whistled through the dry and dying garden. 

Hopelessness threatened to overcome him. His sense of himself guttered and flickered, an old projector struggling with an image. 

“Chryseis,” he groaned, pleading with the empty night around him, “where are you?”

The tangle of memories from before called to him, with their warmth and safety and Chrysi standing there, smiling at him. It was tempting in a way that was too wrong for comfort. Azure wanted it badly enough to know that it wasn’t his own will that tried to drag him back into it. 

He struggled against the call, leaning forward as though he were walking through a hurricane gale. He grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Grounding into the earth was much, much harder when one no longer possessed a body.

After a moment, the siren call faded. If Azure could’ve breathed, he would’ve huffed out a sigh of relief. 

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of his hands, half-faded—but still there. Fucking hell. 

He raised his eyes to the garden again, feeling distinctly like a well-worn sheet. 

This time, his viewing of the garden yielded greater results.

Because as he looked down to the overgrown rock path, he found muddy footprints smeared along the surface. It appeared that the person that had left them behind dragged their feet, stubbing toes and catching their foot in the uneven surface, for blood droplets soaked into the old stone. 

Weightless and dizzy, Azure followed the path. 

Even though he had an idea of what lay at the end of it, the horror of what he found nearly shattered him into that nonexistent tumble of memories all over again. 

Chrysi limped through the west garden, her hair falling into her face like a torn wedding veil, the ends dingy with dirt and muck. There was a coldness to her movements, mechanical. Where there should’ve been tension in her shoulders, agony in her walk, emptiness reigned. 

She stepped along the rock path blindly. Sometimes she would find footing on the step-stones, and others, Azure saw her feet glance off the edge and her ankle roll painfully. But she would stumble back upright and she would continue on her path. 

The walking-through-a-headwind sensation grew worse. Azure wondered if each gust of invisible wind tore away more of his spirit, making him more see-through and insubstantial. 

He followed after Chrysi, an inconsequential shade that barely made a shadow on the ground beneath his feet. 

“Chryseis!” he screamed, but no sound came out. 

She stumbled onward. Her feet were dirty and bloody, and she was leaving footprints on the rock pathway. 

He may not have had a heart beating anymore—that’s rotting too, back with my body—but he still felt his heart shatter. 

“Chryseis!” 

She didn’t hear him. Couldn’t see him.

Azure wasn’t even entirely sure that it was Chrysi in the first place.

He skirted around her—made easier by the ghostly substance of his body, though he wished that he could be more solid, just so that he could pin her to the ground and stop her trek towards the lake—and planted himself in front of her. He stretched his hands outward, held out in supplication, to get her to stop by sheer force of his desperation. 

Her eyes, glazed over with a pearly gold, looked right through him. She continued to stagger forward, until she’d stepped right through him—like he didn’t exist at all. 

A sob rose up in his throat, something that he couldn’t ease. No human expressions satisfied him now. The tears in his eyes weren’t real. The way his breathing jerked wasn’t real either. His grief was nothing but a memory, with no weight behind it to make it cathartic. 

He spun around. 

“Chryseis,” he pleaded again. “Please, love, please—stop moving.”

She didn’t appear to hear him.

Azure didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what was wrong. It tore him apart, new holes appearing in the memory of his body. 

“Chrysi…” 

If he had breathing, he would be breathing unsteadily, like the rattle of a windowpane before a storm. If he had tears, he would be seeing the world in grey smudges. If he had a body, he would be holding Chrysi back, his heart beating hard against his chest as it tried to reach out to her. 

But he had none of those things. 

He only had his desperation. 

“Please, Chrysi.” He was shattering. Thousands of pieces, scattering to the winds. “You see ghosts, right? So see me.” 

She continued to walk away from him—except it wasn’t truly away from him, but towards something instead, because she wasn’t aware enough of his presence to know that he was there at all.

He reached out for her, but he could hardly see the outline of his fingers anymore. The garden peered through the vague hand-shaped shadow he made on the world. 

Gods.

He was useless like this. He could do nothing in this form. He couldn’t touch anything, couldn’t talk Chrysi down. 

Though it made him want to scream, he tore himself away from Chrysi’s side. 

“I’ll be back, Chrys,” he promised, his voice tearful in the way his eyes couldn’t be. “Don’t—don’t die, in the meantime.”

It would’ve been laughable, if not for the fact that his words struck a little too close to home. 

Azure didn’t know what was inside of Chrysi at the moment, but he knew that it wasn’t anything good. 

And so, feeling a lot like he was running away, Azure set off to find any other living soul in that graveyard of a Manor. 

He prayed, to anybody, that his Chryseis would be okay. 

*

Behind him, unseen, Chrysi’s hunched, ghostly form faltered. Her hair dragged through the grass as she tilted her head far, far, far. Her shoulders shook once, twice, as if she were crying. 

But no tears spilled from her pearlescent eyes, and her trek continued once more. 

Slower than before. Much slower. 

That was all she could do, for the man that loved her far into his death. 

—

xxiii.

By the time Azure struggled back to the Manor—more see-through than ever, until he looked more like a pane of glass made in the shape of a man than a person at all—lights had gone up in the windows. 

He should’ve been pleased that it wasn’t the crypt he had been anticipating. Chrysi wasn’t the last, hobbling vestige of those that had lived there. 

But instead, he was furious. 

He didn’t care who was in there. Where was the fairness of them being warm and safe inside, while his Chryseis stumbled towards her death? Azure would’ve easily condemned them all for Chrysi’s safety in return. 

Something that had once been a heart shriveled inside of him, the horror of Chrysi’s pale face and blank eyes and dreamy walk towards oblivion burned forever into his memory. 

Easily condemned…

Azure drifted towards the Manor. 

…but to do so would do nothing at all. It wouldn’t save Chrysi. 

Fortunately, he didn’t have to get close before the front doors banged again and a small band of people burst out into the lawn. Jacks led the charge, Alice close on his heels, and Pleck and Filly bringing up the rear. Azure saw no Oz—and with the remembrance of his death, he knew precisely why the young boy wasn’t there. 

It made him sadder than he’d expected. Oz had been the one to push him down into the well, yes, but the way he’d acted afterwards implied that he didn’t know what had occurred. With the way Chrysi was not herself, Azure didn’t think it would be absurd to assume the same of Oz. 

But whatever had done it, it used Oz’s body and that was enough to lock Oz away. 

Azure hadn’t realized he’d been watching their approach in a haze until the group was almost upon him. 

They were clearly banded together in a makeshift search party. Pleck clutched a flashlight in one hand and Filly held onto Pleck’s other hand. Jacks’s eyes were trained on the ground, as if tracking down footprints Chrysi had left behind. Alice trailed after them, her face twisted into something helpless and frustrated, a large coat hugged to her chest—presumably for Chrysi, when they found her.  

None of them seemed to see him—a fact that made him flicker again, moonlight shining straight through his chest.

Pleck’s eyes swept over the gardens, searching for something, while looking right through Azure at the same time. Filly worried at her lower lip as she stared into the woods blindly, unaware of the superimposed shadow Azure cast over the earth. Alice had her fingers twisted together, face pensive, eyes vague as she tumbled backwards into herself. 

But then Jacks looked up from the ground and screeched to a halt, his face blanching bone-white. 

As if he had seen Azure.

Please, let it be so.

Azure stepped forward. “Jacks,” he said, and while it would’ve been casual once upon a time, his voice sounded like a tightly-strung bow, ready to shoot off an arrow in his fear. “Chrysi’s…” His voice stuck in his non-throat, gouging at his soul. He forced himself to stop, to ground down into the earth again, and collected himself. 

When he spoke again, the broken-heart note filed itself down to something more palatable. “She’s in the gardens, making way for the lake.” Fear tightened where his heart should’ve been. “She’s in danger.”

Jacks merely gaped at him. It was an expression that Azure would’ve made fun of him for, had this been any other situation less hellish on this earth. 

A horrible thought occurred to Azure. 

He pressed a hand against his throat. He hadn’t even considered losing his voice before he lost his form. 

“Do you even hear me?” Desperation tugged at him, but he couldn’t do anything about it. “Please—! Chrysi’s going to die—!”

“Don’t yell!” Jacks finally exclaimed, clapping his hands over his ears. His face twisted in a grimace. “Yes, I can hear you!”

Where Azure’s cry had barely even left the space around his mouth, Jacks’s echoed over the grounds, cracking like a thunderclap. The effect was instantaneous.

With a sharp shout, Pleck leaped into the air, the light from the flashlight going wild, cutting through the night chill. He almost hit Jacks across the head, but Jacks flinched forward before it could make contact. 

But that was nothing on the way Filly shrieked, flinching back into Alice. The two staggered, and the momentum nearly knocked them over. 

She clasped her hands over her heart as if holding it in, for fear of it beating straight out of her chest. 

But despite the danger, Alice said nothing. She stared at Jacks wide-eyed. Her gaze flickered between Jacks and the space Azure stood in, but it didn’t appear that she could see him. 

Azure gazed in amazement at the explosion of fear in the group. Was everyone like this, back when they were alive? So jumpy, so quick to startle. Already, he had forgotten. He almost missed it, if he could catch onto a scrap of life long enough to know what it would be like to miss it in the first place. 

Just as quickly as fear had stolen over them, irritation swept in to take its place. 

“Why are you shouting?” Pleck cried. “You gave us all heart attacks!”

With this, he reached behind him for Filly. It took her a moment to pry her hands from her chest, but once she did, she took Pleck’s hand in hers once more.

Jacks didn’t answer them. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Azure. 

“Where were you?” he demanded. His face pulled taut, anger making his features sharper. Fear made the look on his face jagged. “Where were you when it mattered?”

No. No, this wouldn’t be Azure’s fault. He wasn’t the one to blame for any of this. 

“I’m dead!” 

“That didn’t stop you before,” Jacks sneered coldly. “You haunted her, none the wiser, worried about her health when you were the one to—”

Agony shattered Azure, so thoroughly that, for a moment, he couldn’t see himself at all. 

Jacks’s face blanched further. 

“Wait,” he said suddenly, cutting himself off, “wait!”

Azure reconsolidated himself with great effort. If he had a head, it would’ve felt light. Instead, he felt a lot more like a scrap of sheet fabric, burnt at the edges, fluttering in the wind. 

“Who are you talking to?” Filly demanded from behind Jacks, but there was no heat to her words.

He glanced at her. On cue, she shivered, as if she could sense his eyes on him. Her eyes darted over the landscape again, and she pressed forward into Pleck’s back in an attempt to feel safe. 

A jolt of jealousy soured his tongue, but he shoved it down. He couldn’t be taken with bitterness when he might lose Chrysi entirely. 

Azure took an invisible step forward, glaring down at Jacks. “Do you hear me? She is in danger. I don’t care about your selfish need to assign blame elsewhere—you’re going to save her, damn you.”

Jacks seethed back at Azure. He still didn’t answer the group.

“I,” he began, through gritted teeth, “know.”

Faltering, Azure blinked down at him. 

He hadn’t been expecting this answer. 

“Who are you talking to?” Filly repeated. Her voice rose in pitch and her grip tightened on Pleck. “Who are you talking to, Jacks?”

Pleck gaped at them—at Jacks, Azure reminded himself, for they couldn’t see him—and encircled Filly in one arm. He, too, had gone unnaturally pale. 

Azure wanted to scream. This wasn’t why he’d sought them out. The longer he was away from Chrysi, the closer she got to the lake’s edge. He could not bear what would happen once she reached it.

Still, Jacks did not answer Filly’s question. 

His eyes blazed silver as he stared Azure down. “I know. I don’t want Chrysi to get hurt anymore than you do.” 

Something clicked in Azure’s head. 

Oh. 

Oh… 

“Is Azure there?” Alice asked quietly. 

Her voice shattered the silence in a way that Jacks’s initial shout had not. 

Azure tore away from Jacks to find Alice sinking into the shadows. Her eyes glittered in the moonlight, wet with unshed tears. Her mouth twisted in a sad frown and she held onto her other arm tightly for comfort. 

He shut his eyes, overwhelmed with the grandness of how unfair this all was. 

Gods, how fucking unfair!

Azure reluctantly pried his eyes open once again. Now wasn’t the time to grieve his own death. He’d have to do that later.

Jacks dropped his head, but he did not turn around. “Fucking saints,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing at the space between his brows. 

“Azure?” Pleck echoed. “But didn’t you say…?”

Jacks’s rubbing grew more aggravated. 

“Chrysi’s in danger,” Azure repeated, voice soft as the sound of night falling in. “She’s in danger, and you’re the only one that can save her.”

“I—don’t—know—how,” Jacks grit out. His face twisted as the words escaped him and he hunched his shoulders to try and hide the expression written all over him. But the shadows cast over his face took no part in the deception, and they made him look as though he were wearing a Greek mask of tragedy. 

He knew exactly what that meant. He wondered for how long Jacks had kept this secret. 

No matter—Azure would use it to his advantage. He needed anyone to be on his side—Chrysi’s side. 

Gods, he needed someone on Chrysi’s side, if he were no longer alive to be the one for her.

“Figure it out! Tie her down if you need to! Please, just stop her!” 

“Then why don’t you do it, if you’ve got so many ideas?” Jacks seethed. 

But when he looked up, his pupils had narrowed into tiny pinpricks, silver-edged and glowing with fear for her. Even the scowl on his face fit wrong, hastily constructed and shoved over his expression to hide the terror underneath. 

He reached out for Jacks, intending to grab him by his shoulders and shake sense into him.

But his fingers disappeared under Jacks’s skin instead. 

Jacks stiffened. His face went bone-white, but he did nothing to stop it. Azure didn’t think he could stop it. 

Azure didn’t know how, but he somehow spilled into Jacks, and now he had a heartbeat fluttering under a rib cage, and air clouding out of his mouth, and a fear doubled, multiplied by the other mind pressed against him. 

Beneath it all, an underlying string of emotion tied everything together—it aligned perfectly with Azure’s own fear, his own grief and love for Chrysi. 

Azure pitched forward, unused to the gravity pressured against the human body. 

His knees banged against the rough cobblestone, pain sparking hard enough to stun Jacks back into coherency. 

“Get out of my body, Azure!” he cried.

And with the same mouth, Azure responded, “I don’t know how.”

Jacks tried to say something back, but then he gagged. 

Azure felt it just as keenly as Jacks did—the uncomfortable heaviness of his heart thumping against his rib cage, the hot dryness that preceded bile rising into the throat. Out of all the sensations Azure remembered from life, this was one that he could’ve done without. 

Jacks—or, hell, maybe it was Azure—scrambled for his chest, his throat, anything with wild hands. His nails bit into his skin, hard enough for Azure to flinch. 

Another heaving gag rattled through him. 

Distantly, he felt the body around him crumple to the ground, all joints becoming weak as water. His vision swam. Cold from the stones seeped into him. 

Get out! Jacks cried again, but Azure didn’t think it was out loud this time. He couldn’t tell, with the way the world spun. 

Gods, was this what being alive was? How had he never noticed the way that the world tugged on his body, keeping him firm against the ground? How had he forgotten that, once he’d died?

“I can’t,” Azure answered in a daze. A tear slipped from his eye and when he twisted his head against the ground, it trickled over the bridge of his nose. “I can’t.”

“J-Jacks?” Pleck asked shakily. 

But Jacks wasn’t the one answering right now. 

Azure! But Jacks wasn’t seething this time. Something distinctly terrified overwhelmed Azure. 

Huh, he thought distantly, in the section of his mind that wasn’t currently preoccupied with Jacks and his feelings, I didn’t know he could feel fear like this. 

“Hey! Jacks!” 

Filly this time. Azure tilted his head to find her kneeling beside him. Brow severely furrowed, she laid a hand on his head. 

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Jacks battered against Azure’s presence, but his blows were growing weaker. The dizziness began to abate. 

“N…o…” He tried to push onto his elbows, but Filly pushed him back down again. 

“Hold on!” she cried, perhaps in an attempt to be authoritative, but the way her face paled undercut the sentiment. “You shouldn’t get up yet!”

Jacks’s attacks cut off. 

Just like that, air rushed into Azure’s—Jacks’s—lungs in the way it was supposed to. A rush of clarity snapped into place, and suddenly Azure could see the world in crystal-sharp clarity. He could feel the cold night air around him, could feel it sting at his cheeks, could sense it drying out his throat as he gasped in great lungfuls. The stone pathway against his back was rough and hard and cold, almost damp with the morning dew that was sure to coalesce in a few hours. Blood rushed through him, hot and pulsing, and it made his heart beat and he could feel it in all his pulse points, as if it were magnetic. 

“No,” Azure tried again, and this time, his voice didn’t shatter. “No—I’m not—I’m not Jacks.” 

Filly’s worrying hands tore away from him. 

When Azure lifted his head, he found her staring down at him with an open mouth, horror sharpening her expression like a knife. All the blood ran from her face when she caught his eye. 

He cast his eyes around him—a tiny part of him amazed that he could see it all clearly, without a hint of blurriness, even without glasses—but all he received was a twin look of horror on Pleck’s face. 

Merde. 

Well, Jacks finally said in the back of Azure’s mind, you better start convincing them soon. A fleeting anxiety scurried across Azure’s heart, in a way that he knew belonged to Jacks and Jacks alone. Chrysi’s not going to be in any better of a situation when we get to her. 

Azure looked back up at the sky. 

The stars shone down on them, but they were so far away, so cold. 

The only person that could do anything about this was him. 

Us, Jacks corrected smarmily, and Azure could tell it was just him saving face, and he knew that Jacks knew that Azure could tell, just like he knew the truth of Jacks’s emotions.

He grit his teeth. 

Fine, then. 

He pushed up to his knees and he wobbled with the new feeling of gravity weighing over him. 

—

xxiv.

Filly scrambled away from Jacks as he moved—but he wasn’t Jacks, he had said it himself, and it terrified her. After all the talk from Alice and Jacks about how Chrysi had collapsed herself, then stood again as something else, she didn’t trust any of—

Alice shifted behind her. Filly could hear one of the sleeves of the coat flop into the mud—but where she had been chastising Alice before (“Chrysi will want to be warm and clean, when we find her,” she had said, and Alice accepted it with a very serious nod and adjusted her hold on the coat), she couldn’t muster up so much as a half-annoyed, half-frightened, Hey.

Walking forward, Alice allowed the sleeve to drag over the ground. She knelt beside Filly, closer to the once-Jacks, her eyes bright with fascination. 

Whoever it was in Jacks’s body stared right back at her, his gaze watchful. There was a sense of gravity to him that she’d never seen before in Jacks. A seriousness, something aloof and proper. 

Alice reached out to him, her hand pale and trembling.

Filly opened her mouth to warn Alice away. Nothing came out. 

Her fingers alighted on the arm she had bitten a week prior. Her brow crumpled. 

“I’m sorry,” she said and her small voice sounded so out of place in the empty night. “I wouldn’t have bitten him if I knew you would be in there. Does it hurt?”

He tilted his head. His face softened the way it never would’ve had it been Jacks sitting there. The look was foreign on his face. 

“It’s okay, little rabbit,” he said softly. He touched her head with a trembling hand. It was as though his control was weak, or he was overwhelmed with cold, or he was terrified—but the expression on his face gave none of this away. “It doesn’t hurt at all. And, it’s like I said—he deserved it.”

Alice dipped her head under his hand. The shadows cloaked her face, but Filly could read the sadness in her posture. 

Then it clicked. 

“Oh,” Filly said. Her hands were on a delay, shaking with a sadness her body felt before her mind did, but she lifted them anyway, pressing them against her mouth. Tears blurred the edges of her vision, even though she hadn’t been aware they were welling up in the first place. “Oh. Azure…?”

Though it was Jacks’s body, the way he tilted his head looked nearly exactly like her friend’s boyfriend. The shadows turned Jacks’s blue hair into black, and she couldn’t see the blue of Jacks’s eyes in the moonlight. It was easy to replace Jacks’s form with the memory of Azure’s.

“Hello, Filly,'' he said softly. His eyes studied the landscape around them. He wobbled, then grit his teeth. Balance regained. “Sorry. And hello, Pleck.”

Pleck made a high-pitched, strangled noise. 

She knew precisely how that felt. To have Jacks tell them Azure was dead and to see him possessing Jacks were two very different things. Even when faced with the evidence, she didn’t want to believe it. 

He made to stand, but Alice made a keening noise, like a cry. Her shoulders jerked in a sob. 

Azure faltered, his face blanching. 

To see Jacks’s body look so concerned over Alice was nearly laughable. 

Filly didn’t feel very amused, though. 

“Hey, hey,” he said softly. He knelt back down beside her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Alice. What is it?”

She shuddered and hugged the coat to her chest. Another cry tore from her, ugly and grief-stricken. It was a weakness she had never before seen in Alice, who was much more prone to anger and lashing out with the rise of her emotions. 

“It’s my fault,” she sobbed. “I should’ve told Chrysi sooner. I should’ve stopped Oz. I should’ve been there.”

His brows pinched together, his eyes immeasurably sad. The line to his mouth didn’t have the same sharpness and cruelty that Jacks’s always did. “What do you mean? There was nothing to be done.” He stroked her hair, brotherly and comforting, but all of it rang too cold in the face of the truth. “It’s not your fault, nor Oz’s.”

Alice tried to say more, but the tears proved to be too much. Her body shook hard as a leaf in a headwind. 

Azure was quick to wrap her in a hug, but the sadness on his face stole all the comfort from it. He looked up to Filly, and in that moment, something was understood between them: This was the last time he would ever be able to be there for Alice.

She pushed up and away. Stumbling back into Pleck, she pressed her hands against her mouth even tighter. Tears threatened to well up in her eyes, but it was still too distant for her to feel the grief properly.

Pleck wrapped his arm around her waist, and in that moment, they were united in equal parts horror and heartache. Filly sank into the feeling gratefully, glad that it wasn’t something she had to suffocate on alone.

Azure opened his mouth, then faltered. He tilted his head as if listening to something. 

Then he snapped, “I was getting to that.” 

Alice didn’t so much as flinch. 

Pleck peered down at Filly with a wide-eyed look. She craned her neck upwards to shoot him a wide-eyed look of her own.

She agreed—it wasn’t probably not the most comforting thing to see Azure do, now that he was dead and in control of Jacks’s body. 

Azure’s expression tightened as he listened to whatever it was going on inside of his head. Whatever Jacks had to say made Azure shake his head hard, like he was trying to get water out of his ears. 

“I know!” 

He paused again. 

This time, however, he didn’t look annoyed so much as he looked alarmed. A tiny furrow creased his brow as Jacks relayed something silent to him. 

When it was done, Azure hissed, “Putain.”

Filly didn’t think she’d ever hear Jacks swear in French—but, then again, she’d also never thought she’d see a ghost. The curse sounded wrong, set in Jacks’s body. 

Azure let Alice go—though not without a light touch to her head once more, a final parting blessing—and struggled to stand. 

This time, his balance was improved. He didn’t tumble back down. 

Face pale and drawn, Azure placed a hand on his chest. The tremble to his body returned, much more subdued—but Filly didn’t think it had to do with acclimating to the new form he found himself in. His face twisted, haunted. 

Clearly, he was debating on something, and he was not pleased with what it was. 

Strained, he said, “I have to go to the attic…” He looked to the gardens behind him. When his mouth twisted downward, it revealed one of Jacks’s dimples—something heartbreaking, something that was ill-suited on his face. “I…”

Filly followed his gaze. “Is Chrysi down there?” 

That, at least, was something she was prepared for. Finding Chrysi had been at the top of the list of things they had been hoping to accomplish. 

“Yes,” he said, but it came out more as a sob. His fingers curled in, his knuckles bleaching white. For a second, his shoulders caved inward, his body acting as a hollow, and his face twisted into an agonized anguish. 

Then he sucked in a sharp breath and swallowed the weakness down. 

He tried again. 

“Yes.” More decisive this time. His gaze caught on Filly’s. The intensity of it was poorly suited with Jacks’s silver-blue eyes. “She’s down that way. Someone needs to stop her.” 

“Why not you?” Pleck breathed. His arm tightened around Filly’s waist on instinct, though she couldn’t read the reason why. 

“I want to—!” He cut himself off with a spasm, then a groan. He dropped his head into his hands. “Fucking saints,” he moaned, and just like that, it was Jacks again. 

When he lifted his head, the moonlight caught on a silver streak trickling down his cheek. 

Filly stared at him, for a moment speechless. 

Another tear followed suit, from the other eye. She couldn’t tell precisely who was the one crying. 

She furrowed her brows. “Bring Azure back.”

“What?” Jacks asked, dazed. 

“Azure,” she snapped. “Why does he need to go into the attic? What’s going on? Why—”

He waved off her line of questioning, but the movement made him go white. Wavering, like one strong gust of wind would be all it would take to knock him over, he mumbled, “Jack Vessalius. We need him to stop the fragment in Chrysi. We can’t—”

He cut himself off, and he stumbled. Face crumpling, he pressed a hand to his head. “Merde.” 

Filly felt one step away from hysterical. What sort of rescue was this? Azure and Jacks flipping positions at the drop of a hat, Alice curled in the damp grass and mud, her and Pleck staring uselessly, blind to this new world of ghosts that they hadn’t known about until minutes ago—this was all so laughable! Laughable in the sort of way that a graveyard was, with dead branches clawing at the sky and wind whistling through cold hunks of stone and mausoleums. 

It took Azure-Jacks a moment to collect himself. He still had his face buried in his hand when he whispered, “Please. Save Chryseis…”

Alice lifted her head. Sorrow made her much older than her fourteen years. The sobs had shattered that part of her. In their wake, grim determination steeled her.

Reaching for Azure’s sleeve, she said, “I’ll go after Chrysi. You go get Oz.”

She didn’t bother to wait for an answer. She collected the coat in her arms and though she trembled slightly, she set her jaw. Whether it was from determination or an attempt to stifle tears, she couldn’t tell.

Filly’s heart went out to her. 

So young, and expected to shoulder such a great burden. 

“I’ll help,” she offered quietly. 

Alice’s head snapped to her, her eyes owlish. 

Ascertaining her sincerity, she granted Filly a small smile. 

Filly smiled back. 

They were thin, mirthless affairs, but it was the only camaraderie they had left. 

Pleck sighed. He transferred the flashlight to Filly’s hand, his fingers warm against hers as he pushed it into her hand. 

She twisted her head up. “What—?” 

“I’m going to help bring Oz down,” he explained, resting his newly-empty hand on her shoulder. A fragment of a smile traced his mouth—more like the memory of one than anything of substance. “I don’t think Jacks could carry Oz down on his own—even if Azure’s the one in charge.”

Filly suddenly wanted to change her answer. She didn’t like the thought of her and Alice going out into the night alone, supposedly to stop a relentless ghost. 

But Azure struggled against another sob. 

Filly bit her lower lip. 

“Fine then,” she whispered. “Just come back with a solution to all our problems, okay?”

Pleck smiled anxiously. “I’ll try.”

[tomster1274]

I can't keep this in longer anymore. I made ANOTHA mandela au, that's like a thousand now. Anygoo.

SO SO SO.

WHat if. Whatt if. What if the Gabriel and alternate happenings weren't actually real?

You see. In this AU, neither of them exist, only the actual biblical figure of the angel Gabriel and not the Satan version lol. Instead, it's regular murders being covered by lies and delusions.

We are focusing on about FOUR events that are loosely connected together, not really, but shhh.

The FIRST is the murder of Mark Heathcliff. Him and Cesar Torres got into a fight where Mark proclaimed he was no longer Cesar's friend, and Cesar got so heartbroken over it, he went to Mark's house and stabbed him to death, but unfortunately, he persuaded himself he didn't murder Mark, it was An Intruder of some kind. And he's kept up the story so well, he believes that's what truly happened, most likely because of his heartbreak and the stress of murdering another person, even though evidence shows he killed Mark, and he was sent to a mental hospital for his obvious delusions in thinking he didn't kill Mark and that it was a home intruder.

The second was a mother, Lynn Murray, who was undergoing stress from her recent divorce with her husband Jude, and couldn't handle the crying of her baby Adam and so strangled him with a pillow and buried him in her backyard, where she then took plenty of pills and called the police, claiming her baby was taken by a man she saw on the TV. Her dead baby was easily found buried by dogs, and the cause of death was easily found, though she also stuck to her story of a man on TV taking her baby most likely from delusions from the overdose of pills. She also was sent to a mental hospital where she unfortunately killed herself from falling off a high place to seemingly join her missing infant from notes she wrote.

The third is O'Brian, who was heavily a man of God and a priest, and started to hear voices telling him they were from the angel Gabriel, and told him to do things like harass his friend Dave into trying to cone to church, before it finally told him to force Dave to come to the church so Brian could blind him for his sins against God, which he did convince Dave to come when it was all closed up and stabbed him in the eyes, killing him from blood loss. The body was found days later when church resumed just sitting on one of the bench, and O'Brian told police what he did but said that it was because Gabriel told him to and how could he say no? He was sent to prison.

Lastly, there's the case of Jonah Marshall and his friend Adam Mullay. Adam and Jonah were best friends, and were in a club of their own they called "BPS", where they went out to usually abandoned places to see if they could catch ghosts. One day, they got into an argument where Jonah mentioned Adam's dead mother and effectively angered Adam enough to crash the car and kill Jonah but not himself miraculously, and he called for 911. He made up the story that they saw something inhuman on the road and he accidentally crashed them, which unfortunately the public had to believe because even if the inhuman part is kinda silly, the whole seeing something on the road and crashing was believable. He's the only one not in any kind of prison or etc.

What connects two of these cases is Cesar described this intruder and police publicly showed the sketch before finding the evidence Cesar killed Mark, which the mother took inspiration from the sketch when describing the man. The other two aren't exactly related to any of the others though.

What's the kicker about them though is the cases got popular in Mandela County, sparking panic about men on TVs or home intruders who don't look exactly human, but eventually the panic died down and these stories become somewhat of living myths, even if some people believe still thete WAS that home intruder or etc.

[bluerosefox]

[2023 Prompt List 1][Here] [2023 Prompt List 2][Next] [2023 Prompt List 3][Next]

|Why Ra’s Would Summon the Ghost King (Also Twins AU) [Part 1] |Danyal, Danny, Phantom [Part 2] |WIP [Part 3] |Bio!Dad Jason and Bio!Mom Jazz (With Oc!Kid or Son!Danny) |Ghost Gotham (With Bonus Ghosts Martha and Thomas) |Danny Says Clone Rights |Robin’s Haunted Halloween (Feat. Ghost King Danny and Ghostly grandparents Martha and Thomas) |Library Cryptid Danny |Twins to Trio? (Dani mistakes Damian as Danny, and Damian learns his twin might not be dead) |Twins AU BUT WITH ANGST! |Mom!Dani (Square up Superman) |Free Flying Graysons (Feat. Ghostly John and Mary Grayson) |Comes in Twos (Twins! Jason and Danny die on the same day) |Foreboding Words of Warnings (Feat. Competent Ghost King Danny) |Across My Memories (Feat. Ghost King Danny, Ghost!Prince Jason) |Consorthood Via Combat (Feat. Ghost King Danny, and Danny dating any Bat of your choosing) |Wrong Number Au (Danny sends a rant text to Tucker... Only its not Tucker) |Todd and Phantom, Mostly Ghostly Shenanigans (Danny and Jason try to get out of the GZ together and bond) |Ellie “I WILL bite you” and Danny “He’s just a baby” Fenton (Deaged Danny and caretaker (and tiny bit feral) Dani (Ellie) watch out Gotham, she’ll bite.) |Double Troubles (another Damian and Danny twin au but they wanna see how long their families notice they switch places) |Everything, including the bride. WAIT, BRIDE?! (Dead Tired pairing, Tim now regrets being a smart cookie as a kid and solving a magical puzzle box while Danny regrets beating Pariah Dark cause he got the old King’s bride now as his own) |CAT Ghost INSTINCTS (Damian brings home a... interesting new acquaintance who has some interesting... quirks) |Peek-A-Boo Champ! (Jazz and her baby being taken by a cult. Jason coming to save them. And Uncle Danny being the best at peek-a-boo) |Teeny-Tiny Kitten (Danielle ‘Ellie’ makes a wish and later gets found by a certain cat and bat) |Same As The Day I Lost You (Mix de-aged Danny, and siblings!Damian and Danny, add in some teleporting/portaling when the bats are fighting the League and you get this idea.) |Cuckoo Clocks (Clockwork sends a certain RR a sticky note during his solo run to come find Phantom and later find him) |The (Not) Normal One... (a reborn/reincarnted Danny idea where he’s the normal one in the batfam... only he’s really not.) |Dip and Kiss (Jason totally would kiss the person who ended the Joker in an Oscar worthy movie moment) |The Trouble With Time Travel Guilt (Danny starts an AITA thread due to his guilt over the future that will never be, he trauma bonds with fellow heroes and time travelers over it) |Friendships Between Realms (YJ and Danny Shenanigans Being Peek Friendship) |Misunderstandings and Miscommunications (Danny panics and runs, good Fenton parents want their son home, well meaning but not knowing the full picture best friends, on a war path Jazz and the maybe wooing of RH, and the DCverse getting caught in the middle of the chaos) |A Little Robin (Danny gets stuck in a Robin doll/plush and winds up in Gotham) |Kid's y'know? (Youngblood wants to be an astronaut this time, and Danny... Has to stop him from running amok the JL Watchtower) |Gothamites Never Really Rest (Johnny was a crime alley kid, Kitty was the daughter of a mob boss, and Jason was a kid they pseudo raised before their deaths. They meet again when Kitty and Johnny return to Gotham and find budding crime lord named Red Hood)

[skeleton-in-a-hoodie]

After fighting Shredder at the mansion, Splinter gets kinda stuck in his ghost form for a while.

No one is happy about this.

Matters aren't helped by them not knowing why it's happening either.

Donnie does some tests and compares the results to ones he got from previous samples he took from Splinter, but he doesn't know much about ghosts so it's hard for him to come to any firm conclusions. This is incredibly frustrating for the purple turtle. He does eventually figure out that ghosts are like the living in that both need energy to survive, but he's not sure how Splinter should go about getting that energy. Like what do ghosts even eat?

Mikey finds Splinter's ghost form creepy. To be fair to Mikey, Splinter does look like a giant ink monster with a rat's skull for a head and a debateable amount of limbs. Plus a rat's skull doesn't look that different from a squirellanoid's head, so sometimes he'll see Splinter out of the corner of his eye and panic. But Mikey's also a compassionate kid, so he talks to Splinter as normal, and focuses on the fact that this is his dad. Dad is different now, but different's not bad. He does try to keep the comparions to horror movie monsters to a minimum though.

Raph on one hand thinks Splinter looks cool, but on the other hand knows Splinter really, really does not want to be stuck in his ghost form. Having a skull for a face does not prevent Splinter from looking utterly miserable. It's not accurate to say Raph acts like nothing is different, it's more along the lines of he doesn't treat Splinter any differently. He's like Mikey in that Splinter is still Splinter. He does try and convince Splinter to go on patrol with him though so they can scare thugs.

Casey tries very hard not to be freaked out, he really does, but Splinter reminds him of the demon rats from his fungus hallucination so it's very difficult. The main thing that helps him start to see ghost monster Splinter as still just Splinter is when he catches the ghost marathoning Golden Girls and telanovelas - it's hard to find someone scary when you've sat with them and watched them shake with laughter or shout at the TV. They also end up watching the Boring Old Lady Movie Channel together, and Casey refuses to admit to enjoying it (Count Lyonel is an asshole).

April and Splinter keep horror movie antagonist jumpscaring each other. Initally it was accidental, but after a certain point it morphed into a weird sort of game. Everyone else hates the game and wishes they'd stop. That being said, April really isn't bothered by his ghost form - she's seen worse and the older she gets, the more she notices changes in her own body. April knows that one day she won't look human anymore, and she hopes when day comes her friends will treat her the same as they always have, so she extends that kindness to Splinter.

Karai also thinks his ghost form looks cool, and may actually have the most positive opinion on it out of everyone. Karai doesn't always feel like she has much in common with her father, so there's a part of her that likes they have similar shapeshifting abilities now. She also enjoys their training sessions, the ones where she helps him figure out his own abilties, even if she's like a drill sergent during them. When Raph suggets that Splinter go with him on patrol, Karai is all for it! She thinks Splinter should embrace being a horror moving monster (Karai also doesn't realise that Splinter gets upset when she describes him like that).

Leo finds it hard to be in the same room as Splinter at first. That form reminds him of all the secrets Splinter's kept and all the poor choices his father's made recently. And Leo won't admit it, but seeing evidence that Splinter is dead makes him feel like a failure, like he couldn't keep his own father alive so how is he supposed to believe he can protect his siblings? It's not his fault Splinter died, but this is Leo we're talking about, he's going to feel at fault.

Plus whilst everyone else is either trying to treat Splinter the same as they always have or encourage him to embrace it, Leo can't help but take note of all the ways Splinter has changed, not always for the better. Like his dad hisses now - the only time he'd ever heard Splinter do that was when he went feral. Leo's noticed that when Splinter joins them on patrol, he stalks, like he's hunting down prey. He's also not a fan of the high pitched animal roar Splinter does after fights - it's ear splitting and reminds Leo of being on top of the Wolf Hotel.

But Leo also knows that as much as he doesn't like it, Splinter hates it. His dad is avoiding mirrors and anything else reflective. And when Karai or Raph get carried away, Leo changes the subject - they tend to not notice just how uncomfortable talking about Splinter's ghost form makes him, and there are times when Splinter can't form words to tell them to stop.

And Splinter needs to come to terms with it in his own time, it's not something that can or should be rushed.

Some days he'll find Splinter in the dojo, just staring at the photo of Shen. On those days, he'll walk over to Splinter and stand with him for a while. Sometimes Splinter will ask Leo if something is the matter, others Leo asks Splinter a question about Shen. And they'll talk. It's almost normal, not quite, but it's still nice.

[sbrn10]

This observation has probably been made time and again, so it's really nothing new, but I feel like the feywild retreat has only brought into even starker relief how fucked up BH are by the fact that they've been stuck in panic emergency mode ever since three of them died (and one of them stayed dead) (which is not to say that Laudna's death is the cause of panic emergency mode but that it did coincide very unfortunately with them being made aware of the solstice clock ticking) and they genuinely have no way out of it.

Like, brief excursions notwithstanding (Chetney's trial in the jungle and also the backstory episode in Uthodern -- damn, Chetney got way more not-BBEG-related character time than anybody else lol), even when they have some relative downtime, almost everything they do is driven directly or indirectly by the fact that they're being relied on to save the world as they know it and they all feel incredibly not up to the task. They're stressed af. They all think they're going to die. Barring Chet and Fearne, they're kind of willing to die -- like they're not going to TRY to die, but they're up for it if necessary. Even when they're stuck waiting with nothing else to do like for three days on a ghost ship, they end up talking shop more than anything else (i.e., discussing whether Laudna should be texting Delilah -- and about half of them think yes). They're all watching each other make really questionable choices and rationalizing way hard because they feel like they need to (Orym and FCG to Laudna re: Delilah, Laudna to Imogen re: taking off the circlet, everyone watching Ashton jump into fucking lava ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ etc.) (and yeah, Ashton blowing themselves up went a bit beyond the rationalization threshold, but honestly if the consequences had been a hair less radical...) and on the flip side, feeling almost a sense of distrust when some of them aren't ready to make really questionable choices.

(Okay, okay, side tangent: I know it's not great that everyone's been pushing Fearne on the shard? But also, Fearne has been so reluctant to share her fears to the extent that I'm like, they're not mindreaders ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ . (Hilariously, Imogen is, but she hasn't been doing it to Fearne!) Even with Chetney, who was really good about communicating with Fearne in e78, Fearne says she's afraid of becoming a bad version of herself exactly one (1) time and then they actually spend almost all of that conversation discussing her feelings for Ashton and how she regrets that her feelings influenced her into making the wrong choice, not dark!Fearne, which is why that conversation also ends with Chetney being like, hey, I get that you feel bad about Ashton, and you said you were scared, but also I love being a werewolf and I think you can overcome being scared so you should still get it because you could be awesome. Because she hasn't elaborated! And on the one hand -- yes, in a perfect world, her feelings should be respected even if she doesn't fully explain them. But on the other, the world may be ending and she's turning down significant power that everyone put their neck on the line to get; they do kind of deserve an explanation for why. All I'm saying is, the way this Fearne shard thing has been playing out is more complicated than "nobody is listening to her.")

And the thing is, it doesn't matter whether Matt stops the clock now, because it's always there. They could be in the feywild for months with time frozen and they'd still have alarm sirens blaring in the back of their heads until the threat is actually resolved.

To be very clear, it's not that I hate it -- there's a part of me that does enjoy this campaign specifically for that sense of heightened distress. I think the vastly different overarching story structures of c1, c2, and c3 all directly inform the pacing and vibes of each campaign, and c3 is the SNAFU campaign through and through.

But as much as I would like for them to sit down and work through their emotional shit, there's also the side of me that's like... but... when would they do that. Especially now that we've seen they can't even turn off their trauma brains when they're in the feywild under the guise of timey wimey bs (which, to be clear, also makes sense given their situation).

And I'm just saying, it makes me sad for them! They're all so! fucked! up! Also I love them a lot and I can't stop thinking about them.

[careful-pyromancer]

happy blorbo blursday! no particular question, just an invitation to ramble about your vampires :D the worldbuilding around them is super cool and I'd love to hear any facts you care to share!

Hehehehe thank u I've just calmed down from a panic attack so sorry if there are any weird mistypes hehe

So basically vampires are only really a thing for the people chosen by the Goddess of Nature. Her name is Ravana and she was a seelie faerie who ascended to the heavens after being a bad ass and protecting her home from inside and outside threats. She rules over the domain of summer and is generally pretty competent

UNFORTUNATELY there's a guy named Isaiah who was chosen by the ruler of the Gods and went mad with power. Everyone thinks he's dead and he's not. He was cursed to rot for eternity but because of faerie bullshit he swapped names and now his vibes decay things, including Ravana's drive to protect her family

So with this guy putting the most rancid vibes out and he's got a whole gay thing with Castien bc he abducted his aunt and now she's possesed by a demon forever basically BUT

This all ties in because Ravana is using her magic on HER and not the ones who've been relying on it for eons and she basically cuts communication with every chosen including Castien amd Wednesday with one last direction

"If you need my grace it runs in your blood. Any good beast will hunger for it" or something to that effect so Castien amd Wednesday who are already basically married shrug and start biting the shit out of each other. Faerie blood is a good conduit for magic bc it lacks iron, humans who know magic Note that their blood is a bit sweeter. Very cool!

So there were some. Side effects. Like being able to meld into one person for a while and hearing/seeing/tasting/smelling/feeling the other person's thoughts.

There are other chosen who are fucked up like the Goddess of life and the Goddess of death chosens being able to talk to ghosts and exorcize demons (Goddess of life ppl also exert their life force to heal people so they slowly get closer to the Goddess as she replaces their life force with her own) ((side not the Goddess of life and her sister the Goddess of death have been stuck in time loops before)) and they're basically looking on in horror like

"None of them waited did they????? They didn't even hesitate??????"

So yeah! Bc the vampires are all chozens of ravana they r considered holy. The vampire thing happened many eons ago when ravana got tricked by the god of mischief and fell asleep for 5 months

[imaginationsublime]

My best friend of 20 years is leaving... the country. He's an immigrant so I guess it matters to the rest of the world...I just selfishly care He's here. That's not to say he's leaving my life, per say. It just means idk if he will be ok in a foreign country. He's has a place to live. He says but how do I make sure.

Fact of the matter is that everything I knew or thought I would know, is not.

I also feel too much to be in this desynthesized world.

Of course, cause why not life... why would you not randomly play that whiteny Houston song "I have nothing".

My ex boss of 8 year just texted me too.

I got a panic attack at work just now. I was in the back room trying to calm down. Trying to convince myself that my already small circle wasn't dwindling down to the negative digits. Might as well befriend ghosts at this point... if only I could tho. I already asked for that ability and was not granted that gift.

For someone who says they don't miss ppl, I miss them the most. Both living or dead.

Hurts to live, hurts to die. I'm just so stuck in feelings of it all.

I have a few crushes but nothing seems to stick.

My head hurts and all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep under a blanket of warm covers.

Tina and Robert send me hot girl videos to lift my spirit. Momentarily works.

It's a Keane music type of day.

My aunt texted me. She sent me some word of God pictures. I actually appreciated them.

(SUNDAY, may your strength be multiplied today. Your energy be renewed, may the doors of prosperity open to give and give. May the blessings of God descend upon your home and family. Happy Sunday"

Replied w a heart and told her thanks tia, really needed to hear that especially today.

She proceeded to remind me that strong people smile with a broken heart, cry with the doors closed and fight battles that no one is aware about.

I wrote back saying "te quiero mucho, thank you for always sending me lovely messages, reminding me to stay strong, for guilding me to a more wisdomful path, or for simply giving me affection and hope"

Which she replied "mi amor, yo tambien te quiero mucho, eres fuerte, cariñosa, hermosa, tienes muchas calidades. Eres unica. te amo"

I need to medidate into my world and re-center my soul and heart. Music from the secret garden 25th anniversary, helps. It calms and sooths, transporting me to past and future lives where Angels, magic being and probabilities exist. They play and sing reminding me of all I'm was, am and will be. To not forget I'm a traveler and they are there to heal and aid. To these worlds and dimensions I am grateful and sad that No one I know can come with me. A world of dreams I haven't shared with someone. It's so linear Here in what they call reality.