#to a torn out eye kept in a vial

[perpetuallyboo]

How brainrotted am I over my current DnD Campaign? Enough that I would, from 11pm-2am on a Tuesday night, make an sfx prosthetic eye prop for my friend's DnD character that has a torn out eye of theirs they keep in a vial- now having this sfx bloody eye on my nightstand besides me as I am to get up in five hours. and I will undoubtly use for a cosplay of their character. That brainrotted? No. No that'd be insane. Anways, totally unrelated an off topic, heres the prosthetic eye I made-

[pursuitseternal]

“All Vim and Vigor, dearest…” a soft, nsfw Vampire Rogue Astarion update for “Bites in the Night:”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4K wound tending sex

Summary: the aftermath of a battle, and one companion is missing. Astarion. You race to find him, pulling him the the grip of death.. true death. Your tender, loving care can restore him. After all, you have to make sure all his vim and vigor is returned to him. Entirely.

CW: Blood, near death experience, healing, wound cleaning, flirtation, awkward Karlach interrupting growing intimacy, blow jobs and mutual hand jobs and fingering, just too be sure everything is… healed.

For @genesis-6666 💌

Read here if you prefer on AO3

Find him, save him…

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The dead lay around you. Goblins. An ambush. You bend over, hands on your knees, panting to catch your breath. Your wounds are minimal, and already Shadowheart has run to find the rest of your party, healing… or reviving… when needed. She looks up from over Gale’s body, his chest finally breathing again. But her eyes look worried. You scan the area, seeing everyone staggering between the trees. Almost all, you realize as your thumping heart stills. There is one of you missing. And your stomach twirls in knots as you realize just who.

You spin your head, looking. “Where is he?” you call to her. “Where’s Astarion?”

She shakes her head. “I thought he was with you, on the high ground,” she pants. “He was up there last I saw.” Her lithe hand points into the crags of rock and mountain that line the canyon.

It had been quick, sudden, and brutal. The ambush of Goblins swallowing you up. Last you remember, he had stared at you. Excitement, surprise, the thrill of bloodlust and eagerness in his eyes, as the goblin ranks kept coming and coming down from those ridges. One last fang-flashing smirk before he ran into the shadows, skirting up to their source. Your fearless, reckless, stupid rogue.

You hurry, scrambling up the trail, swerving past the thicker pools of goblin blood, leaping over their bodies. You see them scattered all over, dagger stab wounds and slashes.

Signs that he was here.

It’s carnage that you push past. Climbing higher until you reach a plateau, empty, the end of the trail, where you expect to see your vampire, your rogue, your… your love. But there is… nothing. Not a body. No enemies. No Astarion.

Panic fills you, heart rapping in your chest, breath growing short. But you force yourself forward. You make your eyes scan the ground for any clues. His blood. Or signs of his capture. You make your lungs fill, you shout his name…

Then, you hold your breath.

A faint groan comes from the distance, somewhere near the sheer rock face that pierces the sky, from the dense shrubs that line it. You race after it, feet almost skittering as you stumble in that direction. Your hands pushing into the brambles, catching sight of pale skin. Covered in blood.

You reach for his body. His skin is cold, waxy, and tight. You find one arm and pull. He groans as you tug, you grab his second arm, freeing him from the brambles, even as your lungs ease to see his face again.

But your hope fades to agony, his face is bruised and beaten, black and blue and shadowed more than his undead charisma. His breathing is quick and shallow, his eyes nearly swollen shut from whatever beating he took up here. You finally slide him free, his clothing is torn, almost every inch of the skin you see is darkened with bruises.

His voice shakes as he tries to catch a breath, eyes forcing themselves open to look at you. “You’re here,” he manages to rasp out. “I knew you would find me. You always find me.”

“Shhh,” you run your hand through his hair, his brow damp with sweat, his eyes losing focus as his head begins to loll. “It’s going to be alright.”

“At least I got to see you once more…” his voice grates against his throat, breath growing ragged.

You hand digs into your pocket, pulling out your last vial of healing potion. You pull the cork and press it instantly to his lips. The liquid flows into those pale lips, and you can only kneel and pray it’s enough. His breath begins to ease instead of rattle, his face beginning to heal, his pallor returning, the traces of blue-black death fading.

His mouth twitches trying to talk. But you shush him softly, “I’m here, Astarion, it’s alright.”

“F-far from,” he ekes out as his eyes flutter open slightly, the swelling abating just enough for you to see both crimson eyes again.

“I’ll get you back to the others,” you look around, sizing up his lean body, running a hand through his hair before you brace behind his shoulders to get him to sit upright. He groans, limp in your arm. He can be so strong and swift, but it’s only now you also notice how lithe he is. How lean. But still, he’s too great a weight for you to bear alone.

That’s when the running of heavier feet makes your lungs fill fully and your heart leap in hope. “You found him, good for you, soldier!” Karlach trods right up next to you, barely out of breath. “Shadowheart said you would hopefully have found him, I’m to help you back where we are making camp.” Her thick tiefling arms pick him up, none too gently, and you hiss in worry to see him pulled to his feet so quickly.

“I swear, if you throw me around like that, I would puke on you if I had anything left in me…” he snipes as Karlach takes him by one arm, shaking her fiery head at his sass with a smile and waiting for you to take the other.

You snigger. He must be on the mend if he is throwing those barbs out again. But he falls silent again, head hanging low. You shoulder his body as best you can, bracing one hand on his bare chest, wishing for once he had a living heart that beat so you knew he was alive. “Stay with me,” you grunt, shoving your mouth into his long, pointed ear. “I’ll kill you if you die, you know.”

“I know… my sweet,” he manages to rasp, a slight turn of his head to throw you a feeble smirk. Karlach is definitely bearing most of him, but she doesn’t complain, not as you finally make it down the ridges and back to the main road.

“Not too much further,” Karlach heaves more of him on her shoulder, “Gale should have the tents up by now so he can rest.”

You three round a bend, the flickering of a fire and the spattered sight of tents warms your heart. You made it. Even the rose and burgundy canvas of Astarion’s tent is set to perfection. You’ll have to remember to thank Gale later, once your rogue is through the worst of it.

Into the warm dark you go, setting Astarion out on his bedroll, propping him cautiously on a stack of pillows.

“Water, clothes, and another potion,” Karlach points to the supplies placed tidily within reach. “I’ll be back, just shout if you need anything.”

And then she steps away, taking her warmth and her glowing presence back through the flaps of his tent.

You look after her, another friend you’ll have to thank.

Something hard and cold grips around your hand from where it rests on the ground. He’s clutching you, making sure he’s not alone.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before you rest it on his own stomach. “Let me get you cleaned up,” you look into his face, his eyes still shut, face still and unmoving. “Is that alright?”

“More than alright,” he speaks quietly, “the sooner you get rid of this stinking goblin blood off me, the sooner I can just savor that delicious fragrance of yours…” he hisses in pain before the last word is completely off his tongue. Your hand ghosts over the still-sprawling bruisers that run along his side. He tries so hard to be the usually suave, charismatic charmer, but something still troubles him.

Your hand hovers between the cloth and the potion, unsure what to do first. Then you hear it, a wracking cough, one that shakes his frame, bringing blood to his lips.

His blood.

You quickly uncork the second bottle, fairly shoving it in his mouth. “What did they do to you?” You barely get the question out your mouth as he sighs from swallowing the healing mix down.

“Thrashed me an inch from life… or an inch from undeath I suppose…” He forces a blithe smile, his giggle is slick with his own blood, but at least you can hear his lungs filling. More fully than before. The potion working to heal whatever internal damage he must have had.

You eye the red around his lips, pausing for a second. It was a common sight, his bloodied lips, but… never his own blood.

You wonder, for a moment, how does he taste?

You know the salt of his sweat, the bitter tang of his cum, why not? Why not see what his blood tastes of, for once…

“Gods below,” he throws you a mischievous smirk. “You’re wanting to taste my blood now, aren’t you?” You feel your surprise lifting your face, and he only sucks his teeth, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. “Tch, I don’t need a spell to read your dirty thoughts, darling…”

Your eyes dart to his conceited, smirking mouth. You hold your breath… until you close your hand around the towel and soak it in the soapy water. “Don’t be ridiculous, Astarion…” you huff, starting to bring the cloth to his face.

His hand grips the back of your neck, clutching you against his mouth for a wet and bloodied kiss. It tastes… ancient, refined and heady. Rich in a way that coats your tongue, even as his own delves in to tangle with yours. You swallow, sucking on his lips for more. He laughs, lightly, hiding a groan, “If you’re planning on more rigorous pursuits, I’d say I need bathing and tending first, darling.”

You pull away, shocked at yourself, so aroused with him only moments ago near-death. Your cheeks flush, white hot as you begin to clean him. He closes his eyes, propped up as he is on pillows. Lounging, relishing your full attention.

You wash and rinse, wash and rinse. It’s hard not to stare at his beauty, at the hard edges of his cheeks and jaw, the little lines about his eyes that crinkle when he smirks or laughs. He locks those piercing eyes on you as you dip the rag back and wring it out. He stalks every movement you make, washing his body lower and lower, inspecting his bruises as they slowly fade with the healing magic.

You finish his chest, forcing your breath to steady as you wash that rising and falling belly of his.

“Are you sure I don’t need tending any lower…?” he purrs.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Perhaps you rest first before you insist on everything checked for being in good working order, hmm?”

He rolls his eyes back in his head, a sigh of total emphatic drama. “Doctor’s orders…” he grumbles, lounging back against the throws, but not before he gives a little thrust of his hips, a clench of his belly under your hand where it rests on him still.

“Sleep, you scoundrel,” you chide, reaching to dry off his now clean skin, savoring the fresh scent in the air from the soap. You feel his body, still tense under your touch, wound tight and stiff that isn’t the result of his charming flirtation or dirty, lustful thoughts. You look at him, staring at his face, worry furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flicker over you, bright with mischief, half-lidded with flirtation. “Vampires don’t require… sleep. Not much. Not as much as… well… other things…”

You look into that beautiful face. He’s gaunt. Pale, well more than usual. Rings line his eyes, cradling that crimson glare in shadow. His lips twitch, fighting the urge to bare those glistening and pointed fangs.

“Oh, gods, now?” you breathe, heart racing.

He waves a hand dismissively, a sharp edge to his voice. Hungry. Annoyed. “Well, if you don’t want your strong, well-fed vampire to heal completely, then by all means…”

“No,” you almost leap next to his face, those smirking eyes scan over you, dilating in his hunger, fixating on the rapid pulse you know must be just throbbing under your skin for him to salivate over. But his hand grips yours, raising it to his lips. Kissing your fingers so softly, your stomach drops and your throat tightens. Slowly, he turns your hand over in his, raising your tingling inner wrist to his nose. You feel his breath, cold and quick, as he inhales your scent. Probably already savoring the scent of your blood rushing just beneath your skin.

“So then, I may?” his voice almost fails to reach your ears, you hear it more from the little tickles his breath makes across your skin, the gentle flutters of his lips over the nerves of your wrist. Like lighting in the air, his breath ripples in pinpricks on your skin.

“Yes,” you sigh, lungs burning as you hold your breath until he bites thos razor-sharp fangs into your tender flesh. Gasping, you hold your wrist to his mouth, every drop of your blood that leaves you, you can almost feel, almost sense, how it makes him stronger again. Empowered again. Hungry again for more.

It just feels so good, even as he feasts on you, as you savor that strange sensation that follows every time he feeds, that union of your bodies, your blood sating his hunger, beginning to course in his veins. A small, strangled moan escapes your lips, your eyes fixated on the way his mouth sucks on your wrist. You’ve never seen it before, never been able to watch his consuming of you, as he drinks from your neck. The little ways his tongue laps at your skin, the small bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows you down. A different sort of pleasure denied you when he drinks in the middle of the night. Your stomach churns, your thighs burning hot as you can’t look away.

A slight, definitely insufferable smile tugs at the corner of his lip as he sets your wrist back in your lap. “Liked what you saw?” he preens, so proud as he dabs a single finger at the bloodied corner of his mouth. “Or just thankful I’m still here to have my fill of you?”

“Both,” you reply before even a second thought crosses you mind. Your sight lowers to his mouth, you can almost feel those lips on yours, the way the twitch ever so slightly, the little tweaks that lift them to show those pointed fangs you love to have catch your flesh and nip at you when he kisses….

So close, you feel him closing that distance, his breath rushing into you, filling your lungs, your soul, ice cold and tangible.

“Hope you like rabbit, Gale’s got stew nearly done for…” Karlach sticks her flaming, sparking scarlet head into your tent then she strides all the way in. Those glowing eyes go wide. You’re so close, even as you turn your head, you can hear Astarion’s laugh tickle the creases of your ear.

You go flush, and not just because he insists on still giving your cheek a lingering kiss.

“Feeling better, is he?” Karlach laughs, a bit forced. A bit uncomfortable.

“Clearly,” you huff, sliding slightly from his side. But he only leans all the closer.

His eyes rake over you. You can feel it. You can almost see it in the way Karlach sifts from foot to foot. He chuckles, low and slow, “Yes, all vim and vigor, dearest. We were just about to discuss how I was going to make it up to her for all that attentive care and healing I required to pull me back from the brink of death…”

Your eyes flicker to Karlach, who would be blushing beet red now if she weren’t already so scarlet. “Ahem,” she clears her voice and stands quickly, “that’ll be my cue. I’ll leave you two to it..:”

“No it’s okay… the stew...” you begin but she’s already gone and yelling on the other side of the tent.

“Oi, Gale, keep it warm…” a long pause follows, a deep voice muted in the distance. Then Karlach guffaws with gusto. “Yeah, they’ll be fucking for hours most likely… she might not even be hungry once he stuffs her again…” the tiefling’s boisterous laugh fades as she trods away.

Your face goes hotter than an inferno, but that only makes his cold fingers sear all the more as he caresses your cheek. A single finger lifts your chin, turning your face towards that rakish, sultry smirk. “I thought she’d never leave. Now,” he hovers his mouth right over yours, “where were we?”

“We…” you clear your throat, “we were just making sure you were healed…”

“Mmmm, I’m pretty sure you’ve inspected me thoroughly everywhere but one place, darling,” he rasps, catching your lips in a commanding, languorous kiss.

“You almost died, Astarion,” you hiss between his teeth, fighting the way your folds are burning up, the way his other hand begins to slink over the buckskin of your breeches. “Should you really risk so much exertion?” Your body is tensing, your mind remembering the way he rattled as he struggled for air on the mountain, the way his flesh was blackened and sickly. Dead, almost truely dead.

His chuckle, that low-throated giggle, pulls you out of those macabre imaginings. “Well, I'd be more than happy to simply lay back and let you do all the hard work, if that’s what your concern is…”

You give him a mocking smile, “Oh yes, I’m very certain you are only doing this for my sake, love. Making sure I feel good after pulling you back from near death to life… well to undeath…” You give a sheepish grin, relieved that your humor only adds to the mischievous glint in his crimson eyes.

“You know me, the image of selflessness. I’m doing you a favor. If you left now…” his smirk widened, deliciously, wickedly, “…you’d be thinking about it all night.” His hand weaves into the little hairs at the nape of your neck, twirling them in the way he knows drives you crazy.

“Well, I suppose I can be persuaded… just to make sure you’re all vim and vigor.” You laugh as his hand is already loosening the laces of his breeches. “But,” you place one of yours to stay him a moment. Gods, you can already feel his cock, hard and pushing his way out for pleasure. You swallow, making yourself look in his eyes. At how they swirl with his lust, glassy with his need. “But you tell me the moment it’s too much, you promise?”

“If you wanted me to just be more vocal during our couplings, you had only to ask, darling…” he purrs, forcing his fingers loose under your palm to continue unlacing.

You grab them in yours. “I mean it,” you insist, hard in tone, commanding in just three words.

“I promise, I’ll say when, my dear,” he laughs, finally freeing himself from the confines of his breeches. You look down at him, his devious pleasure of just watching you crawling between his thighs.

You give his cock a good, long lick from base to tip, his groan of approval sending shivers between your own thighs. But you force a dispassionate hum as you wrap your lips around his twitching head. “Seems in good working order,” you whisper.

“I think it needs a little more.. attentive care, darling…” he groans, very loudly as you wrap your mouth all the way around him, taking him in deeply over your tongue. You roll your eyes, unsurprised at how he gives a moan with each suck you make, each lap of your tongue running up his length.

More vocal indeed.

You bob up and down, your lover relaxing back against his pillows, fingers toying languorously through your hair. Your own hand pumps over the rest of him that just can’t fit inside your lips. He feels so good, so hard and strong and full of life. And he seems to be getting louder… his moans increasing. “So good for me, darling…” he starts to praise. “Always so attentive and eager… and…”

You pop off him, meeting that insufferable smirk and quirked brows. “You want them to know, don’t you?”

“Me? Wanting to draw some attention to our lustful pursuits?” He casts that look at you that makes every nerve in your body flame with unbridled desire for him. “I just want them to make sure you care of me is certainly thorough,” he grins, “I’m just so… thankful… it’s hard to keep it in. After all you do… so much for me, darling…”

“Be a dear and shut up,” you purr, giving one more swirl around that ridge of his tip.

“Make me,” he growls, flashing that roguish smirk down at you, licking his lips.

You pounce, flooded with relief that he is alive... that he’s filled with all that vim and vigor and irascible, irritating sass. You’re brimming with the need to feel him, for all his taunting and flirtation, all his lust and passion, you’re just… happy he is here. To kiss, to fuck, to banter with. And you do make him shut up, your lips on his, your teeth sinking playfully into his lower lip, sucking it with a tug. You keep one hand on his cock, riding it, pumping it, keeping time with the way his tongue darts in and out of your mouth. Something cold slips under your shirt, his fingers skating into the band of your breeches.

You keep your mouth fixed on his, making certain he’s far too busy for any noises you can’t muffle. But as his fingers slip between your thighs, an unbidden cry rips from your throat.

“Who’s the loud mouth now?” He chides, sucking his teeth at you, even with your lips coupled as they are. He laughs again, his fingers catching on your clit just right as he rides up and down your seam. “Don’t cease your own task at hand on my account,” he sniggers, his cold fingers lacing around his shaft, interweaving with yours.

His breath sucks in yours. His fingers playing in you, teasing so much wetness from your folds, you wish you had just taken your pants off when you had the chance. Now it was too late. Now, you’d be sticky from your own arousal, probably covered in his cum too as you leave his tent.

The thought makes your cheeks burn but not in shame. In a searing wave of desire. Your hand works up and down, catching that thick, blunt tip with your thumb in the way that makes him groan. His kisses deepen, hungry and feral, the same he’s stoked in you with the little ways his fangs catch on the inside of your lips. He’s losing that refined control he keeps. Pushed past the calculating movements as you stroke him in your fist and lick his tongue with your own.

“Gods,” he growls, his cock so hard, his fingers inside you working at a fevered pace. “You’ll come for me too, darling. My recompense for your care.”

“Yes,” you moan, his fingers diving deep into your cunt, crooking on that sweet spot he knows well.

You clench, shaking as he pummels inside you, your own hand struggling to work on his cock with how hard he is. How thick he is. But the instant you drench his fingers and fill his palm as you climax, he follows you into that messy, groaning bliss. Hot cum drips down your arm, spattered on your sleeve, on the belly of your shirt.

He’s gasping into your mouth, his lips pulled back wide in a genuine smile. His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, stealing your own from your lips. “Well,” he pants, “am I fully recovered?”

“All vim… and vigor…” you heave, moaning as he slips his fingers from your thighs.

“Hmm,” he hums against your lips, trapping them in his own with a slight nip. “Are you sure you’re satisfied with my performance?”

You laugh, giving a little shove against his chest. “For now,” you tease, “but it seems another round of cleaning is in order.” Your hand reaches for the rag, wiping his juices from your hand, your arm. Only to hear him sucking on his own fingers.

His brow arched wryly as you turn to watch. Those two long fingers that still drip with your cum are shoved far back in his mouth, his tongue swirling over every inch. “What?” he smirks, “why waste something so delicious…”

You shake your head, lovingly irritated at his cheekiness, but already your body is already aching for more. “Perhaps,” you clear your throat, heart pounding as you watch him sliding those already drenched fingers over his tongue. “Perhaps you do need a little more inspection, just to be sure…”

“Thought so,” he sniffs, that insufferable smirk widening to show his teeth. “Best be sure… just in case…”

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Read more “Bites in the Night:”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Ascended Astarion in “The Rogue You Were:”

🩸Part 1 🩸 Part 2 🩸Part 3 🩸 Part 4🩸

Read my Drabbles

“Just a Drop…” Astarion as Tav turns

“Beg me…” A highly NSFW Ascended Astarion x reader

“Your Reward:” Ascended Astarion Dark!Fic

[nerdpoe]

In the Shadow of Speculation Part 2

Part 1, Ao3

Heavy chapter, please heed the following; Blood tw vivisection tw descriptions of a flashback descriptions of a night terror descriptions of recovery abled verbiage tw self hatred tw (mild) forced parenthood equivalent (but in a ghost culture way)

Danny took a deep breath and used the Ring of Rage.

A glowing portal formed in the air before him, perfectly stable. Cold, bitter wind blew through it, along with the smell of antiseptic.

Wrinkling his nose, Danny stepped through the portal and closed it behind him.

“Oh, greetings Mr. High King! Are you ready for your check-up?” a nurse Yeti said, looking up from her clipboard enthusiastically.

Danny attempted a smile.

“I’m prepared for it, yeah.”

“Wonderful! Your friends are already in the room for moral support!”

Danny paused.

“Who-?”

“The Lady of the Green and the Lord of Innovation, of course!”

Oh thank the Ancients.

Danny nodded his thanks at the nurse and started for his assigned rooms.

Every inch of the hallways, unfamiliar before the Accident, were ingrained in his memories now.

He’d finally walked from his door to that window without help four months after waking up, and he’d been so fucking proud about it too. He’d hid behind that potted plant during his first flashback. He’d climbed out of that window and crawled on the roof just so he could feel the snow on his skin two months into Physical Therapy.

That was the yeti that had taken the brunt of his anger and hurt on his worst days, nodding at him as Danny passed. That was the room he’d pleaded with Dan to take him away from the hospital, that he couldn’t do it anymore, that he just wanted to go home-that was also the room Dan had set his foot down and said that he’d play the bad guy for Danny one last time.

And oh, how Danny had despised him for it.

But it had worked. Danny, with someone who was there for the sole purpose of taking the verbal assaults meant for his Physical Therapists and himself, who was only there to snipe back and deliberately egg Danny on, helped Danny find the energy to push forward.

And Danny still felt awful about that.

Danny passed the table he had eaten his first solid meal at, one month after waking up, and took a left.

There it was.

The door to the rooms that had been his sanctuary and his prison, right up until they hadn’t been needed anymore. The first place he’d seen when he’d woken up, and then been amazed that he’d woken up at all.

With a deep breath, Danny pushed it open.

“Hey man!”

“Danny!”

Danny’s smile was weak, and he was holding back tears in the face of so many memories he hated and adored in equal measure.

“Hey guys, thanks for coming.”

~~~~~~

Dan knew he was asleep. Dan knew he was awake. Dan knew he was somewhere in that awful inbetween.

He was in his parents basement. No, wait. They weren’t his parents. They’d never deserved the title.

He was in the Fenton’s basement.

The world kept glitching out, the colors kept melding together, and the only thing that stood out was the overwhelming feeling of disbelief and terror.

Little him was strapped to a table. Little him was strapped to a table. Little him was-

Stop.

Assess.

What was going on?

Little him was strapped to a table; he was locked in place. He was in his Core form. It was…damaged. It was damaged.

Why?

Who would…?

There was a sliver missing. They’d torn a piece of him off. They’d tried to peel him open. They’d-Little him would be crippled.

If he survived.

But he had survived, hadn’t he?

Little him’s core was strapped to a table, damaged, and there was no resonance coming from it. There were vials upon vials of ecto-blood on the tables.

That was a kidney.

That was a stomach.

There was blood on the floor.

There…there was blood on his shoes.

Dan floated off of it, listening to the dripping sounds it made as it rolled off his soles.

The door opened.

Two monsters walked through, all giant bug eyes and sharp metal knives.

Dan had two options.

He could kill the things that had done this.

Or.

He darted forward to break the straps and shoved Little him’s core next to his own, where it would be safe, where it could recover as it leeched his excess energy off of him.

The world glitched again.

Dan was standing in Jazz’s living room, hand digging into his own chest. Searching.

With a shaking breath, he pulled it out.

He’d only carried Danny’s core next to his own for two years, but he still found himself searching for it in moments of weakness.

He hadn’t been the best Spirit to host Danny’s core, but he’d fought tooth and nail to do it. Vengeance Spirits could not normally house Protective Spirits.

It was why he’d done the whole hero thing after; it would help Little him heal if he did. And when he scared the people he was saving away?

He’d opted to train the little fledgling heroes. He’d make sure they grew up safe, protected from actual villains and, if needed, their own personal ones.

Anything to make sure he didn’t have to see another kid so close to completely shattering into Nothing, he never wanted to see that shit again-

Dan forced himself to move away from the couch and towards the kitchen.

It was pointless to dwell on the past. He did everything he could; if the Twerp wanted to be next to those monsters, that was on him.

So what if he’d fucked up their relationship? At least the kid was alive.

Dan’s hands still shook as he made himself a cup of coffee.

…

Maybe he’d just check in. Just for a bit.

~~~~~~

Dan may have failed steps one through ten.

It had probably started when he’d played surrogate for the Runt, if he was completely honest. There was no way Dan hadn’t absorbed a little bit of his Protective nature.

Point was; Dan genuinely could not remember going to Arkham.

He just sort of…came back to himself while floating ominously above it.

He could see the alarm lights flashing below him. The humans running for their battle-stations.

The inmates being herded deeper into the complex.

Dan felt his eyes grow hotter, felt his claws dig into the flesh of his palms.

They were right there. Right fucking there. All he had to do was phase through the compound and just reach into their chests.

It would be so. Fucking. Easy.

In fact, he even caught a glimpse of Maddie through one of the windows.

Dan snarled, lifting a hand, the ectoplasm pooling in it hotter than anything he’d made before-

-and he was in the kitchen. Mom was trying to make hot dogs, but they kept fighting back. She was laughing at a dumb meme he’d shown her. His homework was covered in mustard from the fight with their food.

“I guess you can tell Mr. Lancer that you ‘mustard’ up every resource you had!” Dad called out as he walked by, and Dan felt so loved-

-Dan dropped the hand.

Maddie was hauled past the window and to safety.

Fuck.

Fuck this place.

Fuck this city.

Fuck everything about this situation.

~~~~~~

Batman grappled his way to the tallest watchtower in Arkham, keeping an eye on Phantom the entire time.

The guard that was already in the tower-a new hire, if he recalled-nervously stepped up to fall in line beside him.

Batman waved him off.

He knew Phantom. He knew that the man wasn’t actually a villain.

A Training Villain wasn’t something Batman had seen younger heroes needing, but when the Ghost in front of him had started play-fighting with the younger heroes to teach them through safe combat, the Bat had been mentally kicking himself.

It was a perfect job to train younger heroes, and Batman couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed the previous iterations by not realizing that.

Robin was still angry that he’d fallen for it, of course he was, but Batman could not deny that Phantom’s strange method of training had been instrumental in helping his youngest work through his rage.

Just like he could not deny that he and Phantom had something in common with Arkham.

It wasn’t hard to assume that the walls held a person responsible for the death of someone in the man’s life.

Phantom had only shown up to Arkham a total of three times.

The first time, he’d just hovered outside of it, holding his hand to his chest. He’d done nothing, and left in an hour.

The second time, two years later, he’d broken two walls and shattered a watchtower, screaming for someone to come out and face him. Robin had been on scene before Batman had time to distract him, convinced it was the same Phantom he was used to dealing with.

Surprisingly, the sight of Robin had been enough to still the beast Phantom had become. He’d toned down, forced Robin into a surprise hug, and then disappeared. Robin had been livid, but Batman had learned something about the Training Villain he didn’t think he wanted to know.

The man knew loss, and Batman was pretty sure he knew it on the same scale Bruce did.

From there, it wasn’t hard to figure out the most likely objects of his wrath.

Phantom was a Ghost. Ghosts had a very, very bad history with the American Government. The Anti-ecto acts had just been revealed to the public by Lois Lane, and the country was tearing itself apart.

The people who had been the most avid supporters had been, currently were, the Dr.s Fenton.

Who were housed in Arkham.

Batman had said nothing. He had gone back to the cave and quietly updated Phantom’s file, and left it at that.

The third time was the present.

Phantom had almost lost his temper. Almost.

But he’d reigned it in.

“Phantom,” Batman started, staring at the figure above him, “I know you can hear me. What’s happened?”

The Ghost stayed where he was for one hundred and twenty seconds, before slowly gliding down to the Bat.

Phantom did not say anything.

He did not have to.

His eyes were anywhere, everywhere, but where he actually was. When he actually was.

Batman quietly hissed through his teeth.

Alright then.

“I’m here if you want to talk, otherwise we can be silent. Just know that at this moment, you are not alone.”

Phantom chose silence for a good seventeen minutes.

Then Phantom opened his mouth.

“I should hate them,” the voice was halting, tired, “I should, I really should. They loved me so much, but they…they tore him apar-“ Phantom’s voice failed him.

Batman said nothing, and gave the Ghost time to collect himself.

While he waited, he compartmentalized what he’d learned. The Fentons had torn apart someone very, very important to Phantom.

And Bruce had an awful feeling that he meant that literally.

“I can’t be here,” Phantom said instead of finishing his previous thought.

Batman nodded.

“You didn’t hurt anyone this time, so go; I see no reason to stop you.”

Phantom didn’t grace Batman with a goodbye, but the Bat swore he felt an invisible hand squeeze his shoulder after the Ghost vanished from sight.

~~~~~~

Danny laid on the examination bed, one hand being held by Sam while Tucker lounged on the bed at Danny’s feet. They were talking about their new companies, how the world was changing, and distracted Danny while Frostbite examined his vivisection scarring.

Danny looked everywhere but Frostbite as the yeti pushed and prodded. He didn’t want to look at his chest if he didn’t have to, but he also didn’t want the embarrassment that was accidentally meeting his doctor’s eyes in the middle of a physical.

“Fantastic news, Young Savior,” Frostbite said, interrupting their idle chatter, “Your core, while still healing, is recovering at a phenomenal rate. Truly, Lady Gotham is good on her word! At this pace, your core should be fully healed in a mere century!”

Danny hated that. He hated that it needed to heal, and he hated that he was going to outlive his friends.

Sam and Tucker leaned a little closer, offering comfort for something that they knew the Ancient before them wouldn’t understand.

“Better news, the physical damage appears to be almost completely healed. The regrown kidney and stomach are showing no signs of failing, and the scarring should be the only nuisance. I recommend the afore-mentioned stretches and lotion to help the scar tissue conform with your movements.”

Danny nodded, sitting up as Frostbite stepped back and removed his hand from inside Danny’s torso.

“I also see no issue with your residual limb, although it does appear you’ve been forgetting to remove the prosthetic often enough to cause some light bruising. Can’t say I don’t understand, but perhaps write a reminder and pin it on your bedroom wall.”

Danny avoided Sam’s flat look.

Tucker just flashed his phone screen at Danny, the words ‘I can make you something really cool with rockets it you let me’ sprawled across the screen.

Danny absorbed Sam’s flat look and mirrored it towards Tucker.

Tucker threw up his hands.

“Ancients forbid I do anything, I guess,” the techie sighed dramatically.

Once Danny pulled himself together and got ready to leave, Tucker threaded an arm around his own.

“So, wanna go ding-dong-ditch Walker?”

Danny paused, then grinned; and for the first time in two weeks, it wasn’t a lie.

~~~~~~

Danny waved back at Sam and Tucker as they went through their own portals. They would definitely have to get together and hit the town on Earth.

Danny walked through his own portal and ran face-first into a mass of muscle.

Dan steadied him as he bounced back.

Danny was immediately hit with conflicting, very confusing emotions.

He was looking at Dan, his enemy. He was looking at his father? No, it was Dan. Wasn’t that the same-?

Danny shook his head. He’d never gotten a straight answer about why his Ghost self’s view on Dan had changed so dramatically; everyone always shied away from the question.

“Can I ask what you’re doing in my apartment?” He asked instead, stepping back and closing the portal.

“Just making sure you’re settling in, Tiny.”

“We’re the same height?”

“Nah, we’re not.”

Danny shoved the absurdity of their interaction in the back of his head and made for his couch.

“Well, whatever you’re doing here, here’s to hoping it involved making dinner,” he groaned, sinking into the cushion and pulling up his left leg to start the tediously cumbersome process of pulling it off, “because per the doctor, I’m supposed to keep the prosthetic off for the rest of today.”

“I was gonna order out. Move, we’re watching Sailor Moon.”

Danny whined pitifully when Dan physically picked him up and moved him to the side.

He fought his instincts, and his instincts won.

He leaned back and allowed Dan to take the prosthetic off, clawed fingers delicate for all that the man snarled under his breath.

He also allowed the man to commandeer the TV; not something he would even allow Jazz to do.

“Why do I let you do these things?” Danny muttered, eyeballing the quasi-villain on his couch as said villain massaged the stump just below his knee.

Dan snorted.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Ugh, no one tells me anything.”

“We’re pacing you,” Dan corrected, blunt for all that the words were careful, “when you’re back on your feet, you’ll get the non-vital details we skimmed.”

Danny didn’t bother arguing; he’d already tried for the better part of the previous year. For some reason, the yetis took Dan’s side, too.

Instead, they fell into a companionable silence, appreciating Sailor Moon. Which was fine by Danny, since he never knew how to behave around Dan. It was only interrupted by the delivery of the Greek food Dan had ordered out.

Danny was on his second Gyro when Dan finally broke the silence.

“So I heard there was a rogue attack outside your apartment,” he said idly, and Danny could feel his eyes on him.

“Yeah.”

“So you got to see the Bats in action?”

“…Yeah.”

Dan leaned in, eyes going critical.

“What needs improvement? Don’t lie; that ‘yeah’ was one that means you weren’t impressed.”

Danny shrugged.

“I dunno, just…they didn’t have someone who’s only job it was was to evacuate the people, or help the injured. It was just offense, no defense.”

Dan snorted and leaned away.

“Kept telling that to Robin, but no; ‘Father this’ and ‘Father that’.” Dan shook his head, chewing thoughtfully on his rack of lamb. “So. What are you gonna do about it?”

Danny blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve seen what they need, and I’m not stupid enough to think you’ll stay out of the game forever. What are you gonna do about it?”

Danny looked down at his Gyro, frowning.

What was he gonna do about it?

He couldn’t fight, not like he used to, not really. But if the Bats were tanking, then…he probably wouldn’t really have to.

“I’ve been in medical facilities for almost a year,” Danny said slowly, ignoring how Dan stiffened next to him, “I think I’ve picked up a few things. Frostbite would probably be thrilled if I asked him to teach me, honestly.”

Dan relaxed, humming thoughtfully around the bone he was chewing on.

“I think…I’ll be a medic.”

@simplestoryteller @gildedphoenix I do not suffer PTSD, and I've never had a life-altering injury. That said, I know people who have, for both of those. I apologize if my descriptions are off. Here's some notes to piece together what this chapter outlines, for those that want the sparknotes as to what Dan is alluding to. From my notes; "Ghosts can carry another ghosts core if that core is injured, to protect and promote healing. Typically, the father or mother figure does it. In this particular instance, Dan did it. We will see in a bit, but for Dan their relationship went from enemies-warden-person I gotta apologize to-person I’ve got to save-the core housed next to mine-son. For Danny, it randomly went from enemies to ‘why do I think dan is my dad more than I think my dad is my dad’." This is where the "forced parenthood" tw comes into play, because Dan felt like he had to do it, and due to instinct Danny subconsciously got dragged along for the ride. Also, if it wasn't clear from the age list on the first chapter and the timeline presented, I'm playing around with Lian and Roy's timeline; Dan's first year he babysat her, and then she died. She came back only four weeks prior to Danny re-entering the human world.

[keouil]

tell the wolves i'm home

gojo's never seen shoko's hands tremble. 1k. gojo/shoko. angst. also on ao3.

Nanami is inconsolable by the time Gojo gets back.

There is ringing in his ears, so loud and poignant and piercing; like someone tearing their heart out and carving its flesh from the bone, and it’s a voice he thinks sounds too much like Nanami that Gojo is afraid of confirming just yet. But above it all, the first thing he notices is the temperature in the room. It was colder than usual. The clinic often ran a few degrees lower than the rest of the compound, a way to keep samples fresh and tools sterile for as long as possible. This was never their preferred hangout spot for a reason. But even then it had never been so… chilling.

Gojo fights the nausea in his stomach and soldiers on.

He rounds a corner and finds his soul do a double take. The doors to the morgue were flung wide open, scraps of paper haphazardly thrown about and vials of medicine littered all around the floor. He hears the crunch of his boots against the glass and winces at the sound, so sharp against the usual tranquility of the place. Fragile everything was, even more so, Gojo thinks:

“Nanami?” 

Getou had him currently pinned down to the floor, his arms thrashing violently and shards of glass bruising his face. He had cuts everywhere and looked so ragged and out of it, so unlike the calm, collected Nanami they both teased and were proud of him for. His uniform was torn around the edges and blood was plastered all over his skin.

“Is he..” Gojo searches for the words. “I mean—”

“Let me go!” Nanami screeches suddenly, trying to leverage his weight and get out from under Getou’s hold. Any normal day, he probably would have given them both a run for their money; Getou was the more skilled at close combat, Gojo not half as bad. But disoriented and hysterical Nanami couldn’t even see past the river of hysteria streaming down his face, let alone aim his jabs right. “Let me fucking go!”

Gojo bristles, instinctively coming closer to help. But Getou shook his head so firmly, maybe even insistingly, and levelled him with a look that told enough. “I got this,” he hisses, adding lowly, “He’s just a little out of it now, but he’ll be okay. He didn’t—ah—take the news well.”

Gojo stops dead in his tracks. “What news?”

It’s then he hears another crash somewhere inside the morgue, the sound of glass breaking and tables being shoved around. After a while there was a voice that followed– so quiet they had to strain their ears to hear it–an almost undeniable mewl. Getou’s eyes immediately snap to the door, brows furrowing. It’s that look on his face, Gojo realizes, that clued him in on how grave the whole thing had gotten since he left. Getou was never easy to spook, but he looked like he was ready to bolt inside if it weren’t for Nanami’s violent thrashing and flailing that kept him at bay.

Getou glances at the door in concern. It could only be that one thing, then. “That’s—”

Gojo was already making his way inside. 

“I know,” he says, and then: “I’ll take care of it.”

-

Gojo's never seen Shoko's hands tremble.

Not when they were doing test experiments on his newly awakened six eyes and Getou accidentally nicked him a little too close for comfort, that Yaga all but told her the fate of Amaterasu Ōmikami rested on her healing abilities and to think twice about angering the entire Gojo clan if she wanted any future at all as a doctor. Shoko stayed her hand then. He’d also seen firsthand how different her cursed energy manifests on a healing level from his, the almost gentle nature of it; so at war with how he executes his own, so full of executions. 

For Shoko it’s a gentle little thing, the ghost of a touch on his temple or a light tap on his knuckles to unknot the pressure of holding up domains for hours on end. 

He’d seen how she was with other people too. 

How Getou could be the most sickly and pale they’d ever seen him from ingesting too many curses in one day, to suddenly springing back to life like an invigorated war hero the next day after just one session with her. Or Ijichi, so often plagued with a myriad of humanly diseases, slowly start to build his resilience and immune system after constant check-ups with her. 

Through it all Shoko had never once wavered.

But the hand holding Haibara’s was now shaking.

“Shoko?”

Gojo sees her flinch, and that’s how he knows it’s bad. This was someone who never batted an eye at the amount of bloodshed constantly delivered at her doorstep, didn’t look the least bit fazed at the horrific state of some curses she was tasked to embalm daily, who never so much as needed a moment to collect herself after spending hours upon hours knee-deep into the guts of curses let alone humans. Shoko had the strongest stomach out of all of them, but even stronger, Gojo thought: her heart.

But apparently not.

“Are you..” Gojo steps closer slowly. “Okay?”

“Fine,” came her clipped and rushed reply, the usual snark in her voice gone. It sounded heavier somehow, muffled and unclear and hesitant. He saw her eyes going a mile a minute, scanning every available inch of Haibara’s body and her hands glowing with cursed energy. “I just.. I can still try to—”

It’s then Gojo notices the other glaring thing in the clinic: the unnatural amount of reversed cursed energy. 

He had the most reserves of the entire batch, but even then he knew better to release so much of it all at once. Not like this. Not in a way that felt claustrophobic to breathe in, this congestion of so much raw power that just kept spiking erratically bouncing off the walls and igniting the room electric. There was an underbelly of desperation to the energy, an almost manic outpour of something that felt as heavy as it looked. And it was all coming from a single source: Shoko.

It dawns on him, then, that the tremor in her hands was from how much cursed energy she was spilling into Haibara. The overabundance of it, and the lack of a pliable vessel to take it in. Not anymore, Gojo notes darkly, noting the rigour mortis settling into the body.

“Shoko,” Gojo tries again, gentler this time, because with the way she was bottoming herself out it was hard to gauge how lucid she is. “Getou tells me you’ve been here for hours. Are you—Do you want to—”

“No.” 

This Shoko said in finality, and Gojo bristled at the familiarity; it was a tone she often took with them so regularly, that he half believed her to be sane just then. But her hands were still so openly shaking, and she was starting to lose parlour, and he gives it another half hour before her cursed energy reached critical levels of low. 

“I’m not done yet.”

Gojo tries again. “But he’s—”

“Don’t,” Shoko croaks out, and he’s definitely not imagining the falter in her voice then. She turns to look him in the eye for the first time, and Gojo braced himself, not expecting the glassy in her eyes or the barely restrained pleading in her voice. “Not you, too.”

Gojo could do nothing but hold her desperation, feel it strangle him from the inside, and wants to unslip himself from this skin because he recognizes that: the longing for something to be true. Hadn’t he been told, urgently and with no grace for any seventeen-year-old whatsoever, that choosing to take over the mission would probably mean not being there for Haibara’s last moments? And hadn’t Yaga fought tooth and nail for someone else to go instead of him, nearly yelling at the higher-ups to give the boy a fucking break his classmate is dying, and him ignoring everything regardless because one life spared couldn’t possibly justify the killing of a hundred more? 

He remembers the look of betrayal Shoko gave him just seconds before he was shoved into the car, at the same time Getou was pushing Haibara’s so obviously broken and bleeding body into her gurney and braving the initial shock with her until her medic instincts kicked in. There was no mistaking the thinly veiled resentment in her eyes.

Because Getou understood duty. 

But with Shoko there was a savior complex to it, having been told relentlessly that the lives of everyone in school depended solely on her capabilities as the only medic. It’s a heady thing to put on someone just learning to control it, and Gojo would know just intimately: the weight it holds.

And so:

“I’m sorry.”

Shoko looks at him for a few more moments, her eyes searching. She turns back and then says in a much quieter voice, “It’s not your fault.”

And so maybe Gojo has seen it all at this point and this is the one thing he gets to see first: Shoko so openly and unapologetically break character, and maybe it’s still taking him some time to wrap his head around how just one singular person could cause so much unravelling so easily, especially from someone he only ever associated with nerves of steel.

It’s a little heartbreaking, and maybe even a little too honest for what he’s used to. But when he remembers how Haibara always brought them back a souvenir from his missions, or how he always volunteered to take extra ones when he noticed them doing one too many, and how much unadulterated respect he gave them when they crossed paths at school: remembers, then, how unfair it is.

Gojo feels Getou hovering by the door, can already tell he’s going to be their voice of reason again in what was turning out to be the most fucked up thing they’d ever had to do. He probably would know how to handle this better and do the right thing, Gojo thought. But when he chances a look at Shoko and sees her sad eyes trailing over Haibara’s body and trying to commit everything to memory one last time, thinks maybe, just maybe; fuck the right thing. 

Gojo comes up beside her. He gently pries her hands away only to replace them with his own, reversed cursed energy already pouring out.

“Okay then,” he turns to look at her, patient. “Need my help?” 

[outofthiisworld]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ STABILIZATION.

The static in the air pulsated against Doc’s skin; the workshop illuminated in hues of deep purple— all thanks to a small, segmented source of Ectoplasm. Stationed front and center of the makeshift laboratory, the cosmic static of necrosis was barely contained in a small vial of reinforced glass.

The containment remained vigilante under the sleeping energy. <- Rookie mistake number one: the energy was never asleep, not really. Always infinite in its plasmic expanse, fit to CONSUME at a moment’s notice— fit to charge, detonate, or implode before a blink.

How many times had Doc stressed this before? And how many arrogant researchers had lost their lives in a pursuit of the ego? (The real question is: how much time you got?)

Yet, ever the hypocrite himself, Doc got comfortable. So complacent in the decade of his research, with his back turned for only a moment— but a moment long enough for a CRACK in the vial to SHATTER!

A jolt of Ectoplasm SHOT through, the stream of sparks collided against a haphazardly discarded gas canister at the far corner of the workshop (one that Doc so woefully promised to properly toss MONTHS ago)—

AN ERUPTION OF DISCHARGE IGNITED!!!

A BRIGHT, [BLINDING LIGHT] HAD CHIPPED HIS GOGGLES— THE FORCE OF THE ERUPTION KNOCKED THE WIND OUT OF HIS LUNGS BEFORE—!!!

…

It never hit him.

The explosion stopped. Suspended in detonation, as if frozen in time— the force of the eruption held by an invisible force that pulsed a familiar purple.

Doc blinked, his eyesight adjusted, only to see Ophelia at the doorway.

She tilted her head, and without so much as a further twitch— the explosion imploded in itself by her own telekinetic force, until it evaporated into thin air with a single PUFF.

Ophelia opened her mouth, but Doc raised his hand up much faster.

“I know, I know. Shouldn’t have been studying Ectoplasm without you,” or at least not without another lab partner. “You know me— just got antsy. Felt like I finally had a breakthrough.”

“Oh? What this time?”

“The usual— stabilization. Got close, FELT like I got close. Until, uh…”

The two looked over at the center of the workshop. Torn apart and scorched by the detonation itself. Oops.

Doc collapsed back into his chair, slumped over, and rubbed at his face. A heavy sigh followed while he tossed his goggles onto his desk, covered in the sprawled out notes of a mad man (in a fit of exhaustion? annoyance? relief? yes).

A hand touched his shoulder, gentle enough to ground him back down to reality, and he squeezed the hand into his own palm.

“Doc?”

He hummed in acknowledgement, but kept his eyes closed.

“What’s got you so worried about stabilizing Ectoplasm?”

Doc froze. A frog lodged in his throat, one he cleared with a cough.

“Worrying is what I do— I’m your pops AND your doctor, you know. It’s a never ending sort of job,” Doc collected himself with a smirk, one that Ophelia rolled her eyes at (with a giggle, of course).

“It’s good to stay on top of these things— more I know about Ectoplasm, more I can make sure you’re in good shape. There aren’t any other Ectoplasmic Specialists out there, you know. Unless you’ve been holding out on me, missy—”

“Okay, okay— I get it! Next time, just let me know next time, okie dokie?”

“Okie dokie.”

Ophelia smiled, satisfied with the answer (for now) and pressed a small kiss on top of his head.

[fern-writes-whump]

Prompt:

“I told you to behave.”

Hi✨ I've had a lot of fun with this one I hope you like it <3

Featuring my lovely Syd: warning for violence, accidental injury (blood!), and claustrophobia :D

---

Syd was so proud of herself. Things were going so much better lately, not only had she gotten perfect marks on her assignments that week, but she hadn't been punished once. She had been so good in fact, the headmaster himself allowed her to clean his office. To be in the presence of so many ancient books and artifacts, and she was allowed to touch them too!

As anyone could have guessed though, her good mood was quickly ruined when the sound of broken glass interrupted the eerie quiet. The old professor let out a string of curses entirely unseemly for a man of his position and stood up in such a hurry his chair clattered to the floor behind him.

Syd's whole body stiffened as the man stomped towards her and for a handful of interminable seconds she could have used to run away and hide, she instead scrambled to pick up as many pieces of the shattered vial laying at her feet. She clutched the shards to her chest as if they had been precious gems. The glass was digging into her shaking hands but she wasn't paying any attention to the pain, focused only on hiding the mess she'd made.

"I told you to behave." He snarled, now looming over her. She nodded, such a small and frantic movement it barely qualified as communication. She was not looking at him, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground where the smaller fragments glittered in the sunlight. That seemed to be the wrong answer.

She yelped in pain and surprise when a hand grabbed her arm and lifted her to her feet in one swift motion. Glass and blood fell to the ground, the impact sounding so much louder than it should have to her frightened ears. She found her words then, rushing through apology after apology, and promising to scrub the floorboards until they'd be fit to eat on.

"No." He answered coldly, turning towards the door without letting go of his young pupil. "You've caused enough problems for today, you brat." She started struggling then, having caught on to what was coming. They both knew it was for nothing, however, as his hold only tightened and he persevered down a labyrinth of corridors.

"Attending this school is a privilege a creature like you is most unworthy of" He started, as he often did every time she'd misbehave. "I don't understand how you can be so careless knowing that."

"Please, I'm sorry, it- it was an accident!" She kept pleading the whole way, dragging her feet as much as she could given her smaller stature. It was as if she didn't weigh anything to the man, and it was probably true.

"You are not afforded accidents here."

They came to a sudden stop when they reached a wooden door, perfectly clean and polished as any other one in the building on the outside but scratched and torn on the inside. Syd swallowed, her head spinning just at the sight of it.

She didn't get the time to catch her breath before the door was swung open and she was shoved inside. She slammed against the wall and the door shut behind her in less than a moment. On pure instinct she turned around and started pounding on the old wood, begging to be let out.

Over the sound of her own screaming and her heartbeat hammering in her ears, she could vaguely make out a calm and almost polite voice on the other side of the door.

"I'll send someone to let you out when I feel you've learned your lesson."

Then steps getting farther and farther away.

Then nothing.

She crumbled to the ground then, having barely the space to extend her legs in front of her. Not that she would anyway, she was curled up as tightly as possible willing herself to just disappear.

[merry-moody-missy]

A Royal Slumber -Part 2

It’s time to awaken your husband from his rest

You were in the throne room, as you often had been on many nights past, just to see him. The Sentry creatures had unfurled their impenetrable living barrier just for you their Queen -had any other being tried to get so close they’d have been torn to shreds, and that was just for staters. Dream was lying on the black raised bed, his long coat draped over him.

There was a frightening stillness to Dream that chilled you each time you visited; no breath, no movement, no warmth, nothing. Dream appeared almost carved of marble. Yet you still stroked his hair and softly whispered “Tomorrow my love, tomorrow we shall wake you” You dropped a kiss on his forehead , “ I have missed you so.” With a light touch to his chest you sighed and stepped back. “Guard your Lord one last night brave Sentries, you have served us well.” You turned and started to walk back down the stairs, but stopped suddenly as you saw a figure standing in the great hall in front of you.

“Your highness” the figure said, and you smiled as you saw Lucienne step further into the light, “my apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No matter Lucienne, I just wasn’t expecting anyone else at this hour, is everything alright?”

“Yes my lady,I just… I just wanted to check on him one last time before tomorrow” she replied.

“Have you visited Dream often in this slumber?” you asked, continuing then the steps until you were in front of her.

“I confess yes my lady, every day, at some point. I just needed to check he was there. It all feels different to his forced absence of course, yet I found I could not rest without just, knowing he was still in the Dreaming.”

“You and me both Lucienne” you took her hand, “but we’ve kept it all going pretty well haven’t we, you and I- not that you needed me, I know full well you’re so very capable, but I’m glad to have had this time together.”

“It’s been an honour my lady.”

“Until tomorrow then.” You smiled.

Lucienne smiled back broadly “Until tomorrow. Goodnight my lady.”

Hundreds of Dreamfolk had gathered in the hall that morning. Many dreams and nightmares had not witnessed a slumber before, and their curiosity was great. You and Lucienne stepped out through the library door and walked through the parted crowd towards the stairs. As you began to ascend them a hush settled over the hall. Reaching the top you turned to face the waiting crowd.

“My most beloved Dreaming, I owe you all my gratitude for your aid in the Slumber of our King. I invite you to join me in the awakening of Dream of the Endless from these long 40 days and 40 nights. Will you, the Dreamfolk of this realm, awaken our King?”

“We will” came the reply, loud and clear.

“Thank you” you smiled, “Now, with all the powers within you from your creator, our lord Dream, welcome him back to the Dreaming.”

You stepped up to the bed, turning to face Dream, your back to the gathered crowd, suddenly nervous and a hundred unhelpful thoughts spun through your mind: what if he didn’t wake up, what if he is somehow changed, what if he has suffered, what if, what if, what if….. ??? BUT you remembered you were a Queen and pulled yourself together before speaking aloud again. “ Sentries, loyal and true, hear your Queen, your guard is ended. I thank you for your service, you are free to live as you please within the Dreaming as deserved reward for your duty.” The Sentries stepped forward together from each corner of the bed, and faded away.

You took the vial of water from the tray Lucienne held out. “Waters from the Lake of Memories, to wash away the Dreaming sands that held you in this Slumber. Awake Dream Lord, return to your realm full rested.” You gently poured the water over Dreams eyes. Your heart seemed to freeze still as you spoke softly over the still body of your husband, inaudible to all others save Lucienne “Awaken my Lord… your slumber is over…. Come back to your realm Dream of the Endless….. my love….. my Morpheus……” then as a desperate whisper in his ear, “please, please come back to me now my love….”

It seemed an eternity , like the entire Hall was holding its breath, but finally you saw a flicker behind Dreams eyelids, a slight intake of his breath, a flutter of his dark lashes. Your heart seemed to suddenly remember how to beat and you felt the entire Dreaming could hear it crash against your chest. Finally Dream’s eyes flicked open, staring up at the vast ceiling, still looking elsewhere until “My love?” you whispered. Dream’s forehead crumbled, he looked confused, a little lost as he turned towards your voice. “Dream, my lord you are home”

His eyes met yours and he saw you, truly saw you, and the stars within them shone brighter than you’d ever seen them, “Hello Y/N….” And Dream smiled his full beautiful smile, filling your heart with relief and joy.

You took Dream’s hand as he sat up on the bed and swung his legs round to sit on the edge. “Welcome back my Lord” Lucienne beamed. Dream stood up and bowed his head slightly to his Librarian “It is always good to see you Lucienne, I thank you for your work in my absence.” Still holding your hand Dream walked with you along to the top of the stairs, the Dreamfolk were bubbling with excited chatter as you spoke “The slumber of our King of Dreams and Nightmares has ended. Dream of the Endless has returned to us.” There were loud cheers and applause which seemed to startle Dream, he looked to you with a question on his eyes “What?” You grinned, squeezing his hand “We missed you!” Dream gave you a slight smile before raising his hand for silence. “I thank you my Queen, and all you beloved Dreamfolk. I am grateful for this Slumber. Go about your duties all, with my blessings.” You walked hand in hand down the stairs, through the happily chattering crowd, who all bobbed a bow as they parted, through the doors to your private rooms.

The door closed behind you and the noise of the crowd faded away. It was now just the two of you and you kept walking down the corridor, headed to your living quarters. Stepping into your chambers you stopped, took Dream’s other hand, holding them both tightly and brought them up to your lips, kissing them lightly on the knuckles. “Welcome home my lord” you said quietly, and looked up at him, feeling your eyes suddenly heavy with tears. The emotions you’d been holding in were spilling out; the fear you’d had that Dream wouldn’t wake up, the swoosh of relief when he opened his eyes, the wave of affection at seeing his beautiful smile again, the joy at knowing he was back by your side.

“My darling Queen” said Dream warmly, and pulled you close, tightly hugging you to him wrapping his coat around you both, kissing the top of your head as you began to sob softly, all the emotions of the last 40 days and nights coming to the fore, “My love, I am home.”

“I missed you my Morpheus”

[icos-3]

Chapter 4 - The Kidnapping of Danny Fenton - Tumblr Edition

Since AO3 was down, I might as well post the chapters of my fic here. This is not a rewrite of the story. It will contain fixes/edits for problems that initially went unnoticed by me. These edits will eventually be added to AO3. Big thank you to the volunteers at the OTW for your hard work!

3 - 4 - 5 Index

TW: descriptions of body horror

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

Those sounds...

.

At first, Agent S thought it was just the machine in the center of the room.

After all, it had made similar noises in the past.

But over time it grew louder.

Much louder than it had ever been.

And the sounds, no, the screams of the creature inside kept growing louder and louder. 

Layers upon layers of vile...

horrible sounds…

All layered on top of each other…

.

Some were otherworldly.

thunderous...

monstrous...

incomprehensible...

alien…

Like the world itself was being torn apart.

.

But some were… 

screams...

cries...

human…

.

They were deeply unnerving.

And to some, deeply upsetting.

.

The unearthly shrieks filled the lab like an explosion, sending personnel and bystanders alike into

Everyone held onto their ears, desperately trying to cover them.

The glass windows in front of them shattered, leaving them devoid of cover.

S had no other choice than to start yelling at her head agent.

"Sir! We need to shut it off!"

He was staring, unflinchingly, at the horrors unfolding inside the shaking contraption. 

Tables and desks vibrated, and vials and flasks of all shapes rattled off and smashed on the floor.

A steaming liquid was bubbling out of the ungodly machine in front of them.

It felt like it just kept getting louder and louder. She couldn't take much more.

"SIR!" 

This seemed to get him out of his trance.

"Shut if off!"

From where they were observing before, several scientists and agents dashed towards the screens and keyboards behind them.

The machine slowed down to a halt, and eventually, the screams did too.

With the ghastly shrieks dying down, and now being able to think, she began inching towards the ungodly contraption.

.

Sickly yellow and black goo flowed out of the tube like structure, with neon green gas escaping with each popping bubble.

Over time, the unearthly slime seemed to cool down and deflate.

But something inside caught her eye.

.

Agent S always had faith in her employers. That she were doing these things in the interests of the people: The people of Amity Park.

To serve them.

To help them.

To protect them. 

But today, she felt that faith waver.

.

Inside the machine, there were bits and pieces of flesh and blood submerged in sludge, all arranged in inhuman ways…

a severed human arm, sprouting more arms at the fingers, like a tree…

ghostly intestines, covered in red, arranged into a rose like arrangement, repeating on itself in the middle, like a fractal…

a heart with green pustules growing all over it, with more hearts sprouting from them like seeds…

.

and in the center of it all, laid a melted, moaning ghostly child, and next to him, a bruised... human... child...

the two of them were joined at the hip, slowly melting and fusing together…

.

She couldn't hold it in anymore.

She emptied her insides beside the unholy contraption.

What have we done…

What have I done…

.

When she looked up, able to steady herself again, she saw medical staff piling through the goo, guts and gore.

Eventually they pulled out the… children?

no.

A child.

But not just any child.

"Agent T, Agent V, make sure he's stable."

It was Phantom.

.

She saw the two agents take hold of him before disappearing behind the lab doors.

Her superior was standing right beside her. 

"Make sure to clean yourself up Agent S!"

He turned around and walked towards the lab exit.

The doors slid open with a hiss.

"Today has been a great success! We must celebrate!"

The doors slammed shut behind him.

S promptly emptied her stomach again.

.

.

She was not so sure about that last statement…

She thought back to those screams…

what she saw… 

She had to know

what happened to that human child...?

"Hey, S, what do you think of all this?"

Her co-worker had come over and helped her to her feet.

"I'm not sure, but whatever it was, I'm sure it was no good..."

They had a strange look on their face. They turned to look at the remains and suck covering the floor

"To think, something so small could do all… this…"

No

that wasn't an unthinking abomination like they had said…

phantom didn't want this...

he was… 

"Here, grab my hand."

that… 

child…

"Let's get you cleaned up."

that human child…

they were experimenting on him…

They had killed him!

She had to do something.

She turned around to look at the machine one more time and looked for something, anything, she could use to put all this to an end.

That's when the shine on something in the corner of the room caught her eye.

A lens.

Agent S now knew what she had to do.

.

.

.

[endangered-liaison]

Light the Way

((tw for some light body horror, general Endwalker themes, and spoiler warning for Endwalker’s story))

The once-great Pharos Sirius cut a sharp figure against the skyline of La Noscea. Far away on an isle all of its own, overtaken by corrupted aether crystals from the calamity; the building seems an unlikely place for any visitor other than an adventuring party sent to clear out corrupted sprites or ... other, stranger creatures.

But it's within this tower than Wyda Eyhafrynwyn has found herself living of late. An encampment on the upper floors, kept safe from the corrupted crystals and far from civilisation. Once a week, a supply ship sails in with food, water, whatever other supplies are needed, and a new shift of yellowjackets. The guards change every week. But the researchers remain.

Every day, she walks down the ruined staircases, gas mask strapped in place and magicked barriers projected to keep her safe from the corrupted aether. Every day, she comes to the basement, far beneath the main structure and torn open by a kobold incursion.

But the central furnace is still intact. A grand structure built to house Voidsent Bombs, the power source of the great lantern. Few think about the fact that the pharos that light the way for ships are powered by void rituals, but it remains an immutable fact even in this age of magitek advancement. Aether and tek need power sources, but a voidsent bomb simply needs the ambient aether of the air to survive. Slave labour, of a strange sort.

It may seem a strange place for her to reside. But in truth, it's perfect. It is far from civilisation, to keep others safe. And the great furnace chamber was built to keep enormous Bombs restrained. If anywhere in La Noscea is strong enough to house the thing she now studies, it's here.

She steps off the final wooden scaffold on to the basement level, and pulls off her mask. The air down here is damp and sulphuric, but it is safe to breathe. It won't taint your lungs and turn you to a crystalline zombie. The danger down here does not come from the air. Already, she feels it creeping into her bones. The deep, tainting miasma.

The guards down here don't seem to be guarding. They are singing. A bard from Gridania strums a harp, and the band of yellowjackets sing an upbeat shanty. It's necessary.

"G'morning, lass!" one calls, false cheer in his voice and eyes alight. They're only going to be here for another two days, but the anxiety is creeping in at the edges of his gaze.

Wyda smiles right back, bright and cheery, and pats the man on the shoulder. "Morning, Knodbrem. Is Totojonu already in there? He wasn't at breakfast."

The soldiers glance back and forth between one another, then nod. "Aye. He came down when our shift began. He said he couldn't sleep."

The worry is clear.

"I'll talk to him," Wyda reassures. "I've ways of persuading people to take a break." She tries her best to sound spooky, and it garners a laugh or two before she steps past the group. Pushes open the great doors with Knodbrem's help, and listens to them seal behind her.

The furnace has been retrofitted. Changed and modified to fit the thing that now resides with it. Totojonu Kokojonu of the Alchemist's Guild scurries this way and that before it, checking his notes and rummaging through glass vials. He's been here for five weeks - half the time Wyda herself has been.

And within the great furnace, chained and bound by steel and by magick, is a blasphemy. The chains were built to hold back giants, and the magicks are the same warding spells and geometries that hold Bombs in place. It seems to be working well enough for the time being. The blasphemy tugs at its restraints, ever and always, muttering things in a broken voice that shouldn't be possible.

It doesn't have a voicebox, after all.

"Good morning, Toto," Wyda calls out, but the man barely acknowledges her. She's used to it, by now. She'll tell him to take a break soon, but right now he won't listen to her. Instead, she pulls a visor from her satchel. It's Sharlayan-made, modified by Bellworks engineers. An aetherometer of a sort. The advantage of working with the Sharlayans, rather than having them ignore the plights of the world, is that she gets to use things like this. Like this, and like the soul crystal dangling on a string around her neck and the nouliths strapped to her back.

She settles the visor in place, then twists a dial on the side. It lowers over her left (and only) eye, and the lenses alight. Her vision splits into three distinct images for a moment, dizzying and disorienting, before the three images snap together in a complete picture. It leaves her nauseous, stuck with the feeling of stepping off a moving airship.

As ever, the blasphemy lacks any aetheric signature. A deep, black absence, like she's staring into a hole in the universe. Others had observed that in the first days of this calamity, and given up on aetheric observation. But Wyda is certain there is more to be found. There's something there. The naked eye can see it, but it is not aether. What, then?

"Any progress today?" Wyda asks over her shoulder, stepping closer towards the warded monstrosity. She raises her voice, calling over the constant whispers.

"Growth Formula Zeta seems to cause tissue samples to decay, but has no noticeable effect on the creature itself." Totojonu's response is short and direct, the man not looking up from his work as he peers into a microscope. "The same as every other compound we've tried."

Wyda hums, crossing her arms as she studies the void. "That's not true. It didn't like fluoroantimonic acid."

"One, it doesn't like anything, and two, nothing likes fluoroantimonic acid."

Wyda snorts a laugh. "Aye. Aye, true enough."

She steps closer, leaning in close towards the blasphemy. Two fulms away. One. She feels a prickling across her skin and her mind like static. Like running your hand across a magitek screen. Somewhere, distantly, she hears a voice. The more you cling to life, the more you shall suffer. Embrace me, and I shall grant you a gift painless and beautiful.

A shift in her aether, and one of her nouliths floats freely. It raises from her back, twisting and aligning with her will.

The thavnairians say that they believe the blasphemies are made of something called Akasa. But they have no ways of detecting such a thing, let alone discovering some way of...combating it. Curing it? Wyda doesn't know, any more. A vaccine, a cure, a weapon. She doesn't know what they're searching for here.

She twists the dial once more, her vision flickering blue-white then to a deep orange. Then once more, to the only frequency she's found that detects anything so far. A strange, monochrome view of the world.

It doesn't see everything. The bulk of the blasphemy is still shrouded in darkness, but she sees...wisps. Wisps of that same darkness, exuded by the creature. Coming from the heavens above. Lines through reality like strings she could reach out and pluck, and everywhere they strike is left in a darkness of its own like tiny pinpricks. Like rain striking dry stone.

Akasa. An energy of emotion - of despair, in this case.

She pours a little aether into her noulith. "Okay, Sin. Gently does it." A twitch of her fingers, and the glowing-bright noulith closes in until it touches the blasphemy. She watches through her visor as the field of akasa distorts and twists. The darkness of the blasphemy doesn't change, but the lines exuded by it are...blocked, or at least diverted. Aether can serve as some kind of barrier. The Scions had reported as much - that the flow of celestial aether currents determine where shall next be struck by despair. Where the flow is strong or eddies exist in the celestial currents, people are (relatively) safe. But where the flow weakens, where it stagnates, the slightest note of despair can drive people to become a sign of the end.

She pushes more aether into the noulith; pushes emotion into it, and the voice in her mind rises to a fever pitch.

sleephappily drowninthedeep shatter fade away followmyvoice

here

lies

your

answer

Wyda jerks away, noulith twisting backwards and nearly knocking an alembic to the ground.

She breathes heavy, grabbing her visor to wrench it upwards and focusing on the taste of the sulphur-filled air. The damp, the salt from the sea.

That's always the worst part of her mornings.

She turns away, facing Totojonu, and finds him ... sitting there. He stares into space, his work ceased.

"Toto?" she prompts, stepping closer to the man. No black smoke exudes from him; no ashes.

"Aren't you worried about turning?" he asks. His voice sounds malms away, distant and barely there. "About becoming one of those things?"

His eyes meet hers, and she can see the despair there.

"They have no souls left. They're destroyed, utterly. I used to know this woman. Sosona. She was my friend. She worked at the thaumaturge's guild."

Wyda swallows. She knows this story, by now. Her first day here, she had asked how they had captured this blasphemy. Had asked who they had been. She regrets asking.

"Three were studying the Blasphemy they had captured in their catacombs, when they just ... gave up. They turned, and the blasphemy got loose, and the four killed another ten before they were put down. Sosona's husband turned. And before the despair overtook her, she asked ... to be studied. She'd been working on a cure. And this way, even with no hope left herself, she could give hope to others. She allowed her soul to be lost, for eternity. She will never be reborn."

Totojonu's grip on the desk is tight.

"How can you sit here and look at our fate without screaming?"

There is silence for long seconds, save the murmuring of the blasphemy behind her. And when they grows to be too much, Wyda steps forwards. She kneels down, and takes Totojonu Kokojonu's hands. "'Tis not my fate, my friend. It shall not be yours, either, if you but believe it." Her eye is bright, and his tiny lalafell hands both fit between hers with no effort at all. "I shall not die, for as long as there exists something in this world that gives me purpose. Simply pick a reason to live, and follow it to whatever end."

She stays there, kneeling before him, until his breathing grows steadier. Until his eyes refocus. Until the pall of despair hanging over the room grows lighter.

"Do you feel better?" she asks, gently.

"No." A sardonic smile crosses the man's face. "But I don't feel worse. Thank you."

Wyda snorts. "You know, I'll accept that. I've had worse reviews of my bedside manner." She pats the man's hands as she climbs back to her feet, wincing a little. The ground here is hard and uneven, and a pebble had been digging into her knee that whole time.

She turns back to face the blasphemy once more, lowering her visor over her eye to see the lines of akasa that soak through the world.

"Get some rest. I'll ask the guilds to send out someone to relieve you for a while. You deserve a chance to get away from here." She says it gently. After five weeks, she can see the cracks showing in him. She dares not look at him with the visor in place. He deserves to rest.

"Alright." He sighs, and hops down from the chair he'd been sitting at. She hears his feet hit the ground, and senses his presence moving through the room. She senses him stop. "... What keeps you going?"

"Hm?" Wyda pulses aether, spinning all four nouliths from their places and aligning them around her like extra limbs. She watches the crystals fade slightly as they pass through the lines of akasa.

"You said that something gives you purpose. That you picked a reason to live that you'll follow." His voice is tentative, but she can feel the edges of hope in it.

"Me?" A laugh, light and melodious. "That's simple enough."

She focuses her aether, and four aetheric beams lance outwards from her nouliths. They strike a part of the blasphemy's torso, cutting it open and revealing further darkness within. They twist and rotate, a chirurgeon's tools in her hands, until a slab of not-meat falls to the floor with a dull sound. Not quite a splat.

"There's always more to learn."

She hears Totojonu leave, even as the blasphemy's mutterings rise to screams.

"no cure

no cure

NO CURE"

If any answer lies here, then she'll find it.

It's okay, she tells herself. 

They don't have souls.

[queensconquest]

starter for @aristarchos​ ^-^

    Suwa  hadn’t  said  anything  when  ,  in  the  process  of  saving  Kurusu’s  emotional  hide  again  ,  the  vials  of  liquid  blood  he  kept  had  been  smashed.  Only  snapped  at  Kurusu  for  his  hesitation  to  kill  as  usual  before  sitting  himself  down  in  the  clearing  in  the  forest  while  the  rest  headed  back  into  town.  None  of  them  questioned  it  -  or  at  least  Kurusu  and  Yamagami  hadn’t.  His  cold  demeanor  was  often  successful  at  keeping  them  away. 

   But  in  truth  ,  he  wasn’t  nearly  as  fine  as  he  acted.  Especially  when  he  hadn’t  gotten  to  feed  today  yet.  Already  Suwa  could  feel  the  hunger  gnawing  at  his  mind  as  he  curled  up  into  a  small  ball.  Further  from  a  village  would  be  better  because  it’d  be  further  from  humans.  He’d  find  shelter  before  the  sun  rose  ,  or  crawl  back  at  the  last  minute  and  pass  out  before  hunger  could  do  more.  He  needed  more  blood  than  the  rest  did  ,  and  the  blood  candies  were  inedible  to  his  palette.  But  he  had  to  hold  out.   He  pressed  his  head  back  into  the  tree  bark  ,  relishing  the  pain  that  detracted  from  the  hunger  -  and  the  rare  flare  of  cold  fear.  Fear  of  falling  back  into  a  mindless  state  ,   of  -

   “  Takeuchi  ?  “  Surprise  filled  Suwa’s  voice  when  he  his  head  jerked  up  as  he  felt  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  He  was  half  torn  between  asking  a  question  or  delivering  a hostile  comment  to  drive  the  other  away  even  as  his  eyes  lingered  on  the  other’s  throat  and  forearms.  It  was  for  Takeuchi’s  own  good.  Suwa  had  fed  on  vampires  before.  Yet  maybe  that  was  exactly  why  Takuchi  seemed  to  be  making  the  offer  he  did  -  to  feed  on  him.  “  Do  you  have  any  idea  what  you’re  saying  ?  “  Suwa  finally  forces  out  ,  even  as  the  idea  makes  his  mouth  ache  and  the  hunger  flare  stronger.

[naphali09]

Partners in Crime (Dottore x OC)

Title: First Meeting

Hello, Everyone. I really want this to be the start of a series. This is an inspiration ever since I started playing Genshin Impact. Yeah, I know I am far behind. Don’t worry, I did my research on the game before or during playing (which is a habit of mine ever since). I hope you enjoy the fanfict and crossover of the two.

Have a nice day!

Her timid nature had caught the attention of a another student. The male student is a grown-up with red eyes, wavy blue hair, and pale complexion. Her pale complexion also caught his eye. It was normal to be pale, but her paleness seemed unhealthy. He, with a knowledge and interest for medicine, knows that something was wrong with the newcomer.

She was a slave and orphan. The poor student was sent to train in the morning and to work as a slave in a restaurant. She kept covering her torn clothes. The expression etched on her face showed shame and hidden sadness.

Zandik, the young male student, worked on his experiments as he stared at the vial filled with a blue fluid. He studied the fluid closely and carefully. Senses open to observe any changes to the animals he bought. He didn’t mind the door being since he didn’t want to be bothered by presence of other students.

Naphali, the young female student, watched in curiosity as she entered the laboratory. She could see how the liquid glowed. She closed the door behind her as she entered. She approached the table he is staying and stared at him in fascination.

“Did you enjoy watching my experiment,” he inquired.

She gave a nod. She finally knew that Zandik is fascinated with experimentation. She found it fascinating to watch her fellow student dig for knowledge. The gold of a human mind is knowledge.

Zandik selfish nature was long gone as soon as he saw Naphali. He was concerned for her wounds and bruises. His concern turned the curiosity about her wounds on.

“What happened to your arm,” he asked.

Her eyes landed on the wound on her arm. It was left out on the open. The clothing she wore didn’t conceal the wound. She bit her lip in nervousness. She didn’t know if she could trust him.

“Wounds like this would take time to heal. It is the same when it comes to emotional and mental wounds. It takes time to speak about this matter,” Zandik sighed.

He was right. She was flabbergasted at his statement because he knew what she felt. Her trust towards him increased, but not that much. She was eager to know his name so she could show the trust he earned.

“What is your name,” she asked.

Zandik had to admit that he loved to hear her voice. She remained silent most of the time. He could tell that she is hurting since she kept a facade towards the people around.

“Zandik,” he briefly answered.

“I’m Naphali,” she introduced. “Do you go here often?”

He nodded. He had been around since he step foot in the academy. He had an undying interest of experimenting for humans to achieve maximum power like gods.

“What is that,” she implored, pointing at the fluid.

“It is a serum to be injected to the animals,” he responded, pointing at the bunnies.

What scared her is the emotionless tone in his voice. She quickly freed the bunnies from their cages. Her soft nature towards animals is showing now. She showed him her innocent face as she shivered under his stare.

He sighed, finding her innocence cute. He found it endearing. He could feel his heart exploding. His face is burning and he was tempted to fiddle with his fingers. He finally learned that Naphali loves pets like cats, dogs, bunnies and many more.

“Why do you have to do this,” she asked, teary eyed.

“This is for a medicine. This is an experiment for a cure,” he answered.

She calmed down. This is a good for the people and the students here. She held onto the bunnies who are looking around in curiosity. He decided to give her the bunnies so she could calm down more. He could buy or capture some animals in the wild.

“You can keep the bunnies,” he said, patting her shoulder.

She squealed in happiness. “Okay.”

He smiled as he turned his back on her. Her happiness made his body warm. It was like a sun that would brighten anyone’s day. The effects of that sun is affecting him now. 

[ask-healthy-light]

*boom opens a portal to lights room after hour to check on him *

The magic tunes that Banana heard were not imagined by his mind, as the Green Unicorn, for the first time in many years, gracefully stepped out of a small portal that he made, transporting himself into Light's room only mere moments after the Princesses and young Banana had left, as they had been unable to help Light recover from their state, and promised to try again tomorrow.

Unable to sleep, tormented by his dreams and memories of eons past, Boom spent the night awake, lacking the strength to close his eyes, not wishing his mind to wander far to paths that he does not dare speak of, and had been busy preparing a number of items, for, to those he held dear, he would, one day, wish to tell his tale, and wanted to be freed of his burdens.

So, through many sleepless nights and countless days of travel throughout this land and beyond, he found and kept items dear to him, be it gifts from friends of old, medicine from great healers whom he had helped, or his own experiences, memories and actions, written in a book for others to read, for though he wished for them to know, he could not bring himself to tell them directly.

Now, with no eyes upon him, and the Observer, whom he feared would find him, busy elsewhere, he prepared himself, once again, for travel, though, where he would go, or when he would return, of this, he was not yet certain, and, deep in his mind, he was torn, as one part of his mind wished to quell his feelings and be done with his past, though the other part longed to feel the pain.

This longing for pain, however, was not wholly evil, nor did it truly wish to make him suffer, for though the pain, bound to many memories and sins of his past, was devastatingly difficult to deal with and carry throughout his travels, he still kept it, as he felt it was important for him to remember everything he had done, and everyone that he had ever met and loved, or hurt, in his life.

Nevertheless, after he stepped into Light's room, the portal closed, and, realising the portal was quite loud, fearing the ones who had left may return and find him, he put up his cloak and swiftly dove to the side, hiding in the shadows in the corner of the room, and stayed out of the light for a time, until he was absolutely certain that none would return, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He moved over to Light's bedside, and, from the satchel he was carrying, he pulled out a number of items, among which were a book, another vial of tonic, darker in colour than the golden potion he had given before, and a key, which appeared old and rusted, yet holding the memory of a once great, mighty and powerful lord, and placed them in a small bag next to Light on the nightstand.

After placing down these items, and writing a note - which he knew would tell Light from whom the bag was, even with little writing upon it - he carefully opened the door and looked into the hall of the Centre, making sure there was absolutely nobody around to notice him, and, after turning back to look at Light once more, with tears forming his eyes, he left their room, and stopped.

His mind was still thoroughly fighting with itself over his next actions, and though one part wanted to move on, he knew he couldn't, so he cursed himself, turned back to their room, and wrote upon the note he had left a spell that, when cast, would let him know whenever he was summoned, should this ever happen, which he doubted, remembering Light's words to him, outside of the Centre.

He finally left their room and headed out of the Centre, and, before leaving the city, he caved in and listened to his heart one final time, and headed towards the Palace, which he swiftly reached, after stealthily traversing his way through the streets of Canterlot, in time to see Luna gently led away, and the young Banana and radiant Celestia bow to each other and disappear from view.

A bittersweet smile appeared on his face, followed by many tears, and he put up his hood and headed out of town, not knowing when, or if, he would see his dearest friends again.

(Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, please reblog! Thanks in advance!)

Send an ask or request! | Start at the beginning! | Next part!

Featuring: Banana Pie from @askbananapie Boomlord from @thedumbguywithaheart43

[nvrcmplt]

"Why you always gotta pull out those shots of yours man," he'd whine as he sat there, arm on shoulder from tearing something during a practice match. Fine one moment, hurting the next, Andrew had been told to get off the ice and get to his doctor. A mighty regret on the Swede's end. "You know I hate those things."

But what else was there to do ? A cramped muscle, something stuck in a spasm, clearly something that needed to be relaxed and checked out. He might have been overworking himself, sleeping a little less and working a little harder. A bad habit, one that often tend to pick up around the time the full moons were closing in again (he hated those wretched things) as blood seemed to run a little hotter, bones hurt from merely getting up in the morning. He disliked, but not as much as he disliked shots.

"Don't have you have'em in a more Andrew-friendly size, Abel?"

Andrew was a wimp when he wasn't fighting for his pride on the ice. Abel had some knowledge on the idiots methods, a few times he's caught them on TV of local ice rink coverage, other times he's read it on magazine fronts when he pops to the shops for a lunch deal or coffee run. Things that kept him in the loop with the idiot against his will but when the day came with official paperworks, his manager and the team looking to him to officially be claimed as Andrew's doctor… Well, it made Abel sign his peace away. He understood why, many folks of Andrew's nature would probably kill themselves before finding anyone like Abel to be their saviour.

Still, when he got the call and hope in tones asking for his assistance on his patient, Abel was there and ready. His door opened for their arrival and his driver taking a step back once Abel assured them he'll tend to Andrew and drop him back in his own truck. Conversation was quick for the most part, Andrew was in pain - holding it in well, but it was heavy in the air. Washed hands, an examination in merely touching the area that was the issue and Abel knew he'd get nowhere without a relaxant. Of course, the moment he plucked the tray open for his stash of common syringes, he was given the whining child of a friend instead of the brave warrior of pride.

"It's the smallest needle known to man. I'm going muscle deep, not blood vessel nor bone marrow. Those needles are the length of a hand and as thick as a pencil lead." He muttered as he retrieved what he needed. It's paper wrapping a sign of cleanliness. A cleaning alcohol swab was retrieved next as he placed them onto his tray. He eased Andrew's frame onto the table, motioning him to rest his arm on the risen arm guard, since he needed the man to let it go even if it did hurt for the moment. "You won't even feel it." He wasn't lying, it was barely long enough to hurt as much as folks want to wish them to be.

"Look at the ceiling, in fact, tell how you've not torn apart a teammate yet. It's almost time for a full moon this month. I can tell your eyes are bloodshot again from lack of sleep." His hands move with ease, practised and professional as he wiped over the others shoulder, using his thumb to feel out the tension from the outside - seeking the main knot of it, to mark with a pen. A couple of dots, three - and one more to pull away and pop open the needle and slip his fingers into place. "Need me to look after Gizmo whilst you're going through it?" A sparkle in his eye in that hope, as he moved to place the needle into its first marked spot. A quick press, some formula seeping in without being pushed back then repeated in those spots he marked out until the whole vial was empty. Small patches of gauze were taken to be pressed to the pin-pricks as they waited for the magic to loosen when he wanted to believe it was just a muscle malfunction and not hiding a dislocation underneath it.

"Try and relax for me, Andrew. Flex your hand a little, see if the tension's too tight for that still." Because he can inject him a bit more than just one dose. Abel would even offer to hold their limb, to take the weight and feel out if he missed any knots on the underside carefully. As he uncurls the others' limb at the elbow to shoulder in small rotations.

[botticellibitch]

(This is a starter I’ve done for my writing partner @gothreginageorge . Going to be some Devil’s Minion fun and thought I might share it 🖤)

It was a delightful game of cat and mouse. And the delightful part was how they switched from time to time. Weeks might go by with Armand not bothering Daniel, only to find the other at his front door, demanding to know where he had been, and why he hadn't come to find him. And, other times, Armand chased Daniel from state to state and country to country. This song and dance going on for several years after Daniel's initial interview. He had wanted the dark gift from Louis, and, instead, had found himself the sometimes unwilling companion of Armand.

They were, without a doubt, obsessed with each other in the most damaging of ways. Armand knew it. Even as they grew closer, and then separated over and over again, Armand knew he was driving Daniel mad. Mad with want and need and the desire to be immortal like him. Armand had never worked the dark trick, and he had no plans to. But, Daniel threw a wrench in that, as the youth say, and from time to time Armand thought 'what if?' But, what ifs can lead one down a dangerous path. And Armand knew, oh he knew well, the curse of makers and their fledglings. And he would not do that to himself or to Daniel.

And his denial and refusal sent Daniel to drink and addictions of various kinds. Armand had stopped more than a few overdoses. But, Daniel was addicted to more than the drugs and alcohol. He was addicted to Armand. To his presence, his blood, his everything. If Armand were wise, he would have stepped away. Forgotten his Danny and went about immortality. But, Armand was addicted to. He craved Daniel like no other. Every part of him. Wanting and needing him as a constant lightning rod in his life. Something that would pull him back when he needed to. Something that would keep him from going mad himself. 

It had been a month, perhaps their longest time being apart since coming together. Armand had seen no activity on the cards and things he had given Daniel for emergencies , and he should be worried. But, he wasn't. He could hear Daniel, and if Daniel were in danger he would know it. He was stubborn and might run off to live on park benches and under over passes from time to time, but Armand always knew if he were in danger. And he didn't sense any at the moment. Sitting in the New York penthouse, relaxed back on a lounge in the living room. Fingers flipping through the pages of his books. He wanted for Daniel to reach out. Ask to come to him. Beg even. But. he heard no word from his wayward lover and had to wait.

When the knock came to the door, Armand found himself confused. Who would come to his door, and this late? Even for him it was easing into the early hours of the morning, he could almost see the sun peeking up over the horizon outside the windows. And, had the knock not come, he would have been up to close the blinds. 

He swiftly crossed the room, trying to think of any deliveries or anything he had coming as he opened the door. And who should greet him but his beloved Danny, looking a little worse for wear. A black eye, busted lip, and torn clothes adorned him. "Were you mugged?" Armand asked, almost shocked. He knew it hadn't been a vampire. The vial of blood around Daniel's neck kept him safe from that. He knew it had to be some mortals who roughed him up, and he quickly wrapped an arm around his shoulder's to bring him into the penthouse. "You didn't use the blood to heal yourself? Danny ..." His voice was full of concern.

He took Daniel into the bathroom, sitting him on the toilet seat as he went about running some water, and getting the first aid kit. Searching Daniel's mind for mental images of the attackers, a fine feast they would make for the next evening. "You should have called for me. I would have come to get you, Danny, you know that. Oh ..." Fingers reached out to gently touch the swollen eye. "Oh, lover ..."

[shamelessmagazineangel]

It begins

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

Story Two Part Three: Awakening

Asher awoke in chains in a damp, dark place that stank of death and dismay. She tried standing only to find herself unable to move. She could barely see, only hear, and breathe, albeit barely.

“Awake yet, monster?!” Spoke an intimidatingly loud voice. She was jerked up from her resting place to be face to face with a helmeted man, clad in gold armor. His shoulder pauldron adorned with a Golden Lily, much like the Cleric… he was here for revenge. “You thought you could escape, that you could kill Necitan and get away with it?! The Church of Gold does not take such treason lightly!” He shouted at Asher. I didn’t want to, she wanted to say, but her voice couldn’t form the words. The man kept shouting. “I should kill you here. But the Mage Academy convinced the Church to give you over to them. I hope they make you feel as much pain as you’ve caused.” The man slams Asher against the wall, and she slumps over, unconscious.

Days pass. Asher slips in and out of consciousness. She sees flashes of vials and robed men and women. An elf dressed in finer dressing than the rest is the only one she hears.

“What a fine specimen. Surely, you’ll endure the Flames.”

Asher awakens again. Magically chained in an arena. Asher finally manages to move. Looking at herself, she sees that she was in a collar and wearing worn down leather armor. She stands… looking around to see a group of mages staring down from her.

“You’re finally awake, Subject 12.” Spoke one of the mages, the elf in fine robes. Asher dully looks up at her. “Welcome to Terices’ Academy of High Magecraft. Be grateful, that brutish Church of Gold wanted to execute you. In exchange, you have become our newest lab-goblin.” The elf spoke condescendingly, as if she viewed Asher as lesser. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for about three weeks. That dreadful Dragonborn and hideous Gnoll were dealt with, unfortunately. But you should not care. You’re far more important than their lives.” The elf chuckled and murmured something to a mage beside her.

“Beginning test implantation of The Fell Dawnflower.” Asher overheard from a Mage.

A Mage Hand floated over, carrying a stone flower… the earth around it seemed to rise and fall at random. Asher was suddenly restrained to the floor, her arms and legs spread as the Mage Hand floated over her with the stone flower. The Mage Hand dropped the stone flower onto Asher. It was soft against Asher’s body, slowly sinking into her chest. It as mesmerizing to watch.

Then the pain started. In violent pain so great that for the first time since she awoke armless, she screamed in pain. Her whole body felt like it was set on fire, as if the very flames of hell came to burn her alive for her sins. Three agonizing minutes that felt like hours passed, Asher still screamed in screamed as her hair grew grayer and grayer… Asher fell limp. Her voice gone. Her eyes dull. She didn’t feel like breathing.

“Tch. So much potential, wasted. Alas, risk comes hand in hand with progress. Dump her body somewhere or-“ Started the elf, before being cut off by Asher wreathed in purple energy, the very foundation of the academy being lifted. Asher raised with it, awake and breathing… the magic chains being torn asunder at their very basic nature. Asher screamed, shattering the ground and causing the balcony the mages were observing her from to fall. The surge of power was shunted, absorbed by the Demon Ezizh who gladly feasted upon this newfound power. Asher then fell to the ground, now exhausted. The elf stood first, glee shining in her grin and smile, “Finally. A viable host. Take her away and prep her for experimentation. Let us see what this Subject is capable of.”

[ragingbookdragon]

Dearest Warrior, Take A Moment To Breathe

Kotallo x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.2K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Y'all make sure you're taking breaks and recuperating when you need it! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

He tried so hard to be strong all the time. She wondered if it ever got exhausting, being the essential “Golden Son” of the Sky Clan and being the senior Marshal of the clan. Even now that the Zeniths had been taken care of and the looming threat of Nemesis coming, she knew Kotallo was torn between training new Marshals and being ready for whatever came next. More often than not, she was the one to turn in last for the night, chalking it up to her training as a young child and preferring the night to day. Even then, Kotallo usually turned in to their shelter around the same time, however, as of late, he’d been going to bed much, much earlier, more tired than usual.

She knew it too. She’d come into their shelter late at night, quietly change into her nightclothes, and merely lay beside Kotallo and watch him for a few moments. The dark circles under his eyes grew darker with each passing day, lines of fatigue drawn down his face. God forbid the only time he seem like he was at peace was when he was asleep. Sometimes she would reach out, gently brushing her fingers over the scar at his lip, over his cheek and across his eyelid, feather light touches that barely had Kotallo’s features twitching in his sleep, but he’d shift, mutter something in a guttural language and burrow deep into the blankets.

He deserved to rest for all the weight he’d been carrying in the few short months. Hell, Kotallo deserved the world for all the honor and strength he kept. One evening, when he reported to the Chief for the evening, she followed as he readied for bed, slipping in behind him into their shelter.

She watched in silence as he unclipped his armor and shucked it off, setting it aside where it wouldn’t get in the way; a frown tugged her lips when she saw the dark bruise across his back. “How’d you get that bruise?” she jerked back when he jumped and turned on her quick as a flash. “Woah, big guy, it’s just me,” she calmed and Kotallo let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the fatigue at his eyes.

“My heart…” he started tiredly. “I wasn’t aware you were here.”

“I saw,” she noted and gestured for him to sit down; he did so, and she sat behind him, smiling as he shifted forward a bit and leaned back. She gently undid the braids and ties of his hair, taking out the beads and unwinding the strap that held his hair back. She plucked the headgear and spines from atop his head and set them aside before grabbing the brush near her small vanity. Carefully, as if the strands of his dark hair were made of fragile, golden chains, she combed the brush through his hair, slowly as to not pull any knots. “You’re working too hard, Kotallo,” she murmured, and he let out another heavy sigh, shutting his eyes amidst her ministrations.

“I’m simply doing my job, my heart.”

“Don’t do that here with me. There are no prying eyes to see the Mighty Marshal take a moment to let it all go.” She set the brush aside and grabbed a small vial of scented oil. “There are more Marshals in the clan again, and I am here now. You don’t have to carry the entire tribe on your shoulders, Kotallo. In fact, I’d wish you’d let others carry some of it.”

He breathed deeply as she combed the oil into his hair with her fingers, expressions beginning to soften. “I have to train the other Marshals and the soldiers we are considering for the team with yours.”

She hummed low in her throat. “Kotallo, you’re working yourself into the ground.”

“I am—”

“Falling into a dead sleep every night and only wake more tired than normal,” she interrupted. “Kotallo, do you remember the last time we had a conversation before we went to bed? Do you remember the last time you took a break to relax and play a simple game of Strike? Do you remember the last time you weren’t grimacing because you were aching somewhere from working so hard?”

Her assault of questions hit him like a ton of bricks, and he opened his eyes to find her staring at him. “You are worried,” he said quietly. “I never meant to worry you, my heart.”

She sighed, an amused huff, and bent down, pressing her lips to his forehead, then his nose, skipping over his lips to press one to his chin. “I love your sense of duty, Kotallo. It’s one of the many things that I do love about you.” Her hands cupped his cheeks, and she brushed her thumbs over his face, pressing a kiss to his lips. “But you don’t know when to take a step back and let others manage things in your stead.”

“But my duty…” he mumbled against her lips, and she hummed, silencing him with another kiss.

“Hush,” she commanded gently. “I’ve asked Ivvira to take over training of the Marshals and others for the day tomorrow.”

“But I—”

“You will spend the day recuperating under my very watchful eye and if I even suspect that you’re doing anything but relaxing and taking care of yourself, I’m going to give you a reason to never disobey an order from me again.”

Kotallo’s lips curved against hers. “Have you asked—”

“Why do you think I’m incompetent at my job? Of course, I cleared this with Hekarro. Who do you think was grateful that I decided to do something about you soldiering on when you’re exhausted?” she lifted her head and gazed at him, the soft pool of silky, black hair spread out in her lap, against her bare thighs and she smushed his cheeks together. “I’m being serious though, Kotallo. I don’t want you doing anything tomorrow but being a lazy, bag of bones.”

When she let him go, he smiled at her and reached up, brushing a hand under her eye. “How lucky I am to have such a good woman at my side.”

She pressed her lips to his wrist. “And you better not forget it either.” Humming, she dug her thumbs into the back of his shoulders and massaged. “Do you want to go to bed right now?”

Kotallo blinked and let his hand drop, sitting up a moment before turning onto his stomach and lowering himself into her lap, cheek pressed to her the tops of her thighs. “May I rest here for a few moments?”

“Rest as long as you want, Kotallo, you deserve it.” she smiled, one hand rubbing comforting circles in the middle of his shoulders, the other hand pressed securely, but gently to the nape of his neck. For a few moments, there was silence between them, no other sound but their breathing, then she murmured, “I love you.” Her thumb circled against his skull, and she felt the faintest corner of a smile on her lap in return before his breathing evened out and he went slack against her. She bent down and pressed her lips to the crown of his head. “Sleep well, beloved.”