#writing it was like pulling teeth

[momotonescreaming]

In the scene where Joyce goes over to Scott Clarke's house, he has what looks like a terrarium in his garage, so @unclewaynemunson and I decided he should have a pet snake. And now I have a small fic for it. Clarkson. (2.5k)

Eddie feels his knees creak as he squats down on the dirty floor of the pet store, holding back a grunt as his body strains with the effort. He sounds like Wayne when he pulls himself out of his armchair — it’s an old thing; the fabric soft and worn, the springs creaky, and the filling so deflated it’s easy to just sink into it. Wayne makes the same grunt when he heaves himself out of it, and hunched over on the floor Eddie feels much the same.

He ignores his body’s aching protests, shifts his weight, and contorts himself to better see the bags of cat food that have been crammed all the way at the back of the shelves. The cheap food is always at the bottom here, hidden and hard to reach so you’re more likely to go for the more expensive stuff at eye level.

There was a small colony of stray cats that hung around Forest Hills, and one had decided to make their home underneath the Munson trailer. He used to feed them bits of his dinner — torn off chunks of meat he’d save on his plate for them — until Wayne told him to quit pissing about and eat his damn dinner already.

He can’t just let the cat starve, and if he keeps saving them bits of his own meals to feed them Wayne will keep bugging him about not finishing his food. He didn’t use to be as bad — not since Eddie was a kid — but after everything, with Eddie’s recovering body, the old man worried.

So Eddie found himself on the floor in the aisles of the pet store, trying to do the mental math on which bag of cat biscuits was the better deal. Comparing overall price versus weight of the bag, counting on his fingers until he thinks he’s figured it out. D&D math was way easier than whatever the fuck this is.

Wayne will forgive him, Eddie thinks. His penchant for taking in strays had to come from somewhere. And with the cat living directly underneath them, they’re like, basically roommates. It would be rude to not feed them. Isn’t that what Wayne’s southern hospitality is all about?

Pulling a bag off of the shelf, Eddie tries to hold back another grunt — debating whether it’s easier to just give up and sit on the floor. They have animals in here, they must keep the floor relatively clean right? He manages to get the bag off of the shelf and resting in his arms with only minimal complaining, wallet chain jingling with every movement.

Standing up, his knees do click, and Eddie shakes his legs out as he leaves the cat food aisle, ignoring the way his Reeboks squeak against the tile floor. He turns the corner and finds himself almost face to face with Mr Clarke. Scott? Eddie’s never sure what to call him these days.

In the comfort of their new trailer he can tease Wayne about his boyfriend Scott, but before all that he was just Eddie’s teacher Mr Clarke. And now he’s in this weird middle zone where he’s not sure how personable he can be with the man. Especially not in public. He’s dating his uncle, but that’s not exactly something people can know. Should he call him Mr Clarke to be safe?

Fuck it, Eddie can probably go a conversation without addressing him by name. Maybe. Probably.

Scott looks up from the piece of paper he was engrossed in with a startled oop noise. His shocked expression quickly melts away as soon as he sees who he’s bumped into.

“Eddie! Funny running into you here.” Scott exclaims, tucking his piece of paper into his pants. He looks down at the bag of cat food Eddie’s clutching in arms and furrows his brows with a confused look. “I didn’t know you and Wayne have pets?”

“We don’t,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I feed stray cats and Wayne grumbles about it.”

Scott startles out a laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides with a smile. “Sounds like Wayne.”

Eddie smiles back. It’s nice, seeing that even the mere mention of his uncle will draw a smile out of Scott. He got to see how happy Wayne was every day — the way he’d smile when he’d pick up the phone and realise it was Scott on the other end, the way he always seemed lighter after one of their dates. It was nice to confirm that on the other end Scott was exactly the same.

“I’m hoping that if I just keep feeding them, Wayne will cave and let me keep one.” Eddie adds, shifting the weight of the bag of cat food in his arms.

“I don’t doubt you’ll be able to manage it,” Scott adds, looking at him a little conspiratorially. It’s a dorky move he know Wayne would smile at. “I won’t tell him your plan.”

“Thanks,” Eddie laughs. “But what are you doing here? I imagine you’re not also feeding a small army of stray cats.”

“No, I’m upgrading to a bigger terrarium,” Scott starts, still smiling. “And wanted to see what we have locally before I make the trip to the bigger store in Indy.”

“Terrarium?” Eddie replies, furrowing his brows. Wayne hadn’t mentioned anything like that. And he’s been over to his house many a time, he must have seen it. “You have a lizard or something?”

“Snake actually,” Scott replied happily.

“A snake?” Eddie blurted out before he could even think about holding the words back and pretend to be normal about this. “Mr Clarke, that’s so fucking metal!”

Scott rubs his hand across the back of his neck, slightly awkward and more than a bit flattered. “Thank you. Wayne tells me that’s quite the compliment coming from you.”

It doesn’t surprise him that his Uncle talks about him to his boyfriend, but it was nice to hear. That Wayne thinks about him when Eddie’s not there, that Wayne wants Scott to know more about how Eddie works. That it’s a compliment if Eddie calls something ‘metal’. Something to bridge the gap between two of his favourite people.

Wayne had sat him down one morning, when Eddie was still pyjama clad and bleary from sleep, and talked about him and Scott. It seemed a little like pulling teeth, that Wayne was forcing the words out of his mouth. But he had done it, the pair of them sitting together at the dining table, coffee clutched in their hands, and Wayne had talked about Scott.

That him and Scott were officially together now, and he cared deeply about the man, but he wanted to remind Eddie that he would always come first. He was his boy, and nothing would ever change that. He was his son and he loved him.

It meant a lot, hearing those words that were previously left unspoken. Eddie knew that Wayne loved him, that he took care of him willingly, but Wayne was never one for words. Eddie was, and he remembers the way his heart clenched when Wayne told him.

But he made sure to remind his Uncle that he was allowed to think about himself. What he wants. And if he wanted Scott Clarke, if he wanted to go out with him then that was okay. Eddie wouldn’t hate Wayne for putting himself first for what seemed to be the first time in his life.

He wasn’t sure if Wayne would listen, but that was okay. Eddie had hugged him over the dining table, feeling the corner of it dig into his side as he clutched at the soft fabric of Wayne’s flannel shirt. His uncles hands were rough and calloused, yet a comforting warmth as they rested on Eddie’s back. Neither of them mentioned the teary eyes.

“You can call me Scott, if you’d like,” Scott says, breaking Eddie out of the trance he found himself slipping into. “Mr Clarke feels a bit formal.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure what you— “Eddie starts, before cutting himself off with another shakes of his head. “Never mind. What’s your snakes name?”

“Ada,” Scott replies softly, letting Eddie redirect the conversation. “After Ada Lovelace - the mathematician. A bit nerdy, I know.”

“Nah, I think that’s cool.” Eddie says. “If Wayne ever lets me get a cat I am absolutely naming it after a Lord of the Rings character.”

“Good choice,” Scott laughs. “You’re welcome to come see Ada, if you like.”

“Really?” Eddie asks excitedly, blurting out the words. It wasn’t everyday you got the offer to go see a snake, especially in a town like Hawkins. Eddie always thought snakes and ferrets and lizards and other such exotic pets were more for big city people. Not small town Hawkins. And yet. He felt a bit like a kid again. “Can I?”

“Of course,” Scott replied happily, smiling all the while. “I’d love to show you her. Come over on Wednesday with Wayne.”

Wednesday. Date Night. The one day a week Wayne was guaranteed to trek over to the suburbs to have dinner with Scott. It was slowly becoming a tradition.

Eddie was torn.

On one hand, he really didn’t want to interrupt Wayne’s date night. The man deserves his privacy, his space to love and be loved back. Especially now that the pair were finally on the same page that they were in fact going on dates.

But on the other hand Eddie really wanted to go see the pet snake. It could be nice, to bond with Scott. To spend some time with him and Wayne.

But what if Wayne didn’t want him there? Wanted time alone with just him and Scott. But Scott did invite him personally, so maybe it would be okay? Eddie wasn’t quite sure what his thoughts were doing.

“I’ll ask him,” Eddie eventually says, deciding it’s absolutely not a cop out answer — before excusing himself to go and pay for his cat food.

---

“WAYNE,” Eddie exclaims as he bursts into the trailer. The door slams open, banging against the wall with the force of it. Eddie kicks it shut with another loud bang before continuing, looking over at the armchair his uncle is resting in. “Why didn’t you tell me your boyfriend has a pet snake?”

His Uncle merely raises an eyebrow at him, peering over the top of the newspaper he’d been reading. Wayne is in his comfy home clothes - his worn jeans with the rips at the bottom that he claims are more comfortable than any other pair, the pair of blue fuzzy socks Eddie got him for his last birthday, one of his usual flannels. It’s all very Wayne.

“Well, hello to you too, boy.” Wayne replies, voice steady. He folds up the newspaper — careful to keep his place — and puts it down on the side table next to a steaming mug of coffee. He was using one of his older mugs this time — a chipped white thing that read WORLD’S BEST GRANDMA, another gift Eddie got him years ago.

“Wayne,” Eddie continued, toeing out of his sneakers, still looking over at his uncle on the armchair. “This is very important information I feel I definitely should have been told about.”

He leaves his shoes where they landed after he kicked them off his feet, and shrugs out of his jacket. Wayne continues to watch him, taking a sip of his coffee, and Eddie could see how carefully he was steeling his face as to not smile. “And don’t you dare tell me you didn’t notice the fucking snake tank in the living room, you’ve been over to Scott’s place how many times now?”

“It just didn’t come up,” Wayne eventually said, smiling in that subtle way he did where if you didn’t know him — you could barely tell he was smiling at all. But Eddie knew him, and he could see the sparkle in his eyes, the curl of his lip. Wayne thought this was fucking hilarious. Eddie bit back his own smile as he whirled around.

“Betrayal! From my own Uncle!” Eddie replied, waving his arms around as he talked, playing up the dramatics. It was a bit of normalcy that was easy and familiar to slip into. It was nice. Eddie, being dramatic and making a spectacle of himself — and Wayne, stony faced and entirely too used to it. “I cannot believe you found out your boyfriend has a metal as hell pet, and didn’t tell me.”

“Couldn’t let you start thinkin’ he was cooler than me, now could I,” Wayne joked, watching in amusement as Eddie flopped himself down on the couch.

“He is pretty cool.” Eddie replied, looking over at his Uncle. He sobered slightly, voice quieter and more serious. “He invited me over on Wednesday. To come see.”

“And…” Wayne prompted. The man could always tell when Eddie wasn’t saying something, and he was even better at knowing when to push and when to let it lie. It had taken some time, and a few missteps but they had gotten there. “How you feelin’ ‘bout that?”

“Well I really wanna see a snake,” Eddie starts, voice slow and hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. The threads were starting to come undone, and he picked at it as he talked. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Wayne adds quietly, his voice a comfort. He puts his coffee down, and watches Eddie. “Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“But it’s Wednesday.” Eddie adds, with all the emphasis on the word. He throws his hands up in the air as he sinks further into the couch, melting into the cushions. “It’s date night.”

It’s quiet for a bit. The words sitting heavy in the air between them. Wayne takes his time before speaking.

“Me and Scott are dating yes,” Wayne starts, leaning forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees — holding back the same grunt that Eddie did trying to pull  himself up off the floor. He almost smiles at the thought. “And we have dinner on Wednesday’s, yes.” His voice softens, and Eddie can tell that if they were sitting on the same couch right now, Wayne would be giving him a hearty clap on the shoulder. His palm rough and warm. “But that doesn’t mean you’re always excluded, Eddie.”

Eddie shrugs bashfully, and squirms himself into a sitting position. Wayne seeing straight through to the heart of the issue — he was good at that.

“Scott invited you, so that means he wants you there.” Wayne said, looking intently at Eddie, words soft and carefully spoken. Every word chosen with care. “And I always like spending time with you Eddie. You’re my boy.”

Eddie continues to squirm under Wayne’s knowing gaze, picking at the loose threads on his shirt and running his socked feet along the carpet. It all felt a bit silly, all these muddy and tangled emotions sitting thick in his chest. His voice is quiet as he speaks, and he can feel the vulnerability sitting on his tongue. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Wayne replies, picking himself up off the chair with another grunt and sitting down on the couch beside Eddie. He drapes his arm across the back of it, open should Eddie choose to take the unspoken offer. “You’re coming with me on Wednesday, and you’re seeing that damn snake.”

Eddie laughs, and lets himself fall into Wayne’s side, curling himself up like he was a kid again.

[searchingforshinies]

just realized that i’ve never posted this one on my Official Writing Tumblr-

[anna-pineappel]

Writing really goes one of two ways:

1. Write 3k words in 30 minutes

2. Takes 3 hours to write 3 sentences

There is no in between

[huginsmemory]

I'm dying over here FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKK

[luimagines]

Caught K-I-S-S-I-N-G Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1

Part two will include Legend, Twilight and Warrior.

Content under the cut!

Legend

You sighed, running your hands through Legend’s hair as he rested on your chest. He sighed in return and turned his head to look at you. “Rupee for your thoughts?”

You shrugged, smiling and poking his cheek. “This is nice.”

“Oh... I think so too.” Legend blushes softly and hides his face against you once more. You bury your hands in his hair again. 

The summer breeze passes over the both of you. The grasses around you whisper soft nothing around the two of you with the sun draping a soft blanket over your shoulders.

Legend moves and shift, pushing himself up. He moves up, putting his hands on either side of your face. You poke his cheek again, feeling too relaxed to be bothered. “Yes? Care I help you?”

Legend kisses the tip of your nose. “Why are you so cute?”

You bite your lip, trying to control your beating heart. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If anything, you’re too cute. It shouldn’t be allowed.”

Legend leans down to kiss your lips softly. He whispers, resting on top of you you once more. “Impossible.... I love you.”

“I love you too.” You say sweetly. You bring your arms up and hug, getting comfortable with the change in weight placement. You run your nails over his scalp and Legend all but flops on top of you. You grunt and chuckle “Enjoy that?”

“You don’t ever have to stop... like ever.”

You laugh a little more. “That’s fine by me. I don’t plan on stopping any time soon.” You whisper back, feeling content and warm and safe.

There’s a soft crunch of damp grass and twigs being crushed as someone makes their way over to where you are. You pray they don’t find you. You had only just gotten Legend to relax enough as it is.

“Oh.” Time blinks and coughs. “I was wondering where you both went. My mistake.”

Legend groans and rolls off of you. “What is it, Old Man? Is the Captain having another hissy fit again?”

Time gives him an unimpressed look. “Vet.”

“I’m right and you know it.” Legend points at Time’s face, sitting up. “Are we needed or not?”

Time rolls his eyes. “As a matter of fact, yes. The Knight of Skyloft is looking for you.”

Legend sticks his tongue out and turns to you. He runs his hand down the side of your cheek. “I’ll try to come back.”

“It’s over.” You sigh.

“I can come back!”

“But you never do!” You pout. “It’s ok. Go see what Sky wants. He wouldn’t ask for your help unless he needed it.”

Legend seems a little put off by your words but he eventually stands. He pokes Time, hard, but Time doesn’t seem to feel it. “You owe me time with my lover, Old Man.”

“Noted.”

Twilight

You were both laying against the tree, taking some time for yourselves before the group could catch onto your disappearance. Twilight was actually the laying against the tree. You were laying against Twilight. 

You let out a contented sigh and turn around, rolling around gently on top of your boyfriend so you wouldn’t be digging into him. 

He huffed jokingly and put an arm around your waist. “And where do you think you’re going?”

You giggle and cross your arms over his chest. His eyes open and he greets you with a charming smile. “Hello little darlin’~”

“Hello.” You smile back. “Go back to sleep. I’m just looking at you.”

He snorts and moves his arms to wrap around you better as he adjusts his position against the tree. “Oh? Is that all? You tend to do that a lot. I should start charging.”

You laugh and flick his nose. He scrunches it. “Yeah? And what would you demand? We both know I don’t have rupees.”

“Kisses.” A boyish smile crosses over his face.

“Ah.” You smile wider. “I think I can do that.”

You lean in and peck his gently. “Like that?”

“Hmm...” Twilight grins. “Not enough to pay the toll.”

“The toll.” You echo incredulously. “Dork.”

You kiss him again and his hands come up to hold you gently in place as he kisses you back.

A twig snaps. “SORRY... bad time.”

You pull back and move a little ways away so you can see who just should up. It’s Wild. You didn’t even know his face could get that red. It matches his scars. “Oh, hey champion. Need something?”

Twilight is less amused. “Nope. He just said so.”

You smack your boyfriend. “Link, behave.”

Twilight jokingly sticks his tongue out at you, dissolving into a soft smile once you said his name. “I’m always on my best behavior.”

“Liar.” You hiss and turn back to Wild. The poor guys is scratching the back of his head, walking backwards slowly. “Wild? You ok?”

“Y-yeah... I’ll just... go.. get the Captain instead.” He says awkwardly. “Don’t even worry about it.”

You’re tempted to worry about it but Twilight tightens his grip on you before you can even think about getting up. You look at him for an answer but he doesn’t remotely seem apologetic. In fact, he looks quite smug. You sigh. “Alright, but if you need anything... You know where we are I guess.”

“.....sure...” Wild makes his escape.

You turn your head to scold Twilight but he silences you with a kiss before you can even get the words out. “You love me.”

You huff. “You’re lucky that I do. What if it was important?”

He kisses you again. “Like he said, the Captain can do it.”

You... can’t really argue with that.

Warrior

“Do we have everything?” You looked in the bags you had bought, trying to go over the mental list that you had.

Warrior holds your other hand in his, carrying the majority of the bags in the other “I think we do. You still have the list, right?”

You hum and stop walking. Warrior stops as well and lets go of your hand so that you can rummage through your pocket to dig out the list.

You find the tiny scrap of paper. It’s been folded multiple times and you weren’t the one to write it but you can make out what it says for the most part. You go down every item and do you best to remember if you had come across it earlier.

You more or less can recall the all items on the list with the exception of three, but was because you had already looked and no one was selling them in the area. You nod to yourself, satisfied with your work. “Yup! That’s everything.”

Warrior grins and holds his hand out to you again. You take it without hesitation.

You skip to catch up to him and land by his side. He chuckles and pulls you a little closer. “Cute.”

He pecks your lips.

You grin. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

“I just think you’re cute in general. Is there anything wrong with that?” He challenges playfully.

“I suppose not.”

“Good.” He smirks and kisses you again.

A high pitched piercing whistle can be heard from just beyond you. It last a solid three seconds before it jumps another note higher. It’s an obnoxious wolf whistle.

You both break apart with a slight jolt and look in the direction the sound.

Hyrule stands just a little ways away with a smirk on his face.

You roll your eyes while Warrior meets The Traveler’s grin with a deadpanned expression. You can hear the other hero laugh as Warrior pulls you tighter to his side. “Very funny, Traveler!”

“Thank you!” He calls back, not at all sounding remotely apologetic.

You snort.

Warrior raises an eyebrow before unexpectedly pulling you back in and kissing you deeply. You think you can hear the grocery bags falling to the ground. Warrior’s hand comes up to caress your cheek not too long afterwards.

You melt into his touch, instantly forgetting that Hyrule was even nearby to begin with.

You think you hear him yell out something else but you’re too focused on the man in front of you and the way he tenderly holds you to care. Warrior pulls back with a dazed and borderline sultry look on his face. “There.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t worry about it.” His smile turns devilish. “I quite liked that a lot.”

Part 3

[awearywritersworld]

mona mona!!! in my head, modern bf sukuna likes to bake for reader !! in your au, do you think sukuna ever attempts to cook or bake something for reader that he used to enjoy eating? MWAH much love to you <3

aali aali!!! i'm in tears thinking about this evil man in an apron.... better yet, let's say he uses reader's and it's pink and has little strawberries on it or somethin cute. wah!!!!! he's so adorable.

yessssss tho!! he appreciates it when reader cooks for him and so he'd wanna return the favor. this idea is so sweet!! sending u all the love<333333

you find him in the kitchen one evening, staring at the stove looking exceptionally confused.

"what are you doing?"

"nothing."

"clearly," you tease. "what is it you're trying to do."

"where are you supposed to light the fire?"

"...fire?"

"yes, fire." he says it as if you're the foolish one in the situation. "you know, that thing you use to cook."

"you're going to cook?" you question, rather amused.

he sighs, a dramatic show of irritation. "is that so hard to believe? are you going to help me or not?"

the word help sounds rather strained coming from his lips and he seems to be in an exceptionally grumpy mood, so you suppress a giggle and make your way across the kitchen.

"that's sweet of you," you hum, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

you don't miss the way the small show of affection makes his shoulders relax. reaching out, you twist one of the stove knobs to the right and the burner turns red. "there's no fire. it's just electric."

his brows furrow as he looks between you and the stove. "oh."

it takes him a while to adjust to the electric stove, so he burns things pretty frequently at first. eventually he catches on though and you're quite impressed with his culinary skills.

sometimes you can't help but stare as he prepares food, because he handles the cooking chopsticks so adeptly. there's just something about the way it makes his knuckles and the tendons on his hands more pronounced that you struggle to tear your eyes away from.

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Had some thoughts about mean Raindrop rimming and thigh fucking.

Count: 1.6k

Dew swears he can feel each spurt of Rain's cum splash hot and thick inside him, contrasted by clammy hands on his hips hitching them up higher to keep it all inside. The teeth buried in his shoulder don't budge, even as he pries his sweaty face off the sticky pillowcase so Rain can hear him sob at the feeling. He's tugged backwards as Rain bucks, cramming his cock in deep to fill every millimeter of Dew’s hole as his knot pulses and swells, stretching his rim until it stings and Dew's wailing. A hand leaves his hip to grab his hair, shove him down into the pillow again and Dew’s mouth is filled with the taste of cotton and his own saliva.

“Fuckin’ stay.” Rain snarls, voice raspy with the anger of his rut.  “Stay down until I’m done.”

Dew shakes his head, beats his fists against the mattress even as he awkwardly rocks back to try and take more. The sensitive tip of his short little cock pokes out just far enough to rub against the sheets and if Rain keeps working his hips like that, rubbing right over the best spot to make Dew’s eyes cross, he might cum again. He thinks he moans a warning and just earns a slap on the ass for the effort.

“M not helping you.” Rain warns, choked with buried fury and aggression; rut brings out his temper, the one he buries so deep it's thought as non-existent but Dew revels in bringing it out and beating the brunt of it. “You're here for me to use, I’m not fucking helping you.”

The noise he makes in response is soft and high, drawn out with a wavery end as Rain trails a ticklish line up his ribs to his throat. Closes his fingers just tight enough to warn. Dew gurgles, drools some more as Rain groans deep in his chest, rich with satisfaction as he grinds, trying to get the last few squirts as deep as possible. Dew’s arm feels leaden when he tries to move it, synapses sputtering as his brain floats somewhere high above his body, refusing to connect. And despite his cruelty, Rain notices. Grabs Dew’s hand for him and shoves it underneath. The direct contact to his aching cock is too much and he mewls, wrapping it in a loose fist, jerking all sloppy. Tries bucking for friction but he’s tied to Rain too good, can only manage a waggle of his skinny hips that makes the water ghoul spit out a mean laugh.

“You look ridiculous like this…” He mutters, voice still thick with arousal. Dew whines, focuses on the tip with fast strokes, leaking so steadily it’s as lewd as the sounds they made together. “Go on, go on and cum…Let it feel you cum. It’s not going anywhere, take as long as you need.” A finger rubs at the taut skin of his rim, Rain pulling back so Dew can really feel the stretch, moving down to tickle at his tight little sack and that’s, oh, that’s-

“Rain!” Dew wheezes, jolting and going stiff, milking his orgasm out as he chokes on his own spit, fucking his own hand through it all. He’s wracked with shivers when it’s over, Rain generously adjusting the hand on Dew’s throat higher, stroking his middle and index over Dew’s lips and he gratefully opens, letting them pet at his tongue as he sucks them in a bid to self-soothe through the aftershocks.

“Good…” Rain praises, finally gentle. A cool kiss is pressed to the nape of his neck, Rain draping himself over Dew like a blanket, cooling his feverish skin. Dew makes a pathetic noise of complaint as the cock inside him shifts, rubbing somewhere he can’t handle anymore and Rain murmurs an apology, turning the both of them on their sides and rocking in abortive little thrusts until they can both settle in for a brief rest before the next round.

*

“Want to keep you here forever,” Rain whispers and Dew moans, rousing himself from the twilight place his mind drifted off to. He moves his tongue over the wrinkled pads of Rain’s fingers, pleased somewhere deep down that he didn’t take them out.  The pressure of the knot faded ages ago, Rain’s hip pressed flush to his ass to stay inside as long as he can, even as his cock softens and threatens to slip out. He can’t talk, can’t tell Rain to keep him filled but he tries anyway, only getting shushed for his effort.

“Don’t move.” Rain warns, scraping the tip of a claw over his tongue as he takes that away from Dew as well. Dew’s rolled onto his stomach again, Rain spreading his legs and tugging him close. Dew sighs in anticipation of the press of a cockhead, the shove of Rain getting inside again.

He does not get it.

What he does get is two palms smacked against each cheek.  He gets spread wide for Rain to admire. He gets smacked when he tries to voice a complaint.

“Let me play for a bit.” Rain tells him softly. “You’re so pretty here, Dew.”

The pillow underneath him is not going to last through this heat, Dew thinks as he grabs it, shoves his face in it again and bites so hard a fang pierces the cover. He’s burning up all over as Rain uses both his thumbs to hook into his rim, spread him even wider to see his pink insides, painted white with all the cum dumped inside.

“Can you feel it start to leak?” Rain asks in a tone that tells Dew he isn’t supposed to try and answer.  “I won’t let too much get out.”

He’s pinned to the bedsheets, a live specimen for Rain to dissect and study to his heart’s content. He’s sure if Rain felt like dragging his head up by the hair to look in the mirror, his face and chest would be soaked crimson with blood and the worst part is, the worst part is despite the heavy heat of the blood in his cheeks, he can feel it rush south to his cock.  

“You’re blushing to your shoulders.” Rain remarks, tapping at the knob of his spine. “All that blood in your head but it probably doesn’t take much to get that little dick of yours to plump up, huh?”

“Fuck you.” Dew snarls, muffled by the pillow. Rain just hums, keeps his hole pried open on his thumbs, drumming his fingers on Dew’s skin in a maddening rhythm. Something’s coming. he can feel it in the air and the way Rain tightens his grip. Between his body and the mattress, his stiff little cock twitches, drools out more precum onto the sheets. Rain shifts then, mercifully moving his fingers so he can leverage his grip on Dew to pull him even closer, letting his own thighs fall open so Dew’s cock is sandwiched between them when they wiggle closed again, positioned how Rain likes. Dew groans at the soft skin enclosed around his cock, rolling his hips to get more out of it as Rain spreads him wide, does that same move with his thumbs and really stretches, really sees how loose he left Dew after knotting him twice in a row. It’s the worst thing in the world, having such a vulnerable place so casually spread open and inspected after it took such loving abuse, weathering everything Rain did to him.

“Can you even wink it right now?” he muses and Dew cusses him out, only to break off into a cry as Rain tickles over the puffy skin of his rim and slides a long finger inside, reaching in to touch his sweet spot with unerring precision.

“It’s so easy to find it when you’re this spread out.” Rain remarks, rubbing over his prostate as Dew shakes and sobs. “I can feel how much you like it, you’re getting my thighs all wet.” Each jostle of their bodies rocks Dew’s cock in the silky confines of Rain’s thighs, dampened by sweat and precum. 

“Can I milk the next one out of you like this?” He asks, pressing firmer and Dew sees stars. His legs are shaking, where they try to awkwardly lock at the small of  Rain’s back. “I think I could. We might need lube, I don’t want to risk losing anything I put inside you.”  He abandons the heavy petting to press as deep at he can, swirling his index finger inside Dew like he was his morning coffee.  “Or.” He continues, sounding close like he’s leaning over. Dew tenses, toes curling. “I could just…”

Silence falls. His finger withdraws, leaving him empty and gaping because Rain’s right, he can’t even muster the strength back up to wink it.  Dew quivers, wound tight. Something’s got to give and it isn’t going to be Rain.

Rain exhales, an extended haah hissing in the quiet that dissolves into a chuckle as the first drop of saliva hits Dew’s skin. A wet noise makes Dew shudder, the sound of Rain’s tongue extending out of its glamour. He can picture it in the air, flicking like a serpent’s, far thicker and shining damp in the low light of the room.  A splatter of drops hit next, rolling to fall into his hole, join the cum in a lewd mix as Rain drools on him, crudely shoving two fingers inside to target Dew’s weak spot again, fingerfucking him at pace that’s downright mean as he squeezes his thighs for Dew’s poor cock.

“Let me know when you’re close.” Rain says to Dew as he moans, going limp. “Something else wants to feel you cum on it too.”

Dew closes his eyes in defeat as Rain bends over again, licking a hot stripe over the silvery scars of his gills and chuckles low directly in his ear, full of victory.

[catcorsair]

How is a man to foresee what the Fates have in store for him? How can he predict when his world is to change? Of ever abandoning that lonely bachelor's existence to which I had long-ago grown accustomed, I harbored not a single hope—and then, as if by one thoughtless snip of a shear, I discovered myself no longer a bachelor. Sixty years I had spent in lack of the honest company of a woman and suddenly she was everywhere, in every thought, every action, every desire: I could see nothing past Sophia. Thus the warnings went unheeded, only spiders in dark corners, darting out where they cannot be seen, secrets concealing themselves in the shapes of other things; rarely do those Sisters cut their lines in absolutes. It is the slow unraveling of a thread by which the red strings shorten. But heat makes men mad, and summer is a mad season; despite my attempts to ignore them, the ghosts of Erik’s unsavory history crept up with the rising temperatures. Such specters, I have found, are not so easy to put to rest. The attempt to do so comes too late.

Like Pulling Teeth: Part Six

Read on AO3 HERE

18+ / Very Explicit / EC, EOC, E++ / 50K

Pre to post-Leroux canon. General tags: Gothic, Horror, Drama, Romance, Historical Fiction.

*(edited) cover art by Zhao Dalu

Enjoy!

Please Comment / Review :)

[punkstylerecovery]

I think it's very interesting the punishments certain "parents" view as harmless/a replacement for violence. It's always things done against their children's consent and its not even always things that are non-violent. Like spanking or washing kids' mouths out with soap.

I feel like if you're coming from the mindset of just "punishing" your kid, you're always fucking up but also, if what you're doing completely violates your kids' consent, it's also fucked up.

One of the most important things to teach kids IS consent and showing them its okay for specific authority figures to violate it "as punishment" is against pretty much all of Consent 101. And it's very clear that parents who believe in "punishments" like that don't understand or aren't teaching actual consent to their children.

And I think the lack of consent is part of why things like that aren't actually harmless. Like clearly it's harmful to be hitting your kids and/or making them eat soap and/or locking them in their rooms period but also if you're spanking your kid, marks fade and if you're washing your kids' mouths out with soap, eventually the soap is gone but they're still left with the knowledge certain people with more power than them are allowed to manhandle them against their will.

That certain people are 'allowed' to hit you in certain places and they're allowed to force you to eat things that aren't even supposed to be eaten. Like, yeah, you've taught your kid something and that something is that people with more power than them have more right to make decisions about their body than they do.

That doesn't sound harmless to me and it definitely doesn't sound like "a replacement" for violence.

[sluckythewizard]

Keep calm, and drink soda

[CW for blood and gore and vomit] takes place a day or two after emizel was sired. just two boys adjusting to a shift in their daily norms. would YOU drink your homies blood? still not used to writing fanfic so any and all advice IS appreciated. i hope u enjoy.

There were very few things that Soda enjoyed more than well, drinking soda. It was a hobby, an interest, a comfort. And by extension there were very few errands that Soda would look forward to more than the occasional soda run.

The gas station closest to the Demons hideout had stopped selling Faygo entirely about a month or two ago, and it was near impossible to find it anywhere else. The closest place was now this janky little Shell gas station, lovingly titled the Shady Shell, that thankfully sold more flavors than any of the other ones ever did.

It made the hour and a half walk here entirely worth it. Even if this side of town made his skin crawl. Normally he would ask someone to accompany him on this daring little quest, but everyone at the hide out tonight just seemed too tired, too preoccupied, too uninterested.

He knew not everyone really got the soda thing, but they were accepting of it for the most part. Soda is something that, clearly, Soda really loves, but he knew not everyone else was into it.

Which was fine, of course. They didn't need to get it. But, still, sometimes Soda found himself wondering how much of it was a bit, and how much was him.

Emizel gets it perfectly though. He would've been the first person Soda would ask to go on this soda run with him, but, well. He's been preoccupied too, with the whole vampire thing.

It's been a bit more than a day since Soda had last seen his close comrade. For a friend that he saw just about everyday, going without him this long left him feeling a little emptier.

That was fine, though. Emizel had shit he was working out, he had things he needed to do. It's not like he could go out in the day anymore, so of course Soda wouldn't be seeing him at all the usual times.

It was a lot of weird and heavy magical stuff, it made Soda think about those superhero shows. Where the hero needs to keep his identity hidden from everyone. Family especially. He knows how much of a piece of shit Emizels dad is, so he hoped that Emizels home life wasn't stirred up all stupid-like over this.

He hasn't told anyone else, about what happened that night. For the last 2 days, Soda would spend time with close friends and not let them know a thing about what happened to Emizel so, so recently. Why he's so suddenly absent, so distant, so.. off…

'Maybe his dad's just giving him a hard time', he would say, hoping to smother their questions. The less questions they ask, the better. At least until this vampire stuff gets figured out a bit more. Should Emizel wear a disguise when he goes out at night now? Just like a superhero? What kind of hero outfit would Emizel have anyways? Soda figured it would be something really cool.

If anyone could figure out a way to balance all this vampire stuff, and all the leaderly responsibilities that come with being the biggest dog in the Demons, it was Emizel for sure. That guy is so seriously cool.

He was sure this rough patch would even out, and they would weather the next rough patch together no problem. There was really nothing to worry about! All Soda has to do is stay positive, and well, drink soda.

As Soda walks quietly down the crumbling sidewalks of this dreary hive of strip malls and shops, he goes to pull his backpack around to his chest, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. Which was a little annoying, considering the tab of his zipper had fallen off forever ago. He really needed to get around to fixing this damn thing. Maybe another ziptie and a soda tab will do the trick.

Humid air hangs heavy in the night, the sidewalks still somewhat warm after a hotter day. The diesel-soaked air provided enough warmth on its own that Soda had considered taking his jacket off a few times, only for the occasional, annoyingly sharp and chilly breeze to brush by, reminding him to keep the thing on.

Tripping only once and only slightly on an uneven sidewalk, Soda manages to pull a bottle of Faygo from his backpack, a smile glowing on his face. Another short fight with the zipper seals up the bag, and he slings it over his shoulder again.

His flavor of choice tonight was actually the Red Pop, the tried and true, the absolute classic, one of the best Faygo flavors for sure.

But, this kind wasn't actually his favorite. Normally he would stock up on the cotton candy ones, but something about the last few days had him craving the red stuff.

Securing his backpack all the way, he goes to crack open the bottle. Just the clack and the hisssss of the fizzy drink were enough to lift his mood.

Not that his mood needed lifting or anything. Of course. Sure he missed his friend and sure he found himself wondering what he’s doing and where he is and if he's okay. Maybe sometimes he found himself wishing they talked about funeral plans more.

Emizel talked up all sorts of crazy funeral ideas for himself, usually involving the use of his dead body as an inconvenience for others. Outlandish and hilarious ideas, like filling it with explosives and tossing it into a busy road. But what would he want seriously? What would Soda ever do if he just stopped showing up one day?

He had to swallow down all these unnecessary anxieties, so he took a swig of his soda. Sweet, bubbly, comforting. He felt better already! Just stay positive, and drink soda..

It was a lovely night out, and he didn't come all this way planning on letting it go to waste. There was a place he was heading towards, a particular alleyway in this particular place that led off to a particularly tall concrete ledge.

 It was a run-down little space, littered with trash and shitty trees and those bushes with just too many goddamn ants in them. But the view was fairly nice, overlooking a massive deformed intersection. A particularly stupid one, at that; about 3 times a week you could witness a gnarly crash at this spot. Soda always heard people saying that LA folks can't drive, but he was just starting to figure that maybe no one can drive.

That was the place he really wanted to go to enjoy this soda, and he wasn't too far off from it. Just a few more blocks, and he would be there.

Oh wait, didn't he still have a bag of chips in this backpack somewhere? Hell yeah, he couldn't wait to sit down and relax with a good soda, a good snack, and a good view of the night.

Living as a Demon had its fair share of stresses. He felt lucky to have this life, but he knew well that it could be better. That not everyone has to worry about survival the way they do. That not everyone gets injured on the regular and not everyone has to worry about being sick and never getting better.

Living is hard. But it's finding the small moments of joy that make it all worth it. Dying would be scarier anyway. He didn't want to die, and he felt glad to feel so confident in that nowadays.

The sudden   THUNK  of something slamming into the ground just a block away from him, jolts him out of his thoughts, all his gears screeching to a halt as he freezes in place. What the fuck was that?

It looked like a person, laying flat on the ground with only their head and shoulders peeking out of the alleyway ahead. Fuck. He hated this side of town..

Anxiety churns in his stomach as he debates just turning around, but the way the victim reaches an arm out, attempting to crawl away; it made his heart ache aswell. he's no goddamn fighter, but he couldn't just leave someone like th-

The body is suddenly yanked back into the alley, snatched at a startling speed. It didn't feel exactly real, how could something vanish so fast? It reminded Soda of something from a horror movie, or whatever. What the fuck was that??

His foot takes a step forward, before the rest of his body notices its rebellion and locks down again. Was he seriously going to investigate that? He could just walk away and take another alley. But that was the one he was supposed to turn down! All the other alleys are either walled off or gated off and he wasn't about to go climbing over a damn wire gate. His soda would get too shaken up! Fuck!

Another foot goes in for another step forward. He's gotta get the fuck out of here. He could hear more commotion in the alleyway, a scuffle, a skirmish. He could hear someone cursing through a choked breath. A loud and nauseating crack echoes out from the alley, and yet, Soda takes another step forward.

This was stupid, he shouldn't be getting tangled up in someone else's business. What if something happened to all this soda?

Thankfully, it was that thought that actually got him to pause, and take in a deep breath. It wasn't worth it, maybe he should head straight home.

Atleast, that was the thought his heart and mind were about to agree on, until a particularly familiar grroowwwwlll bleeds out from the alley.

Emizel?

All reason immediately evaporates as Soda makes that connection in his head, stepping right up to the corner of the brick walls, and peering around to investigate.

There was a body on the floor, face down in a puddle of red, head split open in a way that reminded Soda of a smashed watermelon.

But standing over that body, was the familiar, blackened coat, and short blonde hair, of Sodas closest comrade, Emizel.

Despite the carnage on the floor, Soda couldn't help the smile that lights up his face. That was Emizel! That was his boy!

But before he could get over just how happy he felt to see his best friend, something else caught his eye. Movement, behind the dumpster closest to the vampire boy. A person, rising out from the shadows with a glinting baseball bat clutched fiercely in their hands.

"Oh fuck, look out!" Soda speaks up, and Emizels gaze immediately clicks over to him, silencing Soda with just that startlingly red stare.

He had forgotten just how uneasy those red eyes made him..

The attacker, silent and professional, rushes up behind Emizel and CRACKS the metal bat downwards onto his blonde head, the sound ringing out like a  gun shot  in that dark little alleyway.

Soda cringes from just the sound of the impact, but was amazed to find that the bat had warped under the force of it!

The attacker hardly had a chance to process his mangled weapon before Emizel whips around to retaliate.

It looked like he had just swung his hand at his opponent, so the way a shower of red spills outward from the slash, catches Soda completely off guard. The monster boy had cleaved an excruciatingly massive gash up from the attackers right hip, to his left shoulder, the slice spewing with scarlet.

 It wasn't until Emizel had pulled back his arm, that Soda could process the way it had darkened with more than just blood, distorted into an odd, spear-like shape.

The victim hardly had a chance to yelp before that blade swoops up into his chest at the speed of a snapping bear trap, plunging through meat and bone with disturbing ease, and forcing blood and viscera to erupt outwards. The red patters down onto the concrete behind, the sound similar to rain...

With another low, inhuman snarl, Emizel brings the twitching, dying body closer, until that signature squish of teeth sinking into fresh meat bleeds outward into the space.

What a disgusting sound, Sodas first instinct was to simply avert his eyes, but as the sound persists, he resolves that he has to do something.

He finally steps out into the alley, and speaks.

"Hey ma-"

He could hardly get two words out before Emizel suddenly rips its teeth away from its victims throat, tearing out a hefty chunk of jellied meat, and slamming the remaining fodder onto the concrete floor.

It immediately whips around to stare down Soda, red eyes glowing with reflected light, and with hardly a chance to process the moment-

-It's immediately right infront of Soda.

A gasp lurches from Soda's lungs as he almost stumbles back in shock. How was Emizel so fucking fast?

Other than that single step back, Soda was frozen in shock, his tongue buzzing with the physical pain of such a startling jolt. 'White boy jumpscare' is something that came to mind, but while usually such a thought would evoke some sort of laugh from Soda, this time it offered no such comfort. Okay maybe it did a little.

Emizels snarling face was only inches away from Sodas. Its eyes were wild and unnatural, teeth menacingly sharp and reddened with so much fucking blood. It was everywhere, coating most of his face, smothering his shirt and his coat, and absolutely choking the air with its thick, metallic stench.

Soda would gag if he felt he was safe to even move. He felt like he was locking eyes with that of a creature, something he would only ever see in his nightmares or in scary movies. But it was real. Those monsters are real. And his best friend is one of those monsters. His bestest friend in the world...

His mind was skewered on that unnatural glare, completely frozen with anxiety. Stalling too hard to come to a proper conclusion, Soda instead falls back onto what Soda does best.

"H-hey man... You want some soda?"

He very gently presses the opened bottle of Faygo into Emizels chest.

The two boys stand there for a moment, locked in a tense, silent pause, before the monster boy finally peels its gaze down to the bottle.

It's quiet, for a few seconds, the gears turning in its head. Until the monster blinks, and its eyes clear, and Emizel processes the sight of the bottle.

"Oh, fuck yeah dude, is that the Candy Apple Faygo? Man, that stuffs my favorite!" Emizel smiles as he goes to accept the bottle, and immediately takes a massive swig.

Soda tries to disregard the way his hands were still shaking. "Uh, n-nah man, its just Red Po-"

The words are bit off as Emizel suddenly retches, a heavy flood of red blood and red Faygo spewing out onto Soda, as the vampire boys body entirely rejects the fizzy drink.

The shock of getting fucking projectile vomited on had snapped Soda out of whatever daze he was just in, and it seemed to snap Emizel out of it too. Soda backs up with a groan, looking down at all the blood and bile and pop on his shirt and coat.

"Ohhh fuck dude, what the hell??" He cringes, not even wanting to try smearing any of it off with his hand.

Emizel was coughing, still holding out the Faygo bottle, but hunched over as his body dared to convulse again.

"Ohhhhhh fuck, ohhooohhh fuuuuucckkk" he grumbles towards the floor "Fuuuck I’m sorry dude, I don't know what fuckin- oohhhgg shit,” He coughs and groans,  offering the bottle back to Soda.

Soda was still staring at his messied coat with a displeased grimace, but looking up to meet Emizels eyes...

There was a guilt on Emizels face that Soda didn't see too often, and it helped wash away that irritation he felt. This sucked, but Emizel was probably going through a lot more. 

“It’s, uhm.. don't, don't worry about it, man..” Soda decides to reassure him, offering a sympathetic smile, and a hand on Emizels shoulder, as his comrade spits out the remaining blood and bile.

"Fuckin hell… I’m uh, I'm sorry about your shirt, man."

"What? Nahh it's okay man, don’t worry about it." Soda shrugs, taking the Faygo bottle back. "I mean, are you okay man? That uh.. looked like a pretty crazy fight."

Emizel was rubbing his eyes, smearing more blood across his face as he seems to be collecting himself. he spares a glance back at the carnage behind him.  

"Ah.. yeah.. I thought I uh.. I thought I saw that one fucker from uh. That one night. Yknow, the one that uh.." He snaps his fingers, as if trying to summon back the memory. "Vampire bitch... Anyway after that I just kind of, uh.."

He seems to space out again as he looks around. It was as if he was just woken up from a deep sleep, like he was certain he had just known what he was doing, but found the dream escaping him. "I guess I just.. went crazy on these guys. I dunno, they're Fangs anyways." he finally shrugs it all off, but Soda still felt unsatisfied by the answer.

"Oh.. huh…” is the only response he manages to scrounge together. Sure they were Fangs, but did they really deserve.. all that? It just seemed a bit brutal, even by Emizels standards.

He found his eyes wandering over to the split-open head. It was mostly red and bloody, but even in the dark, he could still make out some of the finer details of the gray jelly seeping from the gash. A human brain. He wondered if his own brain looked the same on the inside..

“So what are you doing out here, man?” Emizels question helps Soda pull his eyes away from the gore, instead looking over to his bloodied comrade.

Emizel looked messy and even exhausted, but his drowsy gaze was focused on Soda with a worried expression. 

“Oh, uh, yknow, just a soda run. Decided I would stock up on some Faygo from the Shady Shell.” Soda shrugs, his eyes flickering down to the opened Faygo in his hand. The top was covered in regurgitated blood. unnaturally blackened blood…

“Are you.. okay, by the way? Other than the whole..” Soda gestures vaguely at the gruesome crime scene. “Are you hurt?”

The question has Emizel pausing to consider. He straightens his back and stretches his arms, as if trying to detect any pain from any possible injury. Nothing seemed to be bothering him though, and after a second, he decides to shrug.

“Nah, I'm all good.”

“Oh.. That's good, I uh…” Soda found himself looking over Emizel aswell, searching for any wounds the monster boy might be simply disregarding, as he often does.

There was a fairly gnarly gash on his shin..

“Hey uh, I was actually gonna go hang out by the ledge down that way. Yknow, the one with the funny intersection.” Soda says, gesturing off towards where he intended to go. “Wanna come with?”

Emizel looks back that way, before turning back to Soda with a big smile on his face. 

“Oh hell yeah I do! I love the funny intersection!” he starts to walk down the alley, about to step over the body of the broken skull, when Soda speaks up.

“Uh, hey, shouldn't we uh.. Do something about the.. uh..” He waves a hand over towards the bodies, trying not to look directly at them. 

Emizel spares the corpses an inconvenienced glance, and a sigh, but ultimately shrugs them off. “Ehhh I'll just dump 'em in a dumpster again.. That's what I've been doing anyway.”

“And you're not worried about, like, anyone finding them?”

Soda anxiously watches on as Emizel paces around the body with the torn-out throat, licking the blood from his own mouth. Was his tongue always that long and pointed? That's neat, and normally Soda would point it out, but he was a bit.. preoccupied right now 

“Nahh not really. I haven't had anyone bother me at least.. Anyone been bothering you?” Emizels eyes finally flick back over to Soda. 

“Nah, I'd say things are actually more lax than usual. Anything that would end up being trouble’s been pretty much crushe- er, killed- destr- stamped out, by uh, by you.” Sods was cringing with every attempt to find a word that didn’t make his stomach turn, but Emizel didn’t seem to notice or mind.

Emizels eyes were currently a bit more focused on the body laying before him. He had that weird look on his face again… 

“Uhh, yeah, yeah that's good that uh, no troubles coming back to you guys…”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two as Emizel stares at this corpse, and Soda was about to open his mouth to fill the silence, but Emizel speaks up instead.

“Hey uh, why don’t you go ahead of me? I’ll uh, I'll meet you at the place.” He suggests, pointing vaguely off down the alley, but not removing his eyes from the kill. 

Soda certainly hesitates, his eyes narrowing before he even forms a thought. He opens his mouth to object, but then his eyes flicker back towards the body.

“Are you gonna eat this one too?”

The question leaves Sodas mouth as soon as it comes to mind.

Emizel pauses, and considers, before giving a shrug. “I don't see why not. Perfectly good blood.” He reaches down to grab his kill by the shirt, the one with the split open head. As the corpse rises from the concrete, gray matter drips and sloughs from the crack in its skull. Once again, Soda felt the need to look away, and yet his stupid eyes remained fixated on the horrendous sight. Emizel looks over the spilling brain of his meal, licking his lips curiously. “Dude, what do you think would happen if I ate his brain?” Emizel asks, looking back over to Soda with a wild, bloodied smile. Something about that look made Soda shiver, but.. Not really in a bad way… “Uh, I.. Dunno…. Eating a persons brain is how you get like, mad cow disease right? But you might also be immune to disease.. Are you immune to disease?” “Uhhh, I don't know yet actually. I'm still figuring out how much of this is like video games,” Emizel says, rubbing the back of his head as he idly sways the body of his kill around, watching the blood and gore drip and drop from its broken head. “Eh, I'll chance it later.” Without another word or thought, Emizel goes to sink his teeth into the shoulder of his kill, a pleased growl radiating from him as the blood gushes around the bite. More fresh blood upon less fresh blood upon old blood upon older blood. Just so much fucking blood. Soda thought he was used to seeing blood, but this… this was just egregious. Was he really starting to get used to this? It’s just blood after all, and it’s not from his comrades, so it's… fine… He finally manages to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight of Emizel feeding, but his eyes instead wander down to the blood on his own shirt. Emizels blood was strange, darker than usual, and carrying a different scent. Something about the smell of his blood was more savory, more appealing than the standard metallic miasm. His shirt was smothered in it, his jacket was coated in it, and his opened bottle of Faygo was also splattered with the deep red ichor. Ink swirls within the bottle of red fizzy, spreading out into all sorts of odd patterns. It was a lot of blood. He was certain a lot of it came from however many people Emizels been feeding on. With how much hes been terrorizing the Fangs in just the last few days, and with how nonchalantly he feasts on his kills, who knows how much blood hes actually ingested… Soda swirls the bottle, watching the blood inside thin out into strands, dancing within the bubbly soda as they gradually dissipate, fully assimilating into the drink. A bad idea chews at the back of his head… The sound of ripping flesh once again knocks at Sodas head. He doesn’t look up this time, but he knew Emizel was just playing with his food again..  Did blood taste good to a vampire? Did some blood taste better than others? What did Sodas blood taste like? What did Emizels blood taste like? There's a visceral snap of something among the chewing and ripping, very clearly a bone or a joint snapping out of place. It made Soda shiver a little. When did his heart start pounding? There's an animal standing only 8 feet away from him, feeding on its kill. That animal is a person, and so is its kill. He wanted to know what vampire blood tasted like, but he already knew what human blood tasted like. It hung so densely in the air, he could feel it forming a vile film over his tongue. The blood of a person just like him. Eaten by an animal that eats people.  All this stress was no good. This bile rising to his throat was no good. This creeping anxiety was no good. He's friends with an animal that eats people. Would it eat him? This weird feeling was no good. Maybe it will never eat him. But it needs to eat people. This worry was no good. He needed to wash this awful taste from his mouth, replace it with something sweeter. He needed to keep his head clear enough to be there for Emizel when he needed to be. He needed to hold a light to these shadows. And he needed to stay positive, and drink soda. He takes a swig of the open Faygo bottle.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

New Fic: time likes pulling my teeth

HELLO! The first half of my time loop fic is out now!

Summary:

Buck is enjoying the last day of a family vacation with Eddie and Christopher. Over and over and over again. And Eddie seems determined to keep it that way.

Snippet:

When Buck stands, stretching his arms above his head, he is caught off guard by the sight of an old analog clock on the wall. It looks like it’s from the 50s or 60s at least. Not at all fitting with the otherwise modern design of the hotel room. And it’s not even telling the right time. It reads 12:02. As if it’s just after midnight. Buck turns to look at the digital clock. 8:02 AM. Huh. 

“That’s weird, right?” Buck asks. 

“What?” Eddie replies. 

“The clock.”

“The clock?”

“The clock on the wall,” Buck clarifies. “I didn’t notice it yesterday, I guess. Why have an old ass clock when the digital one is right there? It’s not even accurate.”

“Decor?” Eddie suggests. 

“Mm, but it doesn’t really match,” Buck responds. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I think you might be too worried about a clock, Buck.”

---

Tagging:

@epicbuddieficrecs @theotherbuckley @sevenweeksofunrepression @slowlyfoggydestiny @goldenbcnes

@diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @aquamarineglitter @loserdiaz @steadfastsaturnsrings

@your-catfish-friend @incorrect9-1-1 @hawaiianlove808 @babytrapperdiaz @watchyourbuck

@lyricfulloflight @tizniz @aroeddiediaz @estheticpotaeto @buckleybabyblues

@buddieswhvre @l0v3t0hat3y0u @mage8 @theautumnbard @lightningmcqueer8

@kultiras

As always, let me know if you'd like to be added to my writing updates tags :)

[awyeahitssam]

A cold male voice rang across the courtroom. 

“You’re late.” 

Harry considered his response as he stepped farther into the room, head tipping up to take in the fifty some-odd witches and wizards that made up the Wizengamot. They were all watching him keenly, some with open derision and others with curiosity. His head pulsed faintly at the weight of the attention on him, their emotions eagerly battering his Occlumency shields. Harry worked to think through the sensation even as he reinforced his mental defences. He could already tell by the sweat beading on his back that this would be a trying experience. The fact that this section of the Ministry was deep enough to obstruct the weight of all other presences did not make up for the fact that he was in front of fifty people rather than the expected four to six. He hasn't practised for this, has had no means to. 

Fudge sat in the middle of the first row, and the smugness he and the witch to his right were emanating made it rather easy to pinpoint who had been responsible for the sudden change in the time of his trial. 

"Am I?" Harry asked, and the jolt of astonishment, annoyance and fury that swept through various members of the court almost had him gritting his teeth. Harry imagined that Fudge's anger and embarrassment would have been obvious to him even without his abilities. The man had turned faintly red at the question, face pinching. 

"You were sent notice of the change in time this morning," the Minister barked out. "It is not the Wizengamot's fault you are late. Now sit down."

Harry allowed his eyebrow to quirk, slow and incredulous. This version of Cornelius Fudge was far different from the one he had met two years ago.

“While I would hardly blame the Wizengamot as a whole, it sounds as if whoever is charged with correspondence is at fault. Per a standing law written in 1839, all changes in time and venue must be completed in excess of twenty four hours prior to a trial's start time. Said correspondence must have been confirmed as seen by the person or persons on trial and their representatives at least sixteen hours before the scheduled start time.”

“That is for an official trial,” the Minister returned, voice sharp despite the fluster and anxiety Harry could sense beneath it. 

“Apologies for my presumption, then,” Harry said dryly. “I assumed that any trial which our entire governance presided over would be considered official.”

“Besides which, there is no such specificity to that law,” A broad, square-jawed witch to the left of Fudge said, giving the Minister a quelling look. 

The Minister did not respond to the implied reprimand, instead puffing himself up a bit and saying, “Now that we’re all here, let’s begin. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry was surprised to see Percy Weasley, horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he stared down at a piece of parchment, quill poised to write. Unlike most everyone else in the room, his attention did not seem to find sole focus on Harry. Harry didn’t expend any effort to attempt to see how Percy felt about the entire situation, his focus drawn to an approaching presence. It was a whirlwind of concern, faint annoyance, and a dash of enjoyment. 

“Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,” said Fudge in a ringing voice, emphasising the word hearing, and Percy began taking notes at once, “into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.”

Fudge continued on, listing interrogators, and Harry’s attention was distracted from Fudge’s words, the approaching presence, and his Occlumency shields by a jolt of glee and greed. His gaze flickered up to meet the icy grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy. The realisation dawns quickly that the Dursleys address was now a matter of public record. Harry had already decided he wouldn't go back, and this only provided more incentive. 

He hesitates around the thought of whether the Dursleys will be targeted. Whether he should warn somebody that they need to be moved. Whether he cares enough to, after so many years of their oppressive hatred.

Behind him, the door presses open. 

“—Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” Dumbledore’s voice isn’t projected like Fudge’s, but there is no doubt that he is heard. The press of the Wizengamot’s emotions is momentarily overwhelming: annoyance, bemusement, fear, anger, respect, deference, joy… Harry’s own anger is hardly a blip amongst the cacophony. 

When he strides into Harry’s view Dumbledore's expression is serene, but Harry can feel his spiteful enjoyment at the reception his disruption has created. He looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his crooked nose. 

A few of the Wizengamot members muttered to one another, but most were quiet, eyes locked on Dumbledore. 

While Harry’s presence had invoked interest and curiosity, the reactions to Dumbledore were far more substantive. Perhaps it was that the Headmaster had interacted with all of these people personally, socially, and they knew him by more than reputation. They had personal feelings and opinions fully developed about Dumbledore, while Harry was still, largely, an unknown. 

“Ah,” said Fudge, thoroughly disconcerted and flustered by Dumbledore’s presence. “Dumbledore. Yes. You—er—got our—er—message that the time and—er—place of the hearing had been changed, then?” 

“I must have missed it,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.”

It was a lie, Harry recognized, and one the Headmaster took a good deal of amusement in stating. Some of Dumbledore’s lingering frustration seemed to melt the longer he watched Fudge, the genial cast to his face a farce. He took joy in Fudge being wrong-footed, and the longer he fumbled, the more Dumbledore’s contentment with the situation grew. 

“Yes—well—I suppose we’ll need another chair—I—Weasley, could you—?” 

“Not to worry, not to worry,” said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together, and looked at Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. 

Harry had never thought of Dumbledore as anything approaching petty before, and perhaps he typically was not, but there was no denying that he was fond of making Fudge feel foolish. Well, his name had been dragged through the Prophet by the Minister's word; Harry couldn’t be surprised by a grudge. Seemingly omniscient or not, Dumbledore was only human. 

The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down. 

“Yes,” said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. “Well, then. So. The charges. Yes.” He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read, “The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy.”

“You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment. 

“Yes,” Harry agreed, not looking at Malfoy this time. 

“You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?” 

“Yes, but—” 

“And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?” interrupted Fudge. Harry felt his vindictive pleasure at cutting him off—even with Dumbledore here, he was finding his footing—but as Harry failed to answer this question, his irritation rose to overtake it.

“You are expected to answer,” the witch to the left of Fudge said, raising a brow at him. She had been the same woman to defend the law he had parrotted. 

Harry lets his silence linger for a moment, feeling the anticipation of the Wizengamot build, before returning, “Will I be allowed to do so in full?” 

His voice is perfectly respectful, but Fudge’s outrage still blooms. Dumbledore, a glance away, feels of surprise-concern-suspicion, and it makes the hairs on Harry’s nape stand at attention. 

“Yes,” the woman gave the Minister yet another quelling look, “of course you will.” 

“Thank you. To your last question, Minister, I did receive an official warning three years ago. The warning was,” it took a moment for Harry to recall the right term, said by three other representatives in three other trials, but the momentary pause has the interesting effect of focusing attention on him all the more, “improperly dispersed. The magic that triggered it came from a visiting House Elf. Being the only known magical in Little Whinging and without the supervision of an adult witch or wizard, the charms used to enforce the Statute of Secrecy were triggered. If anybody would like to see a memory of the event in question, I would be more than happy to provide it, assuming there is a pensive available.”

“There is no pensive,” a man with dark hair and an austere demeanour said, then emphasised again, “This is no trial.” 

“Isn’t it?” Harry asked, eyebrows raising as he glanced tellingly down at the chair in which he sat, wrapped in chains. “Very well.”

“Either way, it is rather late to be blaming your troubled past on elf magic,” Fudge dismissed, and let out a short laugh, as if he expected others to join him in it. At his side, the woman still cloaked in shadows let out a titter. “A unique and unprecedented excuse, as, I suppose, we should have expected from a young man trying to squirm out of trouble.” 

It is Fudge’s tone, a mix of condescension and chiding, even as his emotions are anything but, that does it. Behind his Occlumency and building headache, Harry realises that he's angry. He is disgruntled, disgusted and dissatisfied. He had accessed the public records available, he had pulled transcripts from previous underage trials, and this—this is a farce. 

This is Fudge, afraid to believe that Lord Voldemort is alive and smearing Harry’s name because he can. Because Harry has nobody looking out for him, and he’s been fair game since nobody stepped in the first time Rita did it. Beside him, Dumbledore is perfectly silent.

Harry is a symbol, but he's also fifteen, and it's an odd thought that reeks of his Godfather. 

“You're fifteen, pup,” Sirius had insisted mere days ago, like it meant something, like it mattered. “You deserve the chance to be a boy without all of this added pressure.”

The glimmer in his eyes had been just as telling as the mingled pain-grief-exhaustion-despair. He was speaking from experience, Harry had thought, throat tight. It made Harry want to fight for his Godfather, for the boy that he once was. Where, then, was that impulse to fight for himself?

“You matter, Harry. What you want matters.”

Harry does not want to play their games, though he has already begun to. He does not want to use the information he's researched, as he sits in a chair with chains, and struggles through polite phrasings. He won't let his research go to waste, though. He knows something for once, and he'll use that knowledge. 

The look he levels to Fudge, then, is faux-concerned. “I understand you've had no reason to research this, Minister,” he says, voice kind in a way that is mockery and can not be called such, “but I take the threat of having my wand snapped very seriously. According to public records, the Statute of Secrecy charms have been proven defective in the exact scenario I've discussed once before, in the case of Richard Pike, who’s classmate had an elf deliver things on multiple occasions until he was brought between a five-panel jury to plead his case.”

“Mind you, the Ministry hadn't been running a campaign to discredit Richard Pike,” Harry added casually. The reaction from a simple remark didn't disappoint; Fudge spluttered, the woman beside him leaned out of the shadows, revealing an overwhelmingly pink ensemble, and someone burst out, “Now see here, young man—!” before being abruptly silenced. “He was fifteen, too, but he actually had adults willing to advocate on his behalf.”

Dumbledore’s concern is growing beside him, but Harry doesn't turn to meet the man's eyes, and Dumbledore does not speak out, despite Harry’s accusation.

Harry’s rage is bubbling at the back of his throat, and he wants to shout, but he had learned about the ineffectiveness of screaming his ire long ago. That lesson had only been reinforced after his outburst at Ron and Hermione, and he is more than willing to try something else now. 

He takes a moment to consider his approach, and then goes with something that feels natural, a release that will keep his shouts in check; Harry laughs.

“Something funny, Mr. Potter?” A cold voice comes. 

“Not really, Something is ridiculous, though, and I’m sure you’d all rather I laugh than deal with a moody teenager's temper tantrum.” He lets his smile go a little sharper, and feels the good his reminder does. There is a particularly keen sense of culpability from a woman he faintly recognizes from his research; Head of the Panel for Underaged Sourcery, Irena Covey. Is the guilt for allowing this to spiral so out of hand, into a room meant for criminal proceedings, or something else?

“I have before me the entire government of magical Britain, wasting their time at a hearing for underaged magic which is typically handled by an empaneled jury of four. We are in the bowels of the Ministry, in a room that has not been used for anything but trials of the most dangerous criminals, and yet this is not a trial, but a hearing to decide disciplinary methods, as if there is no doubt of my guilt and I must be punished.” 

“My ‘crime,’” he uses the air quotes readily, “is using the Patronus Charm to protect myself and my cousin from a dementor. My cousin, who knows about magic and does not count as a breach in the Statute. If you'd like to see the memory of the encounter, I give full permission to have it pulled from my head. If you'd like to give me veritaserum—well, I have no parent to consent to the use of a regulated substance, but that's never stopped anybody before. I’ll submit myself willingly to that as well. And if,” he smiles sharply, “you'd like to handle this especially quickly, and get back to your doubtlessly busy lives, I will swear upon my magic that I'm telling the truth. How's that?”

It’s nothing that can be compelled or asked for, not ever, but the offer is a powerful thing. Vows on your magic can be taken as irrefutable testimony, and are rarely given, as they rely on objective rather than subjective fact, a twist that always leaves one with the slightest chance of turning squib.

He feels the shift in the air, the reconsideration of biases, the sharpening curiosity.

“I find your tone disrespectful, boy,” says a man with the longest straw-coloured hair Harry has ever seen. It lies in neat curls, soft and touchable, but the man’s face is cold and his tone hard, and Harry can’t pinpoint his intention with so many other people in the room. 

“Perfectly understandable, sir. I find this entire theatrical display disrespectful. You are all very important and busy people, so I can understand that you are frustrated with having your time wasted. However I hope you'll forgive if my frustration outweighs your own, as I am being treated like a war criminal rather than an underaged child due to a bewildering grudge that our Minister seems to be harbouring.” 

“You want to snap my wand?” Harry asked the Minister if Magic, eyes blazing but posture relaxed, “Then you can be certain I will put up a fight.”

He let his eyes trail over the rest of his jury, the heady, odd feel of their captivated attention allowing his shoulders to relax into something looser and more confident.

“Magic is the only thing I have of my mother and father. So forgive this fifteen year old orphan for his sentimentality,” Harry bared his teeth, “but I plan on keeping it. Especially considering that I have broken no laws, and there are clear caveats in place that allow an underaged witch or wizard to use magic when in fear for their life.”

He let his gaze slide over the Wizengamot and paused to meet every set of eyes that were not looking away. His point has been well and truly made. Dumbledore is surprised by his outburst, or perhaps by its effectiveness, and faintly suspicious for some reason. 

“Strong words prove nothing,” a man larger than Harry’s uncle says when Harry’s gaze lands on him, and he doesn't believe Harry, but he is used to that. 

Harry thinks back to the books on magical vows he had studied during the tournament, and the book in the Black Library that he had read two days ago. He thinks of the vow that he had carefully drafted, under Sirius’ supervision. His godfather has emphasised the importance of his wording, so that there could be no mistake. 

“Harry, wait.” Dumbledore’s order comes curt and harsh, but Harry pays it no attention. He knows what has caught the Headmaster’s attention; the golden glow that had encapsulated Harry the moment he chose his words. It hazes around his form, and Harry looks down at his hand with interest and curiosity. 

There is a sudden murmuring from his audience as they catch on. 

“I, Harry James Potter, vow on my magic that on the night of August 2 I used a patronus charm to ward off dementors in Little Whinging, Surrey, in fear of losing my soul.”

The golden glow retreats. Several people gasp at the act, but it is no mere dramatics; the shock he feels pulsing through the room is genuine. He allowed the pause to linger for a moment before saying, “I would cast a spell to prove my claim, but this is a disciplinary hearing for underaged magic.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat, but before he could speak a worn voice sounded from the top tier of the gallery. “I vote an exception be made. Raise your wands if you are in agreement.” 

It was nearly unanimous, and Fudge’s expression was taut. His emotions were hard to pinpoint, though multiple people were radiating fear, stomach-churning and vile. Madame Bones glanced around the gallery, expectant. “Mr. Potter, if you would?”

Obediently, Harry drew his wand and murmured a spell under his breath. It was a rather cheeky choice, but Harry was a Gryffindor for a reason. His patronus burst into existence and lifted its head regally, sightless eyes fixed on the Wizengamot. After a moment it turned to Harry and met his gaze before bowing its head. Harry bowed his head back in respect, tension lessening as he felt the warmth and serenity his patronus gave to him, deeply soothing. It took a step forward and pressed its head to his chest, and Harry smiled. 

“Fantastic,” Madam Bones murmured. “Very impressive.”

She said it, but Harry could feel it radiating from all around the room; respect, wariness, keen interest. A couple of people even seemed amused by his gall, which, he supposed, was better than offended. Fear was regulated to an undertone in the room, pervasive but not overpowering.

Harry’s patronus raises its head, a huff ruffling his hair. He raised a hand to brush over its snout, feeling the warm, welcoming peace it emanated more than its fur.  It stares into his eyes for a long moment, grounding Harry, before lowering its head one last time and glimmering out of existence, purpose served. 

“Well then,” the shift in the room was abrupt. With two words the attention of the Wizengnot had been captured by a dark-haired woman, whose brown eyes were cataloguing Harry. The abrupt pull and shift of emotions might have been startling had his patronus not left him so balanced. “I might have agreed that all of our time was wasted on this day, Mr. Potter, if not for this exquisite demonstration of a mastered patronus. That it is tactile as well as spiritually corporeal is a rare and impressive feat, especially given your age.”

Beneath her intrigue and open interest, the turn of her emotions had an odd chill to them. Her fascination is detached and clinical. Her regard had the effect of sharpening the interest towards Harry all the more. Dumbledore’s emotions pulsed behind him, an odd mix of wary, vexed and rueful. 

“Perhaps, Lady Laurier, it would be most appropriate to turn our attention to how a dementor managed to make its way to Little Whinging in the first place.” Dumbledore said pleasantly.

Bones clears her throat. “That is certainly a matter that needs attention. First, however, Mr. Potter’s verdict.”

“I believe that Mr. Potter’s vow constitutes irrefutable proof, and this tria—hearing should be closed.” Covey spoke up, her slip made all the more apparent by its correction. 

“So it shall be,” agreed Bones. “As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I accept into the record Harry Potter's magical vow. In combination with his subsequent proof of magic, this vow is considered irrefutable evidence. As such, all charges against the accused are dismissed with the Ministry's sincere apologies. I put forward my professional recommendation that future cases of underaged sorcery are dealt with by the bench traditionally empaneled.” She added pointedly. 

[kirkscarr]

so my method for writing is: write ficlets until something feels right.

it can’t just be me. right? right????

this drives my creative writing teacher crazy pls tell me i’m not alone 💀

[daydreamsandcrashingwaves]

Transference 3

Heyy friends, I'm back. Had some health issues and just a bunch of life stuff at once! A humble chapter for your eyes. I'm not exactly happy with it but the only way out is through! Hope you're well <3

Other chapters & writing

Ren

It had been one extended weekend away to finalize some last-minute things with her apartment. One weekend to lay the groundwork for what was the first real step towards their independence from their parents. When her phone vibrated in her pocket, Ancients, she almost dismissed it. Jazz thought Danny must be checking in, but when she freed her phone from her jeans the screen flashed Sam’s contact photo and her heart dropped to the floor while her hairline broke out in sweat. Something had gone very wrong in her absence. Sure, they talked occasionally but the teen never just called out of the blue. Jazz had opened a new tab on her laptop, dismissing the article she had been reading and had begun searching for an earlier flight home as she picked up the call. Getting any of the teens in their little group on a phone call was like pulling teeth, a delicate procedure and potentially painful without the correct preparation so to hear from them with no prompting? The world may as well be ending, or more accurately based on how things have gone, Amity Park was in danger from something they couldn’t manage on their own at the very least. 

Jazz had a lot of practice projecting calm into the space around her and she leans hard into that practice now. Every word Sam gets out makes her grip her phone tighter and tighter. Everything blurs together. She’s moving through the world on autopilot. Reality blurs. Taxi, airport, security, gate. It all flies by hardly registering. She’s sitting on the plane staring out the window when she jolts back into herself, and Jazz is suddenly grateful, she still had a third of her things left behind in her old bedroom. She had been in such a rush she had only bothered to grab her purse. She dug her head back into the lackluster headrest and closed her eyes to try and gain some rest. It’s not like she could miraculously do something to tackle the situation from where she was in the air and -she wasn’t ready, for any of it, she wanted to scream it was all too soon, please. They were all just kids- She clenched her eyes shut and gently knocked her head on the plane wall. She had a distinct feeling she would need to maintain her energy levels the best she could over a long period of time, nothing that involved Danny was ever easy or simple, and she would need to be ready to strike when the opportunity presented itself. She leaned against the window, closed her eyes, and let out a long sigh. Jazz couldn’t get home soon enough. 

A half hour later Jazz has to hold in a groan of frustration. She can’t quiet her mind enough to gain any worthwhile rest. She’s just getting more worked up. Sam’s voice had sounded so terrified while recounting the event. They hadn’t heard from Danny since late Friday night, so they went over to the house Sunday morning, and called her shortly after they had to leave. The door had opened as easily for them as normal since the Fenton's never locked it, but the lights had been off. While odd, it hadn’t set off warning bells right away- the Fenton's are eccentric, both of them have known about their parents' weirdness since they first followed Danny home. It had only strengthened the bonds between the three. Danny’s friends were exceptionally loyal and stubborn which was usually a frustrating combination when turned on her, but Jazz has decided this time she’ll give them a pass since they had listened to their guts and had been determined to soldier on to find their wayward Phantom. When they had tried Danny’s room, and the door wouldn’t open, they knew something was definitely wrong. When they took a moment to pause as they tried to figure out their next move they realized they could feel it in the air. 

Ghosts did that. Danny had mentioned it once. Their stronger emotions exude into the air like supernatural diffusers. Usually, it was so subtle you would hardly notice unless you were actively looking for it. Because she did know it helped her keep tabs on how her brother was really doing. Instead of smelling tangerine or eucalyptus you’d get goosebumps on your arms, your hair will stand on end, and you’ll feel an overwhelming wave of an emotion but when you catch your breath to look, you won’t find anything around you that warrants what you’re suddenly feeling. Amity Park-their house- it all was Danny’s haunt. Danny had been screaming for help in the only way he knew how. His friends… they had found him, but they were kids. Jack and Maddie had seen them frozen for a moment in horror at the bottom of the stairs and quickly caught the two teens, who started kicking, screaming, biting, only to be thrown out the door, for it to be slammed in their faces and the house was shut tight behind them with the lockdown protocol whirring into effect. 

By the time Jazz had got off the plane and made it home to bypass the biometric lock it was too late. She doesn’t blame Danny’s friends for failing to free him. She can’t. Maddie is a ninth-degree black belt and Jack is built like a brickhouse, tall and imposing, with a grip to match. And so, Danny, her baby brother, was gone from the lab when she returned by nightfall. Spirited away just out of her reach. She failed to remain calm. Her voice rising in volume and pitch with her distress. The Fenton's were tightlipped about anything that had to do with the boy that had been tied up in their basement. They were disappointed with her that she didn’t celebrate with them. A small victory against the ghost that took their boy from under their noses, they said. That the thing was no longer what once was Danny. They would honor him by defeating the monster that killed him. 

(Jazz felt her words choke her, wiggling desperate to be free but even she isn’t that cruel. So, she stared at them, mentally screaming as her body slumped in resignation. They were the monsters that killed him. It was their obsession with proving their theory was right, that is what led to the portal being built. Led to Danny’s death.)

No, she doesn’t understand how they justified turning on a child, biologically part of their family or not, ghost or not, Danny is a child. Everything about him was good. Their betrayal zaps through her, cold and sharp. It steals her breath and moves her reality three steps backwards. She feels the love and fondness that she held onto desperately for them vanish in an instant. She stares blankly at the people who gave her life and can’t understand how they became this way. Why won’t they listen? How could they ever put their work over a living, breathing child that is in front of them? Their child. They had always seemed.. Benign, as they shouted silly things and their shots missed Phantom by what felt like miles, but that is a mistake she’ll beat herself up for later. If she struggles to acknowledge Danny’s death that is one thing, to refuse to acknowledge his continued life? That was truly unthinkable. 

That was then. When she first returned home. Now with little to nothing to direct their search Jazz was spiraling. She can’t help it; her mind keeps looping over and over. Her brain was trying to fill the unknown with possibilities of what could be happening to her brother. The silence was wearing her down, dragging her back into her own personal hell. It wasn’t complete silence, of course not- no, the air conditioning still hummed as it blew cool air throughout the house. She could hear their neighbor to the right mowing his lawn, the wind’s summer flirting with the trees and their leaves muffled the music he was playing while he pushed the old mover across the grass. The happiness was casual, innocent, yet it sliced her down to her bones. Her world has stopped.

Inside the house there is a miasma of quiet that leaves her choking and breathless. There are no feet rushing up and down the stairs, no muffled cursing or gentle ribbing after school while Danny and his friends played Doom. There was none of the warm teenage laughter she’d grown fond of. No. It hasn’t been this quiet since they first brought Danny home. It’s been years since she first met him, and she has stubbornly hung on ever since. A too small child with black hair and blue eyes that looked at her with eyes too jaded for what age the nice older woman at the orphanage had estimated him at. He didn’t have to tell them anything for Jazz to know. His eyes spoke to her in the absence of his voice. This boy who had become utterly alone before he even was old enough for school was haunted by what he’d experienced before he appeared at the orphanage. She had decided that day that this little boy would always have her by his side.

With help from his social worker and a lot of time and effort, they had eventually managed to get Danny settling into an outgoing child and once he was out of his shell, he had made the decision to follow her around religiously, she’d turn away from the fridge and almost run him right over. He kept it up until he had made friends with Sam and Tucker, at one point his hovering had frustrated her to tears, now she aches for days past when her baby brother was at least within touching distance. Danny was hers.  It had been Jazz who had tediously built a connection with Danny despite his… spiky personality, but her parents- their parents had grown to love him as if he was their own. She knew they did. 

Jazz had been so excited when her parents had tentatively agreed to foster and later adopt Danny, she’d finally have someone for herself. Someone to joke with, to play with and she could show him her books! Mom and Dad had each other, often their attention would stretch, reaching for so many new ideas that they forgot to do things like schedule their doctor’s appointments or pick them up from school. Jazz can’t count how many times she would stand outside the middle school waiting for the GAV to appear, the third time they forgot she decided not to wait for the teacher to call their parents and snuck away while she was distracted with Dash. She had an easy enough time finding the elementary school. She had made her eyes real wide and blinked up at Danny’s teacher Mrs. Donner, explaining to the woman that her parents had decided she’s old enough to walk home and was sent to pick up her brother with a large toothy grin. Mrs. Donner had looked at her innocent face and big eyes and fell for it hook, line, and sinker. She simply praised Jazz for being so responsible and they were off, headed towards home. With their little legs it took most of the afternoon and because it was late October the sun was kissing the horizon when they arrived. Relief filled her at the sight of their door. She did it!  From that day on Jazz never waited for their parents again. If she did, what would happen to Danny? She knew her little brother was mature for his age. Jazz hasn’t once seen him afraid, though leaving him behind at school might be the thing that finally does it. Jazz refuses to make Danny feel forgotten like she has. 

She had a lot to learn so she spent the next two months reading parenting books in the library. As he grew his needs followed. Jazz had to make sure he was getting new clothes as he outgrew the old ones, they came from the only thrift store in town, but they were clean and fit him well. She had saved up her allowance money for his tenth birthday to give him the video game he needed so he could play online with Tucker. It was the one thing that seemed to fascinate Danny so far and she was going to reward Danny for going out of way to make plans with the other boy. Fentonworks was good for a few solid years. It felt as normal as their family could get. 

Then her parents finished their portal. Unsuccessful as they had been turning it on. It mystified her that her brother managed to get it up and running in moments. Of course, she didn’t find out what really happened that afternoon until after Danny knew she knew he was Phantom. He had fallen out of the opening shrouded in sickly green light that further washed out his skin to make him look like something from the grave. In the tranquility of the night Danny told her in a hushed voice it took him seconds to realize that’s exactly what he was. Something that shouldn’t exist but did. He would tell her how his breath came in fog, how he steeled himself to look up and discover the portal was swirling and functional and eventually he had risen from that floor as something new. How he knew because he had died before. By that time, it was too late, he had forced himself to become a vigilante in response to the swarming citizens of the Infinite Realms and nothing she said could change his mind. Danny was already an object in motion before she had discovered what had really happened.

Every action has a reaction. Every choice you make funnels you down an unknown path that at its core is out of your control. An obscure college degree could lead to the discovery of a new world parallel to your own, taking an innocent picture could kill you again before you reach adulthood, or with a simple sentence said in anger one could make it so the closest of friends never crossed paths. With time you can gain experience by observing your surroundings and learning the pattern of which choices have which consequences and then plan accordingly. You can learn to influence the outcomes. It’s supposed to be soothing to have a plan. Jazz will admit it’s a lot different in practice than drawing up theoretical plans on paper. She was never very good at putting elaborate plans into action much to her dismay. Too many moving pieces to keep track of. Good thing this plan only had two phases, search and rescue. Tucker and Technus were scouring the web for hints of where they moved Danny to, until they found his trail she had to wait.

This time alone has forced her to stare his reality in the face and it was jarring to realize how their lives as siblings were polar opposites. Time and her experience had made her complacent, but of course she wasn’t the one getting chased around town by their parents while having to dodge ectoblasts. Jazz didn’t carry the fear of watching your parents gazing at her with no recognition-only fear and hate- while they tried to shoot her out of the sky, she never felt her fear so intense it would make her tremble as she had to remember to sneak around to her window carefully or trigger the traps and face the very real consequences she would pay the cost in her blood. No, that was Danny.

As soon as they could find Danny, remove him from where he’s trapped they would. She would take him away and actually provide some protection. Even if all the protection from his pursuers was a change in location. Or at least Jazz would give him enough breathing room and a burner phone to use while he goes to escape, and she throws herself at whoever shows up to hunt him to slow their pace. Jazz has no illusions that she would win even with all her training with Jack. She didn’t need to win, just to stall. She would do whatever she could so Danny knew without a doubt she would never stop loving him. Give everything and then some to keep him safe. Death could come for her, and it wouldn’t stop her. No, the Realms were interlinked with Danny’s very being and it would never leave their King with no family, in death or life. 

If she could she’d wrap him up in her embrace and beg him to forgive her-no, Jazz cut that thought off. She doesn’t deserve his forgiveness. She would never let the question leave her head. If she asked, he would give it. Just as easy as breathing. She’s not sure where he finds the strength and grace to brush off serious offenses the way he does. (He must be trapped or hurt right now since he hasn’t come home or sent a message, a new group with the same hat, right?... if he- if he left her behind- if he saw no difference between her and their parents- it would kill her, and she’d pray to Clockwork not to form a core so she could rest when she dies instead of confronting her worst fear made real.)

Jazz couldn’t help but fall further into her memories, trying to hold onto the comforting image of her little ghostling. Memories that are poor substitutes but all she currently has. Her brother always had made the effort to stay under the radar much to her dismay. Danny was wicked smart. If he decided to hunker down and hide, they’d have little luck finding him. Tucker always says to her that hacking is about knowing how your opponent thinks, yet she never knows what Danny is thinking unless he wants her to. Daniel was an..odd child. A ghost in personality before the accident that killed him. A little boy who could get into any space in their house with little effort. Twisting his body to slip into gaps that should be too small to fit him. He blended into shadows with ease, often scaring her shoes off her feet, appearing besides her with no warning. Silent steps for a silent kid. It had amused their parents more than worried them, not a flicker of concern that she had spent hours crying out his name-alone- only for it to bounce uselessly off the walls and had worked herself into a panic looking around for their new addition. She quickly realized their parents didn’t see anything wrong with a small child disappearing from their supervision for half a day and that was the first time Jazz had considered, maybe she shouldn’t have tried as hard to wear them down as she did to convince her parents Daniel would do well with them. It had been a selfish desire of a small girl desperate to make a connection. It took her a longer time to realize he wasn’t just keeping himself withdrawn, no Danny was observing them, watching with sharp eyes and learning how to fit in by mimicking her behaviors. She doubts he had any illusions about their guardians, he was too perceptive, and proved it by easily escaping her gaze- even when she was trying really, really hard to keep track of where he was. Jazz never fully got over her terror of losing him in the mass of stuff her parents had accumulated over the years.

Those first few years they played an intense fucked up game of seek, please, Danny. Don’t hide. He never seemed to understand that people don’t just vanish out of a space, a frown distorting his face at the sight of her the one time he tried to teach her the trick to it. Afterwards she expected it to be easier to track his movements, Jazz would do her best to keep him in sight but even with her higher-than-average attention span the second she was distracted Danny would be gone. She had scolded him once that if he kept popping out of the shadows, he would become the proof of ghosts that their parents were looking for. (Just thinking about that joke all these years later made her nauseous. Her brother’s pout- what had been his actual reaction- pops into her mind.) Danny was never the most popular, he had toed the boundary of society by choice and necessity. He preferred when eyes slid over his presence. 

(He admitted to her one night that all he wanted was to be normal, he was content in mediocrity. He had confided that he never wanted to push himself to be special again. He had spat it out with a nasty curl to his lips like the very word was dirty. 

Jazz didn’t have the heart to tell him that no matter what, Danny was extraordinary.) 

The Fenton’s reputation around town seemed to please him as it didn’t win them any friends. Sure, now that ghosts attacked the townsfolk bought their families weapons but too many people have suffered some sort of property damage because of their parents over the years and the GAV for a real shift in perception to take place. As it is, most of the townsfolk ignore them with a stony silence or simply give a pointed comment about checking the news report for when the GAV would be on the road. If Danny was the one sitting in the cramped seats of her last-minute flight musing about his existence, he’d insist he could leave without notice. Not a trace left behind of him to be missed. Would even bet money on it. He had gotten sneakier after becoming Phantom yet, Danny was very wrong. He didn’t take into account that even if he’s not going out of his way to interact with others, they still notice him. 

Valerie, Mr. Lancer- Ancients, even Dash has cornered her. She saw the worry and fear underneath their forced casual demeanors. As normally as she could, she told anyone who hovered too long that Danny had caught a nasty case of whooping cough and would be out for a while. She just couldn’t make herself say something, anything, the truth.  It wasn’t a safe decision and she had to be skeptical of everyone. They couldn’t risk anything endangering Danny even more. Team Phantom was made up of three teenagers and a half-human half-ghost vigilante that’s missing. Despite their intelligence, they were just that, teenagers. Teenagers who only had each other. They weren’t an organization with a million bodies to throw at a problem, there was no one waiting in the back to replace them if they fell or were taken. So, they had to be deliberate with how they approached this. She’d like to believe the few who’ve asked her about Danny wouldn’t share the information, but the team agreed not to risk it. By the twist in Dash’s brow and the tightening Mr. Lancer’s smile, they didn’t truly believe her tightlipped story but were unwilling to push. For now. It made her anxious and then when she thinks about the chance people will finally see what the Fenton's are, how alone their two children have always been inside the house that could kill them if they took one wrong step. It makes her heart ache fiercely. Maybe they’d help her. It’s a bittersweet fantasy she pushes away so she does not dwell in it. One way or another they were going to find their missing family.

Those very first few days holed away in her room confusion, anger and denial raged through her body. She hadn’t even registered the familiar noises of their parents banging away in the lab, but it’s been two months, and it was all she could hear from her room. Boom, Boom, ta, ta, ta. Over and over, nonstop. Jazz has taken to shoving her earbuds into her ears and blasting her favorite playlist, but she still could feel the vibrations coming up through the floor. The Fenton's when they see her as they pass by each other in the halls act outwardly like nothing has changed. Chattering away and throwing around ideas on how to catch the Phantom for good. It was like her world wasn’t expected to be decimated the moment Danny had been taken. The swinging between emotional poles of acting like the last ten years never happened, time rewritten as though they never took in that shy, bright boy who looked so afraid when people moved too quickly towards him, on the other end they could be heard from anywhere in the house dramatically wailing about the injustice on the stairs to the lab. They then rant like Danny is dead- fully dead and was stolen from them by this powerful, unnatural thing. Manic determination oozed from their rapid-fire conversations, they were determined to recapture Phantom and force him to allow Danny’s body and soul to rest. 

She was lucky to be home when her parents received the call. Jack had cheerfully ripped the house phone out of her hand as soon as she picked it up and took it to the kitchen where it gave him the illusion of privacy. Jazz thought it was both very fitting and extremely concerning that someone had stolen Danny away from a GIW base. Jazz is fiercely glad but worried that if someone snatched her baby brother away from the people that were hurting him, how strong did that make them. They had to be powerful or have the manpower to take on a shady government agency. It made the chances of finding Danny that much slimmer. She had to find him to figure out if he was actually safe. Finding him is shaping up to be a challenge.

She could feel she was reaching her limit. Her brother is missing. Danny, her little shit of a brother was missing, and she was stuck in this house with his would-be murderers. The people who gave her life do mean well, but she can never forgive them for what they’ve taken from her. And there’s no trace of where he went! They had Technius and Ember haunt the base… computers were wiped clean, the same with the security feeds and any equipment left behind was unusable. Not even a hair was left behind, white or black to indicate Danny had been there, just a shell of a building blown into rubble. Tucker and Technius are trying to sort through the Fenton’s communication with the GIW, if they hear something or find him, they’ll let her know.

She hears them at night. Her-their-the Doctors Fenton, she means. She hears them in the kitchen from her room at night. Jack, a sniffling blubbering mess. Jazz could barely make out his words as he wailed, and Maddie who was calm, quiet, and serene. Both grieving a boy that was alive. Alive only because someone stole him from them. It made her sick to hear, sick and angry. How can they grieve a boy they sent off to his full death? How can they curse the fact Phantom isn’t available anymore for experiments? They had blamed ghosts for freeing Phantom, of course, but when Sam ran into Johnny 13 and Kitty, no one had heard anything. Jazz, Tucker and Sam know if a ghost had Danny, it was being kept really quiet and that meant it was most likely Vlad. 

The thing that horrifies her the most is they don’t ask ‘how or why or when’ he died. They don’t hear her when she explains it was their portal and absence that caused this, little else. 

(She’s never wanted to blame or resent her parents for Danny’s death, it’s not like they forced him inside…but there’s this kernel hurt and betrayal that has exploded inside her since his disappearance. It swims around her chest overshadowing the childish anger that echoes in the background. How can they wash away their responsibility? What about her? They’ve left her here to deal with this on her own, it hurts, she’s hurting, why won’t her parents help her? How is it that when they discovered Danny’s death, they both became dead to their parents. They pass by her room when they bother to drag themselves out of the lab to bed but not once have they asked her how she is doing or offered any comfort. It grates and stings, she tells herself she really should be used to it by now. She hates that it feels like a surprise at how low they truly will go. 

Jazz reminds herself to be glad even as she’s immensely worried at the same time that someone took her baby brother away from the people that saw him as less than human. She had to find him to figure out if actually safe and not with someone or an organization that is worse. Finding him is shaping up to be a challenge. This is nothing like waiting for him to come home from his late-night stargazing, fully abusing the fact he could sneak out perfectly silent, invisible and be able to fly to find the perfect spot to see the constellations. In his absence she felt more like a ghost haunting the halls than Danny had been. When she lays down at night she strains to hear any hint from him, bumbling around as normal. She thought she heard something, a week into his disappearance, but when she had scrambled from her bed, her pillows and blankets flung to the floor in her haste- maybe he’s back, he escaped and came for her- but when she pressed her ear against their shared wall the noises had stopped. She’d take even a small creak at this point. She had laid there crumpled against the wall for hours, face blank and her gaze was distant. Why was she expecting Danny to miraculously find her? She’s the older sibling, Danny isn’t meant to take care of her or keep track of where she was-it shouldn’t matter he’s a half-dead teen with powers and that he feels like he’s responsible for her safety- Jazz is the eldest, she had been the one to convince her parents to give her a sibling. 

Danny is hers, her miracle, hers to hold. 

She was so stupid for leaving him alone with them. It had been less than a week in Boston, to get her lease signed and tour the campus so she knew where her classes were going to be just a few months later. Guilt continuously tried to steal her breath. She had to remind herself that falling into her self-loathing was only going to get in the way of her finding where her brother was. If he’s still alive-half alive- whatever the technicality is, it has never mattered much to her as long as he didn’t stay dead. Jazz turned back to her laptop, refreshing the server Tucker had made for them to securely communicate on, hoping to see some activity from her brother. Some sort of answer. She could look at how the complexities of what makes a halfa and what that means for Danny (and her) and how it made her feel later. To try and pass the time she tried to finish packing up her childhood bedroom. She had to keep busy, so she felt like she was actually making progress.

‘The world never stops turning Jazz, it laughs in the face of personal tragedy… I just have to keep moving forward.’ It’s what Danny would say to her when he got that look on his face. The one that said, I have taken what the world has thrown at me and the scars it left in its wake, I have survived what it has stolen from my hands, I have endured, one moment at a time until I have made something for myself on the scorched ground.

Jazz turned towards her desk and almost fell down, tripping over clothes she had been sorting through for donation. Where was the box ghost when you needed him? She was drowning in moving boxes that she needed to finish packing away to be shipped cross country, when her brother wasn't missing-Or fully dead. With everything going on, it’s no surprise that she’s still behind getting the last of her things from her old room. The most damning thing about the situation was Jazz had plenty of time to think about everything and she wasn’t surprised. She’s not shocked by her parent’s willful blindness, their casual violence. Their hate. Realizing in the aftermath she had always known how her parents would react only made her feel worse about insisting that eventually Danny should come clean. Had she been trying to convince Danny that they’d love him regardless, or herself? This is all her fault. Hindsight really is a bitter pill to swallow.

That first day home Jazz had gone up to Danny’s room to try and find some sort of scrap, a clue, something. She knew Sam and Tucker wouldn’t lie about not being able to get the door to open but she had to at least try. She had to try, or hopelessness would paralyze her when acknowledged she couldn’t help her brother at all. (All Jasmine Fenton had amounted to when her little brother currently needed her, was sitting in the house desperately waiting for Danny to signal he’s safe.) She tried everything she could, his door wasn’t even scratched. It was sealed shut. Her… roommates were either downstairs in the lab working on something or out of the house, often distracted and muttering to themselves so she had plenty of time to try and bust into Danny’s room. No matter how hard she rammed into the door or how many times she blasted it with whatever inventions she had been steadily stockpiling she couldn’t get in. How the Fenton's had made his door ax proof, she’s unsure. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of visible shield protecting it.

Tonight, will be different, she will find something. Her anxiety has reached a peak, so she bites the bullet, and she decides that if his door doesn’t open for her, she’d try Danny’s window. Glancing at the floor she pictured her parents milling about the lab like ants. She would have to be careful not to alert the Fenton's that she’s on the move. She couldn’t be sure if they rigged Danny’s room with alarms. If they did set sensors and if she is lucky, it’ll only trigger when an ectoplasmic signature tries to breach his room. Jazz may be slightly liminal, but she’s never had one of their inventions target her before. It’s a risk she’ll have to take. She turns away from her desk, hesitates, then turns back around to lock her door, just in case, before moving to the window. The glass slides quietly up in its frame and she peeks outside to make sure she’s in the clear, and when she doesn’t hear or see anything for a few minutes Jazz climbs out her window onto the sill to eye the old tree that was between her and Danny’s room. She’d made the jump before but only a handful of times in the dark. She thought of her little brother hurt and with strangers or worse, with Vlad. 

Firming her resolve she jumps, and for a moment she’s weightless, only she didn’t push off hard enough and she’s falling too soon. Jazz has to bite her cheek so she doesn’t scream as she stretches out farther in desperation. Her fingers scramble to grip the bark to gain some traction on the sturdy branch, determination surging when her fingers hit wood. Jazz feels the tree tear into her palms, she uses that pain to fuel herself, her face stuck in a grimace. She had to succeed. She grunts softly using her legs to swing for enough momentum to leverage herself up to safety. The fall to the ground isn’t far enough to kill her but it would’ve hurt. Panting she half crawled half slid her body close to the trunk. Her hands were bloody and stinging but she was almost there. Carefully Jazz shifted around the trunk and reached for Danny’s windowsill. She was smearing blood on the wood, and she could taste it on her tongue, but what she saw through the glass made her feel a few drops of her blood were hardly significant. 

Danny’s room was tossed, furniture destroyed, clothes everywhere. Burn blasts littered the floor and walls, but there was no blood she could see from her spot- ghost ectoplasm nor human. With the sheer damage it was hard to tell if the destruction was because of the hunt to capture Phantom or if it was done in the aftermath because of their frustration of having missed his transformation when it happened under their roof. Jazz refocused and pushed the window, it slid up silently, and she thanked her paranoid baby brother for the consistent maintenance he did on it. She crawled through, leaving it open in case she needed to get out quickly. Jazz froze when the carpet squished under her shoes. Shakily she pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. Her phone drops from her nerveless fingers. Blood, so much blood. Must’ve been before they caught Danny then. Maybe this is where he was cornered. Swallowing thickly, she looks away from the splatters of ectoplasm, splatters of Danny’s blood. Jazz tried to be quick and quiet as she scoured through the wreckage. She worked until the sky just started to lighten to no avail. 

Exhausted, Jazz took in the destruction around her as she slumped to her knees besides Danny’s bed. Jazz had loved her parents. More than anything- family was oh so precious to her. She has always strived to meet their expectations. She had been resistant to training to hunt ghosts, but after fighting off those ghosts with Dad… she had begrudgingly changed her mind. It’s just- practicing with their Dad was fun. For once her Dad’s gaze and attention were firmly on her. Jazz was learning something because she wanted to, not because it was her best shot of getting established as an adult as soon as possible so she could bring Danny with her. She figured her knowing some self-defense could only benefit them both. For the most part, fighting and souping ghosts was Danny’s thing, Jazz had no desire to duke it out with her little brother’s rogues. Yet, she found herself working out on her own. The quick steps of a fight felt like a dance, one only she could hear the music to. It called to her. Danny had given her an unrecognizable look the first time he caught her. Jazz had shrunk under his intense gaze, feeling as if he was seeing something no one else even began to know to look for. It was unsettling as much as it soothed some unknown part of her. Being truly seen will do that to you. 

She wouldn’t say she’s handled her baby brother being a halfa gracefully at all. His absence truly shed some light on her mistakes. She knows Danny… died, was still half dead. It’s just- it was so easy to overlook. Nothing about him really changed all that much. Sure, his heartbeat was off, and he was chilled to the touch and he started wearing clothes that hid his scar or drew so much attention no one seemed to notice the scars. Jazz is certain he’s noticed her… aversion to acknowledging him being half-dead and that makes the guilt dig into her stomach all the more. She- her mind snaps back to focus on her surroundings. 

She hears her window slide open and her head twists to look. For a heartbeat she hopes it’s Danny. It wouldn't be. More likely it's his friends. Sam and Tucker are the only ones who’ve come crawling through windows lately, they’d usually shoot a quick message but- Jazz blinks. That's not anyone she knows, not personally at least. Just through the news and pictures. A shadow joins them causing her to jerk. Her eyes take in the brightly colored costume that juxtaposes against his companion's black get up. Jazz’s fingers search under the bed for something useful. They bump into a familiar shape, her hands grip around her creep stick that was hidden just under Danny’s bed with a breath of relief. Her heartbeat had gone from sluggish to pounding in her ears. Jazz takes another deep breath and uses her free hand against the bed to rise and face them, raising her chin stubbornly and schooling her expression the best she can as she raises her arms pointing her weapon directly at them. She doubts she could’ve fooled them.

The real question was, after almost two years of calls for help, why were Batman and Robin here in Amity, breaking into her brother’s bedroom? 

[muzzleroars]

Ok... now we NEED that family photo of the 4 of them together. Raphael just keeping everything positive despite the fact Gabriel is a fallen angel and Michael is basically rotted. How would that sort of reunion go anyway?

they're doing great!!!

there is. a lot of strain, but raphael is determined not to allow it to create so much tension that it eventually causes collapse. plus he does begin to see that all of the issues they have now, at least on an emotional level, are things that have been there for EONS, so maybe it was about time they had to face those problems. obviously michael and gabriel's relationship is the biggest issue, and it goes both ways - mike of course has massive problems dealing with gabriel's fall and his choice in v1, while gabe does feel that michael kind of abandoned them and then he comes back to everything all fucked up to pass moral judgment??? raphael is similarly frustrated if not to the same extent, with his family being more important to him than anything else when he can no longer be so sure that their existence is infinite and assured. uriel is dealing with severe anxiety over it all since his life had been incredibly quiet with little drama involved - he wrote god's knowledge constantly, a meditative practice he can no longer channel. and not knowing EVERYTHING is actually really stressing him out, plus he's really, really terrible at approaching interpersonal issues and he's by far the most introverted of the four so he can easily get lost in the shuffle. and they're all just intensely worried about michael besides, mentally and physically since it's actually hard to tell where he's doing worse. but at the end of it all, there is still love in them, and something in each of them refuses to let this die...it's just going to be quite the process finding peace again

[milflewis]

22 + chalex for the prompt thing! 🫶🏻

22. hug

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 1: So. I am fucked. Surprise though! So you can stop all the tears — talking about you, Commander, the softy that you are - I am alive.]

—

Two weeks after NASA has declared Alex Albon dead and left on Mars, Charles writes to George. He sends it to Sebastian and makes him swear to get it to Lewis in the crew’s next info dump, who will give it to George.

He tells him about how Alex’s plants are doing, and about his shifts at the hospital, how he’s on night work now, with the shifts rotating over. He tells him about going to the beach and just standing there for hours, staring out at the water, until he could no longer feel his face from the cold. He tells that he’s more or less sleeping, that he’s going to work, that he’s eating. He tells him that he hopes they’re keeping safe and that he loves him.

He doesn’t talk about Alex. He doesn’t tell George he doesn’t blame him. He knows he’ll know. That he won’t need Charles to write the words.

—

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 2: I think I've got this actually. Ignore yesterday. Getting stranded on Mars kinda messes with your head. I've got a plan and I'm feeling good about it! ]

—

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 2: Update. I do not got this. If I die, Charles, I demand a mourning period of at least eighty-three years. Please bury me under some nice flowers. Blue if you can.]

—

“Come back to me,” Charles says, arms tight around Alex’s neck, mouth pressed under his ear. He smells of shampoo and asphalt. His bony elbows are digging into Charles’s back.

“I’m going to make Mars my bitch,” Alex says, grinning, and Charles shoves him away with a laugh.

Alex catches his wrist with a warm hand. His palm is dry and calloused. “Charlie,” he starts, low and careful. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Charles’s voice cracks. He tries again. “Yes, I know, of course, of course. Me too.”

Alex smiles, and it’s wonderful. Charles memorises the shape of it.

Down the line, with his back to the hoard of cameras, Commander Lewis Hamilton is pressing his mouth against his husband’s knuckles. Both of their eyes are closed.

—

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 54]: Did you know that if you grow something somewhere that you've then colonised it? So, like, now that I've got my potatoes going does that mean I now own Mars? A win for the gays and the losers, motherfuckers!]

—

Toto swivels in his chair and looks out of the window to the sky beyond. Night is slipping in.

"What is it like?" he wonders. “Stuck up there. Alone. He does not know we know. What does that do?"

He looks at Niki. "I wonder what he is thinking right now."

—

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 61: How come Aquaman can control whales. They're mammals! Makes no sense.]

—

Some days, when he hasn’t had much sleep and the air warps and curls over on itself with heat, he sees Charles.

He’ll only ever be far off in the distance — too far for Alex to even see the details of his face, let alone touch him. He’d know the shape of those shoulders anywhere.

Alex waves to him sometimes. This dark blur on the horizon that just stands there and watches. He never waves back. The sun on Mars is unforgiving.

Alex wonders if he’s moisturising his hands. The latex exam gloves he has to wear for work always dry out his skin.

—

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 76: I'm going to have to science the shit out of this. George, please don't use this as porn. I know how hot and bothered you get about me being all smart and sexy.]

—

George has, like, every sitcom ever downloaded in his personal storage. Alex works his way through them all. If he never hears another laugh track in his life he’d die happy.

Lewis’s music list is jam packed full of different genres. There is a surprising amount of The Beatles in there. Alex wouldn’t have guessed he was a fan of them.

Alex decides the music Lewis had made himself, all chords and notes and little words, is some of his favourites. It can be hard hearing other people speak at you and not being able to talk back.

Every book Valtteri had downloaded is in Finnish. Alex thinks he probably should’ve guessed that would be the case.

It turns out Finnish is very hard to learn, especially when the only words you’ve picked up are swears that you’ve heard Valtteri muttering under his breath before media duties.

—

[LOG ENTRY: SOL 206: Finally got into contact with NASA because I am that bitch and I will be damned if I die here, and that is a promise. They won’t stop telling me what to do now though, so, like, it’s a give and take, I guess.]

—

The first thing Charles notices about Alex is that he has freckles all over his face but especially across his nose and cheeks. This feels very important.

The second thing he notices is that he is tall and his wrists are bony. Charles eyes the strip of skin where his MATHS IS SEXY top rides up. There is an equally tall man sitting in the booth beside him with a shirt that reads: NO ITS NOT.

The third thing he notices is that he is extremely drunk. His cheeks are flushed and he’s half falling over the table as he tries to explain something while laughing.

Charles probably falls in love right there if he’s being honest, even if he never gets the courage to go up and talk to him. Alex is the one who says hi, weeks later, asking him if he wants to play pool.

Charles doesn’t know how to play pool. He says yes anyway because he thinks it might make Alex smile. It does.

He keeps saying yes and Alex keeps smiling. They move together after college graduation.

Charles is coming off a double shift and he can’t feel his feet when Sebastian shows up to give him a ride home. He makes him tea when they get in. It’s a blend of something herbal and sweet like honey.

Sebastian tells him Alex is still alive as Charles breathes in the steam. He tells him that they left him behind on Mars. That it was an accident. That they’re figuring out how to get him home.

Alex is alive, Charles thinks. I’ll get to see Alex smile again, Charles thinks, and promptly bursts into tears.

—

[08:47] BUTTON: Good, keep us posted on any mechanical or electrical problems. By the way, the name of the probe we're sending you is Iris. You know, the one who rode the waves of heaven using the wind. I think she's also the chick with the rainbows.

[08:49] ALBON: Gay probe coming to save me. Got it.

—

I’m so glad it’s not me stuck up there, the navigational assistant tells him. He was the one who discovered Alex was still alive in the first place. He tells him he noticed the MAV moving. His name is Yuki.

Alex thinks he’s going to say he’d miss people or fresh fruit or Netflix or sex or something. Alex hasn’t had a mango in so long. He hasn’t had a blowjob in even longer. Some days he isn’t sure which is worse.

Yuki is very very funny.

Can you imagine only eating potatoes, he tells Alex. I would rather die dead and alone. And then: though I guess you would not have to imagine.

And then: the eating potatoes bit. sorry. you haven’t done the other one yet.

Alex laughs so much he rebreaks a only barely healed rib and NASA yells at them both. His calcium levels are very low.

—

[21:27] BUTTON: How are the crops affecting that number? As to your question: We haven't told the crew you're alive yet. We wanted them to concentrate on their own mission.

[21:30] ALBON: The crops are potatoes. I got them from the ones we were supposed to eat for Christmas. They're doing great but the available farmland isn't sustainable. I'll run out of food around SOL 900. Also. Fucking tell the crew I'm alive???? What the fuck is wrong with you????

[21:31] BUTTON: SOL 900 is great news. That'll give us time to get a supply mission to you. And I’ve been told to tell you to watch your language. Everything you type is being broadcasted around the world.

[21:32] ALBON: Look! A pair of boobs - > ( . Y . )

—

Dear Alex: Apparently, NASA is letting us talk to you now. And I drew the short straw. Sorry we left you behind on Mars.

But we just don't like you. You're sort of annoying. And you shed hair everywhere.

Also, it's a lot roomier on the Hermes without you. We have to take turns doing your tasks. But, I mean, it's only botany. It's not a real science.

How's Mars?

— George.

—

Alex stares up at the plain white ceiling of the HAB. The wind roars and rages outside and the Level Threw sandstorm shakes the walls. It holds. It always holds.

When he makes the journey to find the HAB of the HERMES TWO, he’ll be technically crossing international waters without any explicit permission from a governmental body. That makes him a pirate.

I’m going home, Alex thinks. And then: I can’t wait to tell Charlie that he’s married to a bad boy.

Alex runs a hand over his face. He’s even gotten the beard to go with it.

—

Dear George: Mars is fine. When I get lonely I think of that steamy night I spent with your mum.

How are things on Hermes? Cramped and claustrophobic? Yesterday I went outside and looked at the horizons. They really do go on forever.

— Alex.

—

"Thing is," Alex scrambles to say, mouth dry and sore. "I'm selfish. I want all the memorials back home to be just about me. I don't want the rest of you losers in any of them. I can't let you guys blow the VAL. Also, I'm the only one who is allowed to make Charlie cry. Them's the rules."

"Oh," Lewis says. "Well, I mean, if you won't let us — wait. Wait a minute, I think I see something on my shoulder patch here. Oh, right, yeah, it says I'm the Commander. So, you know, what I say goes. Shut the fuck up and sit tight. We're coming to get you."

Alex swallows — or tries to at least. His whole body aches. He thinks he broke a rib, or two. Or three. He wants to cry.

"Copy that, sir."

"We've got you, man." Lewis's voice is warm. Alex doesn't have to imagine his smile anymore. He's going to get to see it very soon.

—

Alex is all bone and mouth when Charles gets to see him again. He has lost so many of his freckles. He hugs him close, pressing his thumbs into the hinge of Alex's jaw. Alex bows and curls over him and Charles doesn't let either of them fall.

He tastes vaguely of salt and snot when Charles kisses him. Charles is crying.

Alex is smiling when he pulls away, arms tight around Charles' back. "Look at your face," he says softly. He's talking to himself.

"I'm here," Charles replies, louder than necessary. Alex blinks at him and his smile, impossibly, gets even bigger. Charles's stomach squirms.

"You're a mess," Alex teases him, running a hand through Charles' hair. Charles doesn't say anything about how his hands shake.

“You should stay here and take care of me then,” Charles says, and Alex closes his eyes, smushing his nose hard into the skull of Charles’s forehead. Charles digs his nails in.

Fuck you, Mars, Charles. Fuck you.