#((his voice is menacing and spectral with this one))

[deviouslordhades]

Hades...

Im sorry for dragging you into my personal conflicts... It's just-

You're the only person who seems to actually enjoy being in my presence... Besides the pea bois...

@xxskull-trooperxx

You best keep in mind, I am no plaything for you to drag along to your self-made conflicts.

Whatever enjoyment I feel has quickly faded to disgust, seeing the manner in which you treat others who've done nothing to deserve it. And it will be that way with all the others who will find your currently vile presence even mildly decent, lest you make amends...

[Ahem.]

I believe everyone you have wronged deserves an apology, and for you to treat them much better after. Then, you may be appreciated like you so desperately wish.

I personally don't appreciate such unprofessional behavior myself. I am not afraid to send you to the underworld of the Norse, where you will navigate those halls as your eternal demise. I've many, many other reapers.

[dewdropdinosaur]

Fixer Upper

ALASTOR x (F)READER Summary: Someone dared to break Alastor's precious radio and his wrath is inconsolable. But turns out you may have some small tricks up your sleeve. Warnings: NONE For the dearest @anon-of-the-void. My darling, it is a pleasure as always to write these for you.

In the bustling chaos of the Hazbin Hotel, where demons sought redemption amidst the fiery chaos of Hell, an unlikely friendship blossomed. Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, found solace in the presence of Y/N, an inventive soul from the Victorian Era who had found herself amidst the peculiar denizens of the underworld.

Y/N was a tinkerer, always tinkering away in her workshop, concocting gadgets and gizmos that would make even the most adept engineers marvel. Alastor, with his vintage charm and macabre wit, found her creations fascinating, and the two formed an unusual bond over their shared love for innovation.

One fateful day, disaster struck when Alastor's beloved old-time radio, his prized possession from his living days, broke down. The demon was devastated, his usual jovial demeanor clouded by a rare display of anger. The residents of the hotel trembled in fear, knowing the havoc that could be unleashed if the Radio Demon's rage remained unchecked.

Alastor's crimson eyes blazed with fury as he prowled the halls of the Hazbin Hotel, his usual jovial smile replaced by a menacing snarl. The residents cowered in fear, whispering among themselves as they caught glimpses of the Radio Demon's wrathful form.

"You there!" Alastor's voice boomed, sending shivers down the spines of those unfortunate enough to cross his path. "Do you have any idea of the inconvenience of my beloved radio breaking? The nerve, the audacity!"

Niffty, the hyperactive cleaner demon, spoke with a frantic passion as she viewed the mangled radio."Alastor! I'll do it! Let me clean it please!"

Alastor's laughter rang out like a chilling melody, sending a chill through the air. "Oh, my dear Nifty, no thank you. This requires some…interrogation but feel free to clean up the aftermath."

Angel Dust, lounging lazily on a nearby couch, scoffed, "Oh, lighten up, Al, it's just a stupid radio. Besides, it's not like anyone listens to your old-timey tunes anyway."

The room fell silent as Alastor's gaze bore into Angel Dust, his smile twisting into a sinister grin. "Is that so, my dear Angel? Perhaps I should demonstrate the consequences of underestimating the power of music."

With a snap of his fingers, Alastor summoned a spectral microphone, its ethereal glow casting eerie shadows across the room. "Now, let's see who's laughing when I unleash the full force of my wrath upon this wretched offender!"

The residents of the Hazbin Hotel trembled as Alastor's menacing laughter echoed through the halls, knowing all too well that when the Radio Demon was in a foul mood, no one was safe from his terrifying fury.

As fear spread throughout the hotel, Y/N knew she had to act swiftly to quell the storm brewing within Alastor's heart. Ignoring the warnings of her peers, she clandestinely snatched the broken radio and retreated to her workshop, determined to restore it to its former glory.Under the cover of night, she stealthily crept into Alastor's room, her pockets filled with tools and determination. With deft hands, she dismantled the broken radio, each cog and wire familiar to her skilled touch.

Hour after hour, Y/N toiled away, her nimble fingers dancing across the delicate machinery. With each adjustment and tweak, the radio gradually came back to life, its familiar crackle filling the air once more. But as the night wore on,  fatigue gnawed at Y/N's bones, her eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. But she pressed on, fueled by determination and a desire to see her friend smile once more.

Finally, with a soft click, the radio sprang to life, emitting a crackling sound before filling the room with the familiar strains of vintage jazz. Y/N let out a sigh of relief, a triumphant smile gracing her lips as she admired her handiwork.

But as she stood there basking in her success, fatigue finally caught up with her. With a yawn, she sank into a nearby chair, her eyes fluttering closed as sleep claimed her.

Unbeknownst to her, Alastor had been silently watching from the shadows, his expression unreadable as he observed Y/N's tireless efforts to fix his broken radio. When he saw her succumb to exhaustion, a pang of concern tugged at his heart, softening the edges of his usually stoic demeanor.

Quietly, he approached her slumbering form, his footsteps barely audible against the creaking floorboards. Gently, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch light as a feather.

"My dear Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. "Such devotion, such selflessness. You truly are a marvel."

A warmth blossomed in Alastor's chest as he watched her sleep, a feeling he couldn't quite put into words. For the first time in centuries, he felt something akin to tenderness stirring within him—a feeling he realized with a start was nothing short of admiration.

With a soft sigh, Alastor leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N's forehead before picking up her form and striding over to his bed; tucking her in with the utmost care. As he stood there in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the quiet hum of the fixed radio and the soft breathing of his friend, he knew at that moment that he was irrevocably touched by her kindness.

And as the first light of dawn painted the sky, Alastor silently vowed to cherish and protect Y/N, for she had not only fixed his broken radio but had also managed to mend something far more precious—his wounded heart.

The next morning dawned upon the Hazbin Hotel, the air tinged with a sense of relief as the residents basked in the knowledge that Alastor's beloved radio had been fixed. Alastor strode into the lobby with a confident swagger, his usual grin plastered on his face. With a flick of his wrist, he turned on the radio, the familiar crackle of static filling the air before giving way to the melodic strains of love songs from a bygone era.

The residents exchanged puzzled glances, their confusion evident as they listened to the unexpected playlist. Angel Dust raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, looks like someone's feeling a bit sentimental today."

Alastor's grin widened, though there was a hint of something softer lurking beneath the surface. "Ah, my dear Angel, music has a way of stirring the soul, don't you think?"

As the love songs continued to play, the other residents couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth wash over them. Even the gruffest demons found themselves tapping their claws to the beat, caught up in the unexpected romance of it all.

But as Alastor's gaze lingered on Y/N, who stood among the crowd with a shy smile, a wave of realization washed over him. It wasn't just any love songs he was playing—it was a silent declaration of his growing affection for the inventive soul who had captured his heart.

And as the music filled the room with its sweet melody, Alastor couldn't help but feel a surge of hope coursing through him. Perhaps, in the midst of Hell's chaos, there was still room for love to blossom—a love that transcended time and defied all odds.

With a soft chuckle, Alastor stole a glance at Y/N, his heart swelling with newfound courage. For in that moment, amidst the gentle strains of love songs and the soft glow of morning light, he knew that he was falling—falling head over heels for the one who had fixed not only his broken radio but also the shattered pieces of his soul.

[fanaticsnail]

A day is all I need

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 6,900+

Synopsis: Serving as Trafalgar Law's chronicler aboard the Polar Tang, he convinces you to finally cast aside your former love for a man long since passed. In a bid to move on, you find an intriguing figure in the market who bore a striking resemblance to the man who held your heart.

Themes: Donquixote Rosinante x f!reader, otherworldly themes, fluff, heavy angst, hurt / comfort, love, pining, crying, sorrow, no happy ending, platonic love, confessions of love, magic, world building, unnamed OC introduction.

Notes: This is a fic that has taken me months to complete for a swap with @ghostiequill who wrote me a Rosinante foster parent au fic. I hope you enjoy this one!

The pool swirled and coiled in a rotating spiral, the water within coiling and clouding out to become vapor at the circular edge. Within the viscous pool swirled several hazy images within the waters depths. Faces shrouded by clouded light, the echo of indistinguishable voices, and a soft forlorn melody humming beneath the water beckoned all who heard the song to approach the menacing liquid. 

“Why now?” a voice slapped in a reverberating purr, beckoning the tall figure closer to their arched light, “Why would you choose now, after so very long, to ask permission to return?” 

Inhaling a deep, shaky breath, Rosinante stepped forward with his eyes lowered to the pool. Gazing into the depths, he witnessed a grown man with patchy, blotched skin, pierced ears, and tattoos on his chest, back, arms and fingers smiling up at a polar bear mink. Rosinante lulled his head to the side, smiling warmly with his lips in a solid line before glancing to the other side of the pool.

The image swirled and dissipated, morphing into something new and away from Trafalgar D Water-Law and his crew, and shifting into a person sitting upright and rigid at a desk. Their hand movements scratched away at a page, chronicling quests and organizing calendars while shaking off fatigue with a soft sigh.

“Why now, Rosinante? You will answer me when I speak to you,” the voice spoke, smoke and vapors clouding in a spectral mist and swelling in a clap to reveal a figure clad in a dark robe with large, dark wings protruding from his back. The figure’s hair shone like gold in direct sunlight, his face expressionless and holding an unspoken taunt behind the amber hue of his eyes. 

“Forgive me, sir,” Rosinante bowed his head, closing his eyes and sinking down onto his knees with his palms clapped over his thighs. “Truth be told, I didn’t know I could ask. I thought we were only able to watch from here, not go back.” The figure offered Rosinante a soft smile, making his eyes gentle as he stepped forward with his hand extended. 

“Of course you can ask,” he confirmed while gently tilting Rosinante’s head up to pierce his gaze down onto his face, “It doesn’t mean I am likely to aid you in your plight, but you can always ask.” Rosinante’s eyes held both understanding and a gentle plea behind his expression. The figure suddenly looked to the side before gently kneeling down in front of him. 

“If I am to do this for you, there are a few things you should be made aware of,” he uttered in a voice just above a whisper, still gazing to the side while clutching Rosinante’s chin, “I don’t grant just anyone a trip to The Over. Many have asked, but The Over can only handle so much of this energy at once.” 

Rosinante nodded along to the warning, keeping his hands firmly affixed to his thighs as the figure’s fingertips began to tingle in gentle licks of flame against his face. The wings fluttered behind the creature’s back, feathers flickered and shook with subtle ribbons of golden shimmer falling from his shrouded skin. 

“There are two ways, you may choose only one,” he uttered, gently turning back his attention to Rosinante in front of him, “The first is, I allow you to visit in the form you are now: spectral in nature, but natural in appearance. You can speak with only one individual and a single touch can be granted in this form. It will only last for an hour at the most, but you will be able to accomplish all you need to to visit your person.” 

The golden bob of Rosinante’s head depicted his understanding, but his eyes held a slight disappointment within his caramel orbs. The golden-haired man hummed and smiled broadly while arching his brow high. 

“You seem dissatisfied with the first option, should you desire to hear the other?” he chuckled at Rosinante, gently smoothing his hand over his cheek before resting on his shoulder, “The other is a path less commonly taken.” 

“Please,” Rosinante whispered, his lips parting and eyes darting between the two spectral and intimidating orbs staring into his soul, “Tell me the other.” The man smiles and shakes his head softly. 

“You will borrow my wings for twelve hours,” he shrugged, his wings fluttering behind his back before falling to the ground and sweeping behind him, “A half day venturing between here and The Over at will.” Rosinante’s eyes widened, looking over the figure’s shoulder to his wings and back at to meet his gaze once more.

“Is there a catch for this option?” he asked, immediately charting a course internally to how he could travel between the realms with haste to visit the young boy once in his care, and to return to his unspoken love in The Over.

“Of course, sweet Rosinante,” the man hummed, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, “But I believe you would choose this option regardless of the consequences.” 

“I believe we can both agree on that,” Rosinante gave a gentle hum, exhaling a laugh through his nose and smiling down at the pool beside them, “How soon do we begin?” 

The winged man fluttered his feathers behind his back, his intimidating eyes baring through Rosinante's head and into his spirit. 

“Immediately.”

Sitting in your office, you finally exhale a hefty breath you didn't realize you held within your chest. Chronicling the journey for the Polar Tang in their quest to meet up with the Straw-Hat and Kid-Pirate crews, while ensuring the rendezvous doesn't collide with maintenance and replenishment of supplies for the grand submarine, really began to take its toll on you. 

You had been traveling with Law for the past twelve years, ever since he had attempted to join the Donquixote Pirates and serve Doflamingo as his right hand in training. Rosinante was quick to stifle that craving, aiding and serving him to rid himself of the amber-led poisoning, while attempting to zap the lightning desire to stay alive as opposed to longing for death. 

Smiling, you turn to your desk and lift up a small pendant on your desk: a gift Law had given you when you accepted your title as ship's chronicler and professed your wishes to serve him officially. The heart-shaped locket had a small picture within, something you didn't think the sixteen-year-old Law managed to capture with the Den-Den snail shell. 

Rosinante was holding your waist, sitting you on his lap with the warm light of the fireplace warmed both of your features. The way he looked up at you spoke volumes, his eyes both rounded and half-lidded, his lips parted in a soft smile, and his gaze never leaving your face as you spoke down at him. 

Running your fingertips over the picture framed within the locket, you snapped it shut before tucking it within your desk drawer. You never had the chance of giving in to your emotions with Rosinante, never confessing your love for him because Law was simply too important and finding a cure for his health was a far greater need. 

You had served Doflamingo since childhood, given the choice between becoming a person serving in the ‘Passion District’ of Dressrosa, or using your skills as an in depth chronicler to catalog the deeds, decrees, and contracts for Doflamingo and his crew. You chose the latter, and you were ever thankful to be given the opportunity to do so. Growing your skillset, you had become incredibly detailed in your work, and your code deciphering skills were unmatched. 

You were only five years older than Law, growing and serving alongside him as he trained beneath Doflamingo to rise in the ranks. You couldn't pinpoint for sure when exactly you began to develop romantic feelings for Rosinante, the new Corazon of the Donquixote pirates, at the time. 

All you knew is you never had the opportunity to confess your love and adoration for the lanky man. Your heart was his, through and through, and you had never felt the swell to match its equal since. Sure, you had taken a handful of overnight lovers from port to port, but in truth: your heart belonged to him and him alone. 

Marching away from your desk with your journal clutched in your grasp, you found your captain sitting beside Bepo manning the helm. 

“Captain,” you have him a curt bow before fully closing the distance, “I have the itinerary you required.” Law smiled at you, shaking your head and softly gazed lazily up at your stature. 

“Chronicler,” he acknowledged, reaching out his tattooed hand and gesturing for you to pass it over to him with a soft beckoning of his hand. As you passed your journal into his hand, he softly tugged you to his side and held up his index finger in a gesture to halt your movement. You nodded your head in understanding to wait by his side, gently rotating your neck and easing the tension on your shoulders. 

“You know, Chronicler,” the nasally voice of the red-headed orka-man called from beside you, “If your neck and back is still giving you trouble, I'd be happy to ease the tension you've got gathering there, or anywhere else.” You rolled your eyes and gently chastised him with your pointed gaze. 

“While I am pleasantly intrigued, as always, to be on the receiving end of your flirtations, Shachi,” you gently arched your brows and looked him over from the hat on his head to the boots on his feet, “We both know that it'd be a bad idea. Also, we're both on the clock right now. You should be manning the pressure gauge, honey.” 

Immediately, Shachi straightened his back and returned to work with a newfound hastened pace. You didn't ignore the barely audible chuckle falling from Law's chest, gently reaching for his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. He raised his hand to your wrist, gently cradling it against his face and offering your knuckles a swift peck. 

“While I don't think Shachi would be an appropriate match for you,” he whispered, alongside the sweetness of your name on his tongue, “I do think it might be time for you to find someone. You've been wearing black for far too long.”

While your uniform was cream in color and embroidered with the dark design of Law’s Jolly Roger, you appreciated the nod to your plight of mourning for a love you never claimed. You leaned forward and offered Law a swift kiss on the forehead as he passed you back your chronicler journal. 

“What do you suggest, hm?” you ask Law with a soft tease in your tone, “Find some unwitting soul and offer them a place in my bed for a night of heat and passion-?” 

“-I accept!” Shachi called over his shoulder, hiding his blush beneath his hat and focussing his glasses-shrouded eyes behind his darkened glasses. You chuckled, shaking your head and pulling your hand away from Law's shoulder. 

“Did you hear your name in this private conversation, Shachi?” Law growled at his red-headed crewman. Shachi shook his head with a muffled “no, sir” in response, prompting Law to bark back at him, “So mind your own business. Keep an eye on the gauge, we're about to reemerge.” 

You offered a soft giggle, looking at the chroniclers journal and noting several changes Law had suggested in the margins of the calendar border, mostly to do with the duration of interaction with both Eustass Kid and Monkey D Luffy was to go on for. Shaking your head, you gently scolded him with a soft tap with your journal on his shoulder which gathered another breathy chuckle beneath his breath. 

“I'm serious, you know,” he again whispered a call of your name, gently tugging at your wrist, “You deserve a chance to move on.” 

“Like you did, you mean?” you offer Law a knowing look, gesturing with your pointed gaze down at his chest tattoo, “Heart Pirates, the Jolly Roger, the feathers in your pullover. Of the both of us, who truly needs to move on?” He scoffed at you, pouting and crossing his arms. 

“That's different. I'm honoring him,” he gently mumbled, your body slowly stopping forward and reaching down to squeeze at his knee. 

“In my own way, so am I,” you whisper down at him, “But I will try for you, captain.” Offering him a more intentional kiss on the forehead before returning to the base of the Polar Tang porthole window with Ikkaku, you thought on the words your oldest friend offered you. 

You had been mourning the tall man for upwards of ten years, no longer the woman you once were and now fully embracing the identity you carved for yourself as a pirate. You pictured what would've come of Rosinante if he had survived. 

He would be thirty-nine years old, would be still wear his face paint? Would his hair be worn in the same style? Would he have joined you and Law and embrace a life of piracy, or rejoin the ranks of Marines? All questions that you would never know the answer to. Nor would you know how he would've responded to your confessions of love. 

As you docked at port and settled the three crews in together, you gave Law a gentle nod to excuse yourself from the meeting to resupply the ship with the essentials. Penguin was to accompany you a little later, after he managed to swap stories and recipes with Sanji and Killer; the chef's of the other two crews. 

Humming a soft tune from the days long since forgotten, you sift through a variety of ingredients at the local flora and fauna shop, enjoying the scents and looking at a large assortment of carnations. The one that took your eye the most was the soft, pastel pink bordering the crimson hue of the droopy leaf. 

“Carnations from Dressrosa?” you asked the shopkeeper, prompting him to turn to face you. 

“We got a shipment over the past week. Worth a pretty berry now, considering it's being shipped out by King Riku Doldo III,” he commented, ushering you closer into the shop and urging your basket onto the trolley, “While he's done a lot of good for the kingdom of Dressrosa, after the former king was dethroned and rotting in impel down, he's not as passionate about flower production as the Donquixote was.”

You offer him a soft, forced smile at the comment, knowing intimately well how much Doflamingo truly enjoyed flowers. It reminded him of his mother, and it was disclosed to you in one of his drunken stupors that he desired to fill the castle with carnations as a memorial to her kindness. 

“I'll just take what's in the basket, sir,” you nodded to him, offering a handful of Berry to claim your remedies, perfumes and spices. He nodded, placing them in a canvas bag and handing over your change and receipt. 

As you moved to turn on your heel and away from the shop, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder and urged you to turn to face the source of the wandering touch. Before you had the opportunity to meet their gaze, you saw the familiar petals of red and pink from the waving curls of leaf. 

“You forgot this,” the deep baritone softly called over to you, gently tugging it down to reveal their soft eyes to you. You darted your eyes between his, inquisitively mapping his face with your gaze. “If I may?” he softly gestured to your hair, raising the flower up to your ear. 

Softly nodding, you curiously accepted the gift of a flower in your hair as he tucked the petals into the crevice of your ear. Your eyes never left his face, finding something familiar in his gaze and a familiar softness in his touch. 

“Thank you, mister…?” you lulled your head to the side and looked from his whiskered chin up to his war-torn eyes. 

“You can call me…” his eyes seemed to search yours with a foreign pleading, “...anything you want, love. I'm not fussy.” You arch your brow and scoff at the unbridled flirtation, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms. 

“Alright then, smartass. Keep your secrets,” you step away from his touch and turn to make your way back to the market square where you suspect to be meeting with Penguin in a few hours. 

“Smartass?” he mumbled in a soft, appalled whisper, “That hardly seems an appropriate choice.” You click your tongue while biting back a growing smirk. 

“Any reason you're choosing not to give me your name?” you ask without turning to face him, eyeing off several of the fresh produce and marking the better priced goods for services in your journal. 

“Why, is there something wrong with yours?” he smiled at you, gently sifting through the fruits and finding several varieties of citrus. You offer him a lopsided smile of surprise, your tongue toying with your molars as you stare at him in awe. 

Using this soft moment of silence, you gently rake your eyes over his form. He was tall with lengthy legs, his back long and shoulders broad. His blonde hair hung in loose curls over his head and tied back by a piece of pink leather, his beard shrouding his lips was manicured in a light and maintained scruff. 

“Who are you?” you asked him, folding your arms over your chest and analyzing him further. 

“Just a man journeying the crossroads of life and death,” he shrugged, lifting an orange in his grip and offering the vendor his Berry. 

“Can you be any more vague?” you arch your brow up and narrow your eyes at him. He turned to face you, his expression mirroring yours in a soft mocking demeanor. 

“Can you be any more intrusive?” he laughed back at you. Your smile all but fled your face, your brows downturning and lip curling in an appalled pout. 

“Fine,” you shrug, reaching up and taking the flower between your index and middle fingers and offered it to him. He was taken aback, looking between you and the flower before slowly reaching his larger hands out and taking the flower between his index and middle fingers from you. 

As he placed the stem between his fingers, a soft moment of familiarity washed over you in a crashing wave. The small gesture felt like passing a hidden cigarette with Rosinante after all the crew had fallen asleep, passing notes well into the cryptid hours and swapping stories of your adventures. 

Before you had the opportunity to turn fully away, he raised the flower back up to your face and darted his eyes over your form with an expression of forlorn longing. 

“This is yours,” he whispered, gesturing to the vibrant flower in his fingers, “Please, keep it.” Softly pouting up at him, you nodded in a subtle bob and allowed him to once again place the flower in the crook of your ear. 

His smile seemed all-too familiar, but no matter how your heart yearned to place a name to his face, you refused to give in to the intrusive thought. 

“I'm going to go back to my crew now,” you assess him with your gaze, shrugging off your inhibitions and biting back your nerves, “Did you want to join us for dinner with the lot of them? My captain won't mind, I assure you.” The man seemed to stiffen and back straighten in a rigid beam. 

“Are you inviting me back to meet your crew?” he asked inquisitively, his gaze dating over your eyes and face as he assessed your intentions. 

“If you don't want to, that's all you had to say,” you scoff, turning back to the produce and marking another symbol over the page, “No need to be rude about it, Smartass.” 

“No, no, you misunderstood me,” he chuckled nervously, softly placing his hand on your wrist to halt you, “Please, let me join you. I just-... I didn't expect you to extend an invite back to meet your family at the offer of a simple flower.”

“Well, you caught me in a moment of weakness,” you tug your wrist away from his grip, softly scolding him with your eyes and turning your body away but holding your gaze against him, “A weakness I won't be willing to extend again in a hurry-.”

“-Please,” he halted you with his gentle, careful whisper, “I'll stop, I'll behave. I was just being playful. It's-... It's been a while.” You shake your head, offering him a soft smile. 

“It's been a while for me since I've received such an intentional pursuit too,” you offer him, giving him a soft, tight-lipped and sheepish smile, “I tend not to lean in, but my captain gave me a little push earlier today. This is what my new leaf looks like, believe it or not.” 

Your companion gave you a soft grin, a knowing look found in his eyes as he offered you his arm and clutched the assembling bag of groceries you ordered on behalf of Penguin. 

The questions fleeing from his lips, from what your current passions and hobbies were, to your family and crew felt organic and natural in each fluid sentence. It felt like you were talking to an old friend, his caramel eyes holding something within that seemed truly familiar and all-knowing. 

His smile never left his face, the softness found in his expression was soothing and almost dreamy. You felt your heart swell the longer you spent with him. 

As you rejoined the crew, you introduced him to your friends and comrades as, “The Smartass.” He didn't seem to correct you, only offering a soft smile and holding up his hands defensively and confirming the soft title. 

The glare from your captain to your blonde guest never left him, feeling as perplexed as you were the longer you held discussion with him. You gently excused yourself from your guest and moved over to your captain's side. 

The bearded stranger laughed alongside the Heart-Pirates, enjoying a few lengthy monologues from Bepo and balancing the soft teasing from both Shachi and Penguin with fluid-like ease. He was a natural, and it was unnerving to witness such ease and rapport from a stranger to the crew. 

Sitting down beside Law, you looked down at him and gently nudged him with your shoulder. 

“Does he seem familiar to you?” you asked Law, gently nudging your shoulder with him. “He kind of looks like-.”

“-Don’t say it,” Law growled below his breath, “It can't be. He's dead. Don't, and this is the last I'll speak on it, you hear?” You gave him a gentle nod, excusing yourself from his side and gently bowing out to leave the table. 

“I understand,” you whisper quietly, softly pressing your lips to his temple and turning away, “Give my best to our guest. I think it's better if I just bow out now before I say something stupid.”

“I didn't mean-,” Law began, turning to face you and reaching his hand out towards you, only to stop as your words covered his. 

“-Goodnight, Law. I'll see you in the morning, okay?” you gently smile at him, softly upturning your eyes as they meet with the ground in a stopped bow. “If both foreign captain's offer you any trouble, send them my way and I'll sort them out.” 

“And your new friend, the smartass?” he asked you in a soft growl, “What you want me to do with him?” You shook your head, softly smiling at the way the blonde was gesturing and speaking with animated gusto with Penguin, Shachi and Bepo while they all sat and ate their dinner. 

“He seems rather involved with whatever is going on over there,” you confess in an amused hum, “If he's too much trouble, send him away. If not, enjoy him. I'll be in my quarters.” You gently turn towards your guest, nodding to him to excuse yourself with a polite smile. 

He snaps away from his conversation and begins to move to stand with a subtle urgency in his step. Shaking your head, you urge him to stay and giggle in response to his soft fluster. His eyes darted between yours, softly slinking back to his seat and looking up at you with his eyes rounded and innocent. 

Once away from the troop, your bearded guest turned his sights onto your captain and gave him a gentle smile. A smile Law knew all too well. 

A phrase from the past, a momentum of the friendship he had with the heart of the Donquixote pirates, the smile that held everything in its soft emotion. 

“If you ever think of me in the future, I want you to remember me smiling.”

Law immediately sprung up from his seat, kicking the discarded stool behind him and marched over to the blonde guest while uncaring as to who saw. 

“You're not him,” he barked down at the blonde man, Law's eyes wide and feral in nature, “You're not. I won't believe it. This is some trick, some cruel gamble.” The blonde man held out his hand defensively, gently attempting to soothe him and repress his fiery temper with a soft gesture. 

“Listen, kid,” the man softly whispered, his eyes rounded and feigning innocence, “You need to keep calm.” 

Law’s eyes widened as his heart caught in his throat, immediately raising his hand and calling for both, “Room,” and “Shambles,” to give the two of them a moment of privacy to talk. 

Blissfully ignorant and consumed with your own plight and struggle to withhold your emotions, you simply dove back into chronicling in your journal to cast aside your comparative narration regarding your new potential lover. 

Several hours had passed, your mind finding escape within your pages enough to remove your memory from the dull ache reawakening your love for a man lost to you. Shaking your head, you gently coax all thoughts aside from work from your mind. Carving words in code onto your page, you gently discarded several blemishes from your divider and slouched back into your seat. 

A gentle knock on your doorframe calls you away from your work, prompting you to look up and witness the lanky form smiling at you in the threshold of your room. 

“Law said I'd find you here,” your guest hummed teasingly at you. You turned your whole body around in your swiveling chair and lulling your head to the side, “He's a fine young man, you've done so well with him.”

“Excuse me?” you arch your brow, scoffing at him and eyeing him up and down, “Do I look like his mother?” The guest all but slipped and tumbled unceremoniously against the doorframe, mumbling his apologies and stuttering. 

“N-No, I just. He said-... didn't you-? Did you-?” he continued to relay, tripping and stumbling within your office and causing your brow to arch up and your lips to purse. 

“Slow down before you fall over more than your words and your feet,” you shake your head, gesturing with your hands to welcome him in, “Come on in, make yourself at home.” He smiled up at you, gently walking in and collecting himself. 

“What I meant to say was,” he straightened up his pale shirt and fixed the seams at his wrists, “I spoke in depth with your captain. He's grateful to have you still with him after all this time, and all you've been through together.” You look down your nose at him, puzzled by the words he's producing, the flurry seeming more cryptic than ever. 

“Oh, and how did you manage to coax that out of him, I wonder?” you scoff, folding your arms over your chest and offering him a scolding look. He raised his hands defensively, remaining silent to the cause and always gentle in his movements. 

“Call it ‘shared history’, if you like,” he offered, shrugging his shoulders and biting back a soft smirk. You rolled your eyes, gazing over to your desk and finding your gaze immediately drawn to the locket you drew out for comfort earlier. 

“A friend of yours?” he asked, his head tilting to the side and reaching for it with his thumb and middle fingers. While you would normally halt such a touch to something so personal, your heart clenched firmly as you forced yourself to stop. 

As he held it up to his face, his eyes held a sense of purity you thought you almost recognised. He rolled the pad of his thumb over the piece, his face seeming to hold himself back from saying something he felt he shouldn’t. 

“He was my best friend,” you confessed in a soft whisper, turning your face away from him to gaze down at your boiler suit uniform. Avoiding his gaze seemed to spur you on, your soul screaming at you to talk about your emotions with a non biased party. Taking a shaky inhale, you gulped back and poised a question to your guest. 

“Would you mind if I spoke about him?” your voice was almost too quiet, but your question was answered immediately by your guest with an urgency you could almost laugh at.

“Please.” 

You fought back a shaky laugh at his haste, gently rising a smile to your lips while continuing to peer down at your uniform. Your guest, the smartass, was really growing on you, and you were grateful he allowed you the freedom to use him to pour your heart out about your lost love. 

“He was… everything to me” you began at the beginning, your smile beginning to shake at the corners, “Although we didn’t speak for some time, his selective mutism ensured that - a long story.” You held your hands up defensively while you moved your head to gaze out of the window. 

“He always listened when I needed him to. And… When he told me the truth, about who and what he was,” you bit the inside of your bottom lip to halt your emotion from swelling to full intensity, “He told me to stay behind, remain bound to the desk beneath the whim and thumb of his older brother.” You snuck a look at your guest to gauge his reaction, his back remained turned to you.

“I said ‘no’.” 

Your guest chuckled at your comment, his shoulders shaking with a clumsy laugh. His laugh was contagious, mixing with yours as it fell effortlessly from your lips. Even his laugh held that familiarity to you, and you felt at ease with his close proximity.

“Why did you go with him, if you don’t mind me asking?” he queried, the small chirp in his question felt innocent and prompted you to smile a little wider, “Was it the boy? Your captain spoke to me about it a little.” 

“Law was sick,” you nodded to him, “But that wasn’t why I came with him. I… I was…” You steadied yourself, gently taking in a large breath and breathing out steadily, “I was so, desperately in love with him, I couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving without me. Selfish, I know.” You shrugged, watching the man’s back as he continued to stare down at the image of you and your heart within the warm light.

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” his voice fell from his lips in a soft whisper. “Why didn’t you ever tell him?” 

“Who’s to say I didn’t?” you giggled in response, toying with the sleeves of your boiler suit before rising to your feet. Walking over to stand beside the taller man, you don’t move to gaze up at him, only peering at the locket in his hand, “I told him I loved him every day.”

“How?” the question left his lips before you uttered the last syllable of your former sentence. This prompted you to snap your gaze up and meet his eyes as they bore themselves into the image within the frame. 

Truly taking him in, really studying him, you could see the melancholy in his face. The soft creases in the corners of his eyes, soft pucker lines from cigarette addiction, the scruff of blonde and silver in his beard, and the soft curls framing his face. He was so beautiful, you felt yourself becoming lost in his presence. The deep sadness swelling within his chest escaped from within, littering his cheeks with a slow outpour of emotion from his eyes. 

“In the little things,” you nodded to him, placing your hand over the locket and gently holding the stranger’s hands, “In the way I made his coffee, in the blanket I’d draw over his chest to keep him warm while I kept watch. In how I would clear up the rum bottles to hide from Law, and in the soft touch I would sneak with him.” 

Rolling your thumb on the back of the stranger’s hand, you demonstrated the initiation of a gentle and innocent touch. 

“He probably didn’t read much into the actions, but this is how I showed it,” you shrugged, stilling your motions and holding your hand still in his. His other hand timidly reached up to withdraw the flower from your ear and fiddled with it in his fingertips. You sighed softly, truly enjoying being able to rid yourself of the burden caging your heart with him.

“Do you know what my favorite part of today was?” he asked, a softness in his eyes and his heart pressed on his sleeve. He finally shifted his vision from your hands to your own eyes, darting between them gently. 

“Tell me, Smartass,” you smirk at him, gently caressing his bearded cheek with your unoccupied hand, and smoothing your thumb over his jaw. In a bid to return playfulness rather than heavy conversation about love and loss with him, “What was your favorite part?”

Placing the flower down on your desk, he removed his hand from yours and softly returned the locket to its former position. In just those actions alone, you could’ve seen that same man you were speaking of within him - but that could’ve been that hope you spoke of moment’s prior with Law. 

His hands now bare reached towards you, gently drawing you closer to him and pressing his forehead against yours while stooping low. You closed your eyes on impact, almost expecting a kiss from the stranger but happy to sit in his presence and share breaths with him. Spectral golden dust began to surround his body, pooling at his back and spilling down to fall at his feet, prompting his anxiety to rise and propel him to confess. 

“I had the chance to fall in love with you all over again.” 

Your shock was evident on your face, your eyes widening at witnessing the otherworldly transformation of the man in front of you. 

“Rosinante?” you choke back your sob, the swell in your chest threatening to burst and force tears from your eyes immediately. Pulling away from his forehead, his face morphed with the aid of the golden dust and shedded his beard and shortened his hair. 

“I'm here,” he whispered, softly reaching down and claiming your hands within his own, “And I'll be waiting for you thereafter. Always.” 

Your heart burst at seeing the young man once more, makeup on his features and that smile you loved splitting up his face. Every emotion burst in your chest and flooded your cheeks with warm, heavy tears. The unspoken questions of how, why, when, what, and who couldn’t release from your lips regarding his ethereal presence: especially now with the presentation of large, black wings in lieu of his cloaked jacket. 

His body began to fade, the light shining in your eyes prompted you to squint to continue to gaze at him. Instead of asking the questions that plagued you, and leading truly with your heart, you managed to stutter out an articulation of your sorrow. 

“How can I move on without you? How can I live without you, Corazon?” you whimper out, gently reaching up and surging your head forward to meet his chest, “What should I-...? How can I-...? I can't-... Please, I can't move on without you-.”

“-Whichever person you welcome into your heart next, mi amor,” he whispered calmly, softly pressing his lips to your forehead and fighting the urge to release his own tears, “Rest assured, my heart is big enough to hold them with you too.”

“Corazon-.”

“-I love you.”

Your cabin split with a flash of gold, a flutter of black wings was all that echoed as you were once again left alone with your thoughts. All that remained was gratitude that you had what little time stolen from you from the beyond, and the hope that you would see him again one day. 

Once your tears dried up, and you deemed yourself appropriate enough to explore the corridors and halls of the Polar Tang, you would find your Captain in much a similar shape as you were. His face was stained with emotion, his eyes red and puffy while his heart was lighter than it had been for some time. 

“Did you see him, or was it all a dream?” he asked you, using the back of his sleeve to clear his cheeks of their spillage. 

“I saw him,” you nodded, immediately moving over to him and circling your arms around his shoulders to soothe him, “And we will see him again.” 

Law nodded into your chest hastily before his lips began to huff out heavy sobs. You never dreamed of hushing him through it, feeling the tension boil over in your own heart and beginning to mourn for your lost love all over again. 

“He said he was proud of me,” Law whimpered, his hands grasping the back of your boiler suit in heavy fistfuls, “And he loved us both so much.” You nodded, burying your eyes into the mop of dark hair at the crown of his head. 

For the next several moments, you both allowed one another to sob openly in the comfort of each other’s arms. The tightness in your chest felt itself becoming untethered the longer you clung to one another. After allowing yourselves the time you needed to calm down, you softly whispered into your captain’s hair. 

“I know I don’t tell you enough with my words,” you rubbed his back and gave him a reassuring squeeze, “I love you, Law, as much as one friend could love another. I would follow you anywhere, as my captain and as my friend.” 

Law held onto you further, his bottom lip quivering at the beginning of a rise of fresh emotions. 

“Stay with me?” he asked innocently, “Just like we did all those years ago?” 

“Of course,” you nod, pressing a kiss to his temple and holding him firmer against yourself, “For as long as you need.” 

For the next few weeks, the two of you would become as inseparable as you once were all those years ago. You were a comfort to one another, and that was all you needed to be until you were ready to part from shared quarters.

“You will look as if the years were never taken from you, a body that should’ve been yours should you have lived,” the winged Avariel confessed to Rosinante with a gentle hum in his tone, “They will likely not recognise you, regardless of how you dress and present yourself.”

“They will still know you as the man you once were, even in the form you are now, you will be familiar to them,” the man removed his cowl, offering it to Rosinante with open hands, “But you are not permitted to give your name in any form. No “Corazon”, no “Rosinante”, no “Donquixote”. If your name is spoken, you will return to me immediately.”

The blonde nodded his head, his heart beginning to stir and vibrate in longing. His gut clenched, his breath slowly returning to him as an ethereal ray swirled from the pool around his body.

“You will only have this day, and this day alone,” The figure stepped closer in, donning the wings on Rosinante’s back while pressing his forehead against the blonde’s own. “You will never be able to do this again, and remain here with me in The Under until you are reunited with those you love at the waters.”

Rosinate felt his body shift and change, age weathering his features. The sprouts of scruffy hair on his chin had his eyes begin to pool over with a bittersweet sorrow. He had always wanted a beard, but his marine lifestyle and his presence with the Donquixote Pirates required him to remain neat and tidy until he served his purpose. Knowing, should he have lived, he would’ve had a beard growing shaggily on his face meant he would’ve chosen a life of freedom and piracy. Before he came too involved with the way he looked, the figure spoke to him once more.

“Do you understand, Rosinante?”

“A day is all I need, sir” he confirmed with a soft whisper, clapping the wings onto his back and donning the shrouded cowl with a gentle clap over his chest to honor the otherworldly man, “All I'll ever need.”

“I just need to tell them how proud I am of them,” he whispered, feeling life return to him with the flutter of darkened wings firmly shaking to life, “And tell them both how much they meant to me.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory

[thisdudedoesntexist]

So I had a dream about a helluva boss and danny phantom crossover with a little dc in it so keep scrolling if you just want dpxdc or don't like spectral owl (danny Fenton x Octavia goetia). Also for some context only Loona and Octavia know about danny being phantom and the ghost king. Its also incomplete cause I can't remember the rest, so feel free to add on.

Stolas (the wiki said 30's so he's 35): red

Danny 19: green

Octavia 18: purple

Please excuse any grammar or spelling errors

Stolas had be trying for MONTHS. Two whole-MONTHS to bring his daughter back. Everyone else was trying to distract him with placateions like a funeral and time to grieve. To tare him away from what he knows he saw!!

Stolace: "Oh Octavia, only 18 and just over a year into dating that Daniel Fenton, that normal boy was one of the best things to happen to her even if it earth and hell was a rather long distance relationship. He couldn't even speak at the funeral, he was just sitting there stiff as a corps staring as the closed casket (Satan, there wasn't even a body). If that dammed, and now dead executioner hadn't gotten so careless she would have never disappeared- JUST DISAPPEARED in that flash of green light!"

But no matter! He had been researching and researching for days and nights on end (my, Blitzo's attempts to make him sleep were tempting). He had-despite the protests of some of his family found a tome, one book on summoning himself the Ghost King's castle, more like Pariah dark's current location but thats irrelevant. If legends of his exploits and one of his advisors mastery of chronomancy are to be believed he could bring his daughter back.

He has it all set up and he will be doing soon, he just needs to wait for the sacrifice to arrive (an exorbitant amount of gold coins and a sword thats taken at least 100 lives).

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

Danny has been having a great two months.

Ok so there was a bit of worry when he had to save his girlfriend from that rogue executioner angel by teleporting her to his castle (thank the ancients that Octavia and their friend situationship loona were so acceptingof that, you have no idea what being told by your parents that they were going to "Rip you apart molecule by molecule!" Does to a former fourteen year old. He still has a little panic attack when people ask him if he knows phantom.)

After explaining what happened and telling her about the "Non Ecto-material returnal laws" he's been working on with his advisors (ghost friends) he and Octavia have essentially been having an extended sleep over. Danny's been showing her around all the cool places in his castel like the garden of dangerous extinct plants, the throne room (An abrupt visit from the teen titans cause Trigon was about to appear on earth.), and the recreational center that was built after Danny discovered why pariah went mad.(That crown had been beaming him with the suffering screams of his subjects and he couldn't do anything about it). Speaking of the rec-center, he and his Moon (Octavia) had an appointment with the former tyrant where is she?

Danny: "Octavia! My moon where are you!"(He starts in a casual flight speed down the halls towards the guest room his girlfriendhad been staying in). "Via~" he says in the way he always does when he's being intentionally stupid. "Where are you my darling?" while his voice is sweet he's grinning like the experienced menace to society he is. "Its almost time to go annoy the old man!"

This earns him a blob ghost plushy to the face while Octavia "the smartest person in the world in Danny's opinion" chuckles at his mock-suffering.

Octavia: "Stop it you sound like my dad! Who would want to date such an nerdy guy?" (her, apparently) "And yes we should get going before Janice (Danny's secretary with an obsession with office management) starts eating her clipboard."

As they are walking down the hallways and corridors Octavia speaks "Don't you have that meeting with Constantine later?"

"Right, forgot about that." (The laughing magician had been checking up on him through bi-weekly attempts to "scam him into making choices that wouldn'tjust benefit ghosts.") "Should probably ask him to help set up a meeting between me and your dad so we can finally get you home next week."

"Thank Satan I can sit in my own bed again soon!"

"Huh?!" Danny says in a pretend offense that doesn't reach even his face. "Sick of me already? Have I not been a good host?" He wipes a phantom tear (get it?) from his eye. Earning a laugh from the other.

Honestly, what could go wrong today.

[kirby0strombolli]

Ghostface | Matt Sturniolo Part 8

'What's the matter Sidney? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

ghostface!matt x reader

Chapter 8 - The Night of terror.

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8

warnings: swearing, chasing, fighting...

a/n: PENULTIMATE CHAPTER!!!!

The night of terror.

It was some sort of repeating dream that had occurred every night.

A lucid dream.

But this was no false dream- no.

It was as if I wasn't in control of my own body, every step feeling like I'd disobeyed myself. Every breath that I took wasn't my doing.

Every time I had tried to convince myself that it wasn't real, there'd be a niggling sense of doubt, hiding, in the corners of my mind.

~

The setting was always the same; a mirror maze, eerie and disorienting. The walls were lined with countless mirrors, each one reflecting an endless corridor of twisted images.

Dim, flickering lights cast long, distorted shadows, and the air was cold, carrying a faint, metallic tang.

Everywhere I looked, there was a mirror.

My reflection stared back at me from every angle, eyes wide with the same fear I felt in my heart.

Then, without warning, a sharp crack appeared in one of the mirrors, spider-webbing across the surface and shattering the eerie silence.

The sound reverberated through the maze, jolting me from the dark depths of my 'dream,' bringing me back to the very real sense of pain throbbing in my chest.

To my horror, when I look down, there is a knife piercing the flesh of my chest. I cry out in pain as I attempt to grasp the hilt, trying desperately to stem the flow, but my body resists as my eyes lock on the intricate designs of the hilt of the knife.

A haunting vision of swirling spectral figures glares up at me, complete with the crest of the menacing Ghostface symbol. With a deep breath and a surge of determination, I pull the knife from my chest.

As soon as the blade was free, the world around me shifted violently.

Back to the mirror maze.

Back to the nightmare.

I was no longer in control, swept away by an unseen force.

Was this even real? Was it yet another nightmare, or the grim truth of real life?

I had been transported back to the heart of the mirror maze, the familiar terror gripping me once more.

The mirrors were intact again, the labyrinth stretching endlessly before me.

The whispers returned, louder and more insidious, echoing in my mind. I realized that the knife had not only wounded my flesh but had also bound me deeper into the nightmare.

I knew I had to find a way out, but every step felt like a journey deeper into the abyss. I stumbled through the maze, unsure of what set apart reality and nightmare.

Each step echoed with the doubt that I might never wake up, that I might be trapped in this hellish labyrinth forever.

Suddenly, I heard a muffled cry. My heart raced as I turned a corner and saw y/n.

Terror gripped me as I saw the spectral figure of Ghostface looming behind her, a hand pressed against her mouth to stifle her scream.

"Don't scream," he whispered, his voice chilling and hollow, echoing throughout the mirror maze. The sight of y/n's wide, terrified eyes galvanized me into action.

I had to save her, but how? My mind raced, searching for a solution in the chaos.

Then, a memory surfaced—a fleeting, half-remembered thought about how to kill a doppelganger.

The key was the mirrors. I needed to use the mirrors against him. Why hadn't I remembered?

With renewed determination, I lunged at Ghostface, forcing him away from y/n.

We struggled, our movements chaotic and violent, smashing into the mirrored walls. Each impact sent ripples through the reflections, distorting the images further.

In a desperate bid, I managed to shove Ghostface directly into one of the mirrors. The glass shattered on impact, and for a moment, he seemed to disintegrate, his form breaking apart into thousands of tiny fragments.

But he wasn't gone yet. The pieces of his reflection began to reassemble, pulling back together.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed a shard of broken mirror and held it up. As Ghostface reformed, I drove the shard into his chest.

The mirrors around us began to crack and shatter, the labyrinth itself breaking apart under the force of his demise.

His scream echoed through the maze, a sound of pure, otherworldly agony, as I am wrenched from the lifelike dream, my own scream fading in my throat, eyes flying open.

'Shit, I'm alive?' I rasp out, sitting up in the familiar kitchen of y/n's apartment, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

Next to me, I hear Y/n cough out what sounds like a laugh before turning to me and saying, "Probably…" before slumping down to the ground, her chest heaving as she overcomes a fit of giggles.

To my surprise, I find myself joining in, rolling over to her and enveloping her in a tight embrace, feeling her stomach heave with laughter as mine does, too.

As the laughter subsides, the halloween decorations catch my eye, strewn around the place.

"Fuck, still Halloween, huh?" Y/n smirks, glancing over to see what I'm looking at and catching sight of the Halloween decorations that still adorn the kitchen.

'Impossible.' I furrow my brows, the expression suddenly serious.

'What the shit actually just happened?', y/n asks, her voice full of panic now. I shake my head before getting to my feet, and helping her do the same.

Pulling her close, I hold her tightly as if the embrace alone could anchor us to this fleeting, perfect moment.

Our laughter slowly fades into a tender silence, and we bask in the warmth of each other's presence.

But then, the doorbell rings, its shrill chime slicing through the calm and jolting us back to reality.

The doorbell rings.

A chill runs through me as I recall the faint, ominous words: "Don't Leave The House, Don't Answer The Phone, Don't scream..."

The memory lingers, a whisper of dread that underscores the urgency of the moment.

"But most importantly," I remember with a shiver, "don't answer the door."

I dismiss my fears with a scoff as I glance again at y/n. Her face was a deathly white, eyes wide with a mix of anxiety and dread. Ignoring my surroundings, I stride toward the door, my hand lingering on the doorknob.

This was it.

It was going to be the police. We were going to be safe. I wasnt going to keep having these nightmares.

~

I am shocked when I open the door to see myself standing there, a twisted grin on my face. "Trick or treat, bitch," the doppelgänger sneers, holding a bloodied candy bag.

a/n: FINALE NEXT!!!

taglist: @lexisecretaccx @itssophiasstuff @junnniiieee07

[kaedeharakaori]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔 || 𝘍. 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴 (Masterlist)

�� ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟﾟ ⋆

SEASON ONE: We only see each other at weddings and funerals

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟﾟ ⋆

New York, 2019.

Located in the depths of the mansion, deep within the gated halls of the east wing, in a panic room where no such powers can be used, lie a sleeping beauty, or should I say, the Umbrella Academy's Siren, Mikayla Hargreeves.

Darkness was all she saw, it was all she could feel.

"Please... let me out of here." She begged desperately as if it was all she could ever do, it was the only thing she could do.

'You should have never went on that mission, little one. You were warned.'

It was an eerie voice lingering in her dark world, the same voice that told her not to go on that mission that costed Mika her life. The very mission that killed someone important to her.

-

New York. November 11, 2005.

Exactly three years after

Number Five disappears.

It was another normal day for the Hargreeves children, them having fun out in the courtyard, Luther sitting under his favourite tree, looking out for his siblings, Vanya in her room, beautifully playing the violin, Diego somewhere in the kitchen waiting for his mother to finish up their snacks.

"Ben!" Klaus excitedly called out, "Look at this, I can float!" Demonstrating that he can somewhat hover over the grass, a mere 10 centimeter height.

"That's amazing, Klaus." Allison clapped proudly about to sit next to Luther under the tree.

Now, my dear readers, you might be wondering where the little siren is. Little Mika was stood in front of the fireplace, her eyes fixed on the portrait that hung above her head.

"Its been exactly three years since you've gone." She whispered as tears were about to fall, "Give me a sign, Five. Please, give me a sign that you're still out there."

Mika wiped the tears that have now fallen on her blazer sleeve and kneeled in front of the fireplace, "I miss you so much, there was never a day I wouldn't think about you."

"How could you leave me just like that?" She now cried which alerted Diego, who was now making his way towards the girl.

Just as Diego was going to comfort her, an alarm rang throughout the mansion, signalling the kids that there was about to be a mission.

"Gather up, there is an important mission I'd like to announce." Sir Reginald Hargreeves voice boomed from the top of the staircase as the remaining six children stood, waiting for their father's command.

Vanya who quietly stood in the corner whispered, "Why do I feel like something bad is about to happen?"

-

Florida. November 11, 2005.

Exactly three years after

Number Five disappears.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the Florida beach. The mood was somber, but there was no time for reflection. From the ocean's depths, a swarm of menacing water creatures emerged, their grotesque forms glistening in the fading light.

Luther, with his superhuman strength, charged forward, swinging a piece of driftwood like a club. Each swing sent one of the creatures reeling back into the water.

Diego, with his knives shining due to the sunset, moved with lethal precision, each blade he owned was finding its mark in the soft underbellies of their enemies.

Klaus, though initially hesitant, summoned the spirits of sailors who died at sea to aid in battle, spectral figures pulling the water creatures away from the shore.

"Everyone, stay focused!" Allison called out, her voice cutting through the chaos. "I heard a rumor, that you can't breathe!" As her power twisted the realities of the creatures, they convulsed and collapsed as they gasped for air.

Somewhere on the beach was Ben, his monstrous tentacles unleashed from his chest, fought valiantly beside his siblings. The horror of his powers was a stark contrast to his very sweet and gentle demeanor, but today, Ben was using his powers with deathly efficiency.

On the edge of all this chaos stood Mika Hargreeves, sinking her feet into the wet sand. As a siren, her powers were tied to the water, yet she had not unlocked her full potential as all the enemies she fought before were on land.

Today, however, she had no choice but to jump into the sea. She slowly lowered herself into the depths, feeling the cold water swirl around her ankles, then her knees, and finally her waist.

Seeing the siren, Luther called out to her, "Mika, are you sure about this?"

"I have to, Luther. We have no other choice."

As the water enveloped her, Mika felt a strange energy coursing through her veins. Her senses sharpened, and an uncontrollable force surged within her. Her vision blurred, and she fell into an unconscious state, her body contorting as her powers took over. Her once human form began to morph, scales appearing on her skin, her eyes glowing a haunting blue.

'Beneath the waves, where shadows play,

A song of sorrow calls today.

Come closer now, drawn by the tide,

In the depths, where secrets hide.'

An eerie melody began to emanate from Mika, an ancient song that reverberated through the water and air.

'Silver moon, light our path,

Guide the lost through ocean's wrath.

Waves will cradle, voices blend,

In the deep, where dreams descend.'

The creatures, drawn to the sound, became entranced, their aggression turned into confusion, while her siblings were struggling to battle out the song. But the power was too much for Mika to handle, and it lashed out uncontrollably.

With the sudden burst of energy, the beach fell silent, and the ancient song was left unfinished. When the remaining members of the Umbrella Academy gathered their bearings, they found Ben lying still on the sand, his face pale and barely breathing. Allison on the other end screamed, rushing towards her other siblings. The remaining sea creatures, who were still disoriented by Mika's song, retreated back into the ocean, their threat momentarily neutralized.

Luther and Diego rushed to Mika's side, pulling her out of the water. She lay next to Ben unconscious, her transformation slowly reversing. Klaus ran and knelt by Ben, tears streaming down his face as he glanced at both his siblings.

"No, no, no, this can't be happening." He whispered.

As the siblings were grappled with grief and confusion, a familiar figure appeared at the edge of the beach—Sir Reginald Hargreeves. His face was impassive as he was surveying the scene.

"We cannot afford to have this distraction." Reginald said coldly. "Allison, you know what you must do."

Allison's eyes widened in horror. "No, I can't—"

"You will." Reginald interrupted, his tone stern and would not accept any argument.

"I heard a rumor..."

End

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟﾟ ⋆

Hello, my dears

I hope you enjoyed this one

It dives into the depths of

Mika's forgotten past

What do you think will happen

if she finished her song?

[echosong-87]

"Do you really think we be out matched and scared of you? We'll then you're wrong!"

Minuet then rose a wing and struck it from her captors and flipped them off their feet as she bolted straight upwards to the air and burst into the skies... where she flew beside the Moonlit Prince.

He managed to steal back the conductor's baton from the tyrannical Queen and the power string within the baton.. now wielded by the Prince, he started playing chores of true strength and might as The Moonlit Prince dove into the chaos of battle leaving Minuet Sonata to lead the secondary charge and freeing hers and The Prince's fellow comrades from their cages... many flew up in aray of feathers and claws, all ready to fight alongside their Prince who caused a great riff of a storm...the whirlwind of air, cloud and sky clashed with the chores of music played by the The Moonlit Prince. A beautiful, dancing battle of two rulers... where one may fall and the other may win victory.

He moved and weaved through the air and sky like a skillful shadow, landing blow after blow leaving damage to the tyrannical queen who's vibrant blood red hair bristle like the hackles of an angered wild cat...her teeth bared as she scanned the skies all around her and her troops wondering where the moonlit prince vanished.

Her embered eyes glowed hotly with malice as she failed to see where the Prince's shillouette had disappeared and she could not catch sight of him as he dove down at her again with another perisision attack and diving back into the sky blending into a shadow once more.

"You literally think you could out muscle us?" The Prince's hushed voiced echoed beside the angered queen. She swung a claw but missed. "You'd think we be vastly vulnerable?" He whispered again. Another miss, and she roared in fury. "Where are you!?!" The queen yelled, and again she swung a fist, and again she missed.

"I am here." He said, tapping a black talon onto her shoulder again, hiding behind her. "You are very terrible at this, my dear." She growled lowly and swung her guitar at his face. Again!! Another miss. Ya, little punk!"

"Wrong move again, my love." He whispered, enraging her evermore. "Then where are you?!? Show up and fight me!" "I am there." He whispered more, again after dodging and hiding within the shadows of the fight.

"Where!?!" She shouted, swinging another miss at him. And she spun around then stopped dead as her eyes locked with his.

The Prince's eyes loomed from the shadows illuminating like small hollow orbs, blazing with cold fury as he glared down at her. "I am EVERYWHERE!" He thundered, dropping his whispering spectral voice dropped down a notch, sounding more menacing than before.

"You gotta lot of nerve saying that to me pretty boy!!" She snarled, crackling her knuckles as she readied herself into the one on one brawl. Yet as she lunged to catch him, those eyes suddenly disappeared. "COME DOWN AND FIGHT ME YOU BRAT!!!" Howled the queen as the hair on her neck bristle even more.

"How can you fight a foe that you cannot see? How can you fight in a realm that isn't yours to control or demand?" The Prince rasped, now standing behind the queen, his breath tickling her torn ear. "Have you not forgotten who's domain you are now in?"

Ok!!! That was a sneak peek of what I am writing on.... Princess Minuet Sonata was the only Classical troll out of the whole kingdom to learn how to fight by being taught by Branch himself.... it was mostly when he could not save the other classical trolls from capture.

Again, Branch is a natural strategitis and is a fast learner... and one hell of a paranoid survivalist... I bet he would always win at a game of chess... if he was given the chance to do so.

Also this drawing piece was inspired by this song.

[dndfantasygirl]

Fighting for Freedom (Chapter 19: The Call of the Absolute)

Rating: Mature Word count: 4.8k Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (named)/OC Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo, anxiety

Summary: Delphie, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel confront the Netherbrain.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

The decision is made: the group of adventurers must divide their forces, a precaution against potential attacks on the city as they confront the menacing Netherbrain. Delphie, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel step forward to confront the sinister entity, while Gale, Wyll, Karlach, and Jaheira remain behind. Echo and Delphie's step-siblings offer their aid in the looming battle.

As Delphie embraces Harley, a single tear trickles down the tiefling's cheek. "Please, sister, be careful. We've only just met you. We can't bear to lose you."

With a solemn nod, the wood elf turns towards Kaneru, enveloping him in a hug. "Believe in your strength, Delphnye. You possess a resilience greater than any of us."

Delphie chuckles softly, though the shadar-kai seems puzzled. "I wouldn't go that far—"

"You're underestimating yourself, sister."

A sigh escapes the wood elf. "I'll do my best not to."

With a fluid motion, the shadar-kai reaches for the longbow strapped to his back, the weapon gleaming as if imbued with a spectral glow. He extends it towards Delphie, the light radiating from it casting an ethereal aura around them, illuminating the darkness like a beacon. Delphie gazes at the bow in wonder, hesitating before accepting it from him.

"Your companions stumbled upon this during their infiltration of the Steelwatch Foundry," Kaneru explains, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. "It required some adjustments, and fortunately, my centuries spent in the guise of a shadar-kai have imparted me with a few peculiar skills."

Delphie's lips curl into a grateful smile. "Thank you, Kaneru," she murmurs, her fingers tracing the intricate details of the bow's craftsmanship. Kaneru nods in acknowledgment, a silent understanding passing between them.

The wood elf's gaze shifts towards Erg. His casual demeanor contrasts with the gravity of their mission, yet his unwavering support bolsters her resolve.

"Farewell, Delphnye," the avariel addresses her. His raised brow and crossed arms convey a sense of confidence, even amidst the uncertainty of their quest. As he envelops her in a brief embrace, his words carry a subtle encouragement. "Come back in one piece, yeah?"

Delphie reciprocates the embrace before he releases her, his hands lingering on her shoulders with a reassuring grip. "Go kick some ass."

Bellamy interjects with a gasp, her disapproval evident as she swats Erg's shoulder. "Brother, watch your language!"

Erg rubs his shoulder in mock pain, a mischievous glint in his eye as he winks at Delphie. She responds with a soft smile.

As Delphie turns to face her final sibling, there's a palpable sense of gravity in the air. Bellamy's arms wrap around Delphie in a tight embrace, holding her as if reluctant to let go.

In that embrace, Delphie feels the weight of Bellamy's concern, mirrored in the silver depths of the moon elf's eyes. The worry is unmistakable, etched into every line of her expression, every gentle squeeze of her arms.

"Please stay safe, sister," she whispers.

"I'll try," the wood elf responds, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions swirling within her. With a reassuring smile, Delphie pulls away from the embrace.

Echo approaches the group of step-siblings with cautious steps, her presence commanding attention. Delphie's heart clenches as she embraces the young dragon, feeling the weight of their impending separation bearing down on her. She buries her face against Echo's neck, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over.

In Echo's eyes, the wood elf glimpses a reflection of her own emotions. The dragon's gaze then shifts to Astarion, her voice carrying a stern tone tinged with concern. "Bloodsucker. You will die before her, yes?"

"I thought we were over the name-calling, Lizard." Before he can react, Echo's tail sweeps under his feet, sending him sprawling to the ground with a grunt. He scowls up at the dragon, his pride wounded but his resolve unyielding.

"Easy, Echo," Delphie intervenes, her voice gentle yet firm. "We'll be careful, I promise."

With a supportive hand, Delphie assists Astarion to his feet. Together, they make their way to where Shadowheart and Lae'zel await at the entrance of the portal

As they stand together, Delphie's gaze sweeps over each member of their group gathered in the cove, the weight of their impending separation heavy in the air. Esme alights on her shoulder, a comforting presence in the midst of turmoil. The familiar touch triggers a wave of emotions, and Delphie feels the tears welling up once more, threatening to spill over.

But Delphie knows she can't succumb to her emotions now. There's too much at stake, too much left to do. She can't bring herself to say goodbye, not yet. The words catch in her throat, choked by the fear of what lies ahead and the uncertainty of when—or if—they'll all be reunited.

Instead, Delphie offers them a silent nod, a gesture laden with unspoken promises and determination. It's a vow to return, to stand by their side once more, as soon as she steps through the portal and confronts the challenges that await beyond.

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

Returning to the Undercity Ruins is a journey fraught with painful memories for the two elves of the party. For Delphie, it's a haunting reminder of her own mortality, the place where she once faced death's embrace and narrowly escaped its grasp. And for Astarion, it's a harrowing echo of the moment when he thought he might lose the only person he ever truly cared for.

But it's not just personal tragedies that loom over the ruins; it's a place steeped in sacrifice and heroism. It's where Delphie's father, a man she barely knew, gave his life to save her own, a selfless act that still resonates within the depths of her soul.

As they navigate the dilapidated corridors and crumbling structures, each step feels like a burden, the weight of their memories pressing down upon them. Even Astarion's unbeating heart seems to falter, threatened by the overwhelming sense of dread that permeates the air.

With a subtle gesture, Delphie commands Esme to accompany them from above. The small pseudodragon flits gracefully through the shadows, a silent guardian watching over them as they traverse the treacherous terrain.

As they press on through the desolate corridors, their journey takes them to a place that sends shivers down their spines: a vast, murky lake reminiscent of the dark waters found in the depths of the Underdark. The surface of the water ripples with an eerie stillness, casting distorted reflections of the adventurers as they cautiously approach its edge.

Turning a corner, their eyes are drawn to a towering pillar adorned with emblems of Bhaal. Delphie's breath catches in her throat at the sight. A sense of unease settles over her, threatening to overwhelm her resolve.

Sensing her distress, Astarion steps closer. He reaches out, intertwining his fingers with hers. With a gentle squeeze, he offers her a silent reassurance that they'll face whatever lies ahead together.

The air grows tenser as the group approaches the docks, their progress hindered by the presence of a horde of cranium rats skittering about.

With bated breath, each member of the party carefully navigates around the rats, their movements slow and deliberate to avoid disturbing the delicate balance of the eerie calm that surrounds them. They know all too well the consequences of drawing unnecessary attention to themselves in this treacherous place.

Finally, they reach the boat, a small canoe bobbing gently in the murky waters of the dock. As Astarion leaps gracefully into the boat after Lae'zel and Shadowheart, Delphie hesitates on the edge, her gaze lingering on her companions.

Astarion's reassuring smile breaks through her uncertainty, his outstretched hand a silent invitation to join them. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, Delphie accepts his offer, her hand clasping his as she lowers herself into the boat.

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

As the group paddles through the dark waters, Delphie's keen senses pick up on a subtle sound above them, a faint cracking that sets her nerves on edge. Before she can react, her eyes widen in alarm as a massive fragment of purple crystal breaks free from the cavern ceiling, hurtling downward with alarming speed toward Astarion.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Delphie springs into action, her instincts kicking in as she grabs hold of Astarion and pulls him out of harm's way, propelling them both into the air just as the crystal crashes down with a deafening roar. The impact shatters their boat in half, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions as Shadowheart and Lae'zel are thrown into the water below.

Struggling to maintain her grip on Astarion's weight, Delphie feels the strain as they hover in mid-air for a brief moment, the weight of their combined bodies threatening to drag them down. With a determined effort, she begins to descend toward the water's surface, her muscles burning with exertion as she fights to keep them both afloat.

As they plunge into the cold depths below, Delphie's senses reel from the shock of the icy water enveloping them. With a gasp, they resurface, their heads breaking through the surface just in time to see Shadowheart and Lae'zel already swimming toward the safety of the shore.

With a silent exchange of determination, Delphie and Astarion follow suit, their strokes slicing through the water as they propel themselves toward the distant shoreline.

As they finally reach the shore, the tension that had gripped them moments ago gives way to an eerie sense of calm. The air hangs heavy with the stillness of the cavern, broken only by the distant echoes of their ragged breathing and the gentle lapping of water against the rocky shoreline.

Shaking off the remnants of the disgusting water that clings to their skin, Delphie's senses are suddenly assaulted by a sharp, piercing force that seems to emanate from the very depths of her mind. The Netherbrain's presence looms over her consciousness like a dark cloud, its malevolent power reaching out to ensnare her in its grasp.

With a sharp intake of breath, Delphie winces in pain, her hands instinctively flying to her head as she struggles against the overwhelming force that threatens to consume her. Astarion rushes to her side, his concern evident as he reaches out to steady her, his touch a comforting anchor amidst the chaos raging within her mind.

You. Pawn. Thrall. PUPPET.

The Netherbrain's words reverberate through Delphie's thoughts, each syllable a cruel reminder of the entity's relentless pursuit of dominance over her mind and soul. Despite the agony that grips her, the wood elf grits her teeth against the pain, refusing to succumb to the Netherbrain's control.

"Are you alright, my love?" Astarion asks, his words a whispered plea for her well-being amidst the turmoil that threatens to tear them apart.

Anomaly. Erase. Remove. Extinguish.

As the excruciating pain gradually subsides, Delphie manages to nod her head in response, her breaths still coming in staggered gasps. The lingering echoes of the Netherbrain's assault on her mind continue to reverberate, leaving her shaken but determined to press on.

"It was the Brain, wasn't it?" Astarion asks, his eyes searching hers for any sign of lingering distress.

Delphie's gaze meets his, her own expression a reflection of the turmoil that still churns within her. "Yes," she confirms with a shaky breath.

"It didn't affect you guys?" her voice trembles slightly as she addresses the rest of the group, scanning their faces for any traces of the torment she endured. "What does it want with me?"

There's a tense silence as they each process Delphie's words. Before anyone can offer a response, Shadowheart breaks the silence with a sense of urgency in her tone.

"We should go," she interjects, her voice firm as she begins to climb up a ragged rocky wall nearby. "The longer we linger, the longer we'll remain like this."

Astarion's lips press against Delphie's forehead in a brief, tender kiss before he offers her a hand up. With his assistance, she clambers up after their two companions, her movements still somewhat unsteady from the lingering effects of the Netherbrain's assault.

Together, they traverse the rocky terrain in silence, the only sound the soft crunch of gravel beneath their boots. A light fog envelops the eerie scenery, casting a ghostly pallor over the desolate landscape. As they push through the mist, they come across the remnants of small makeshift buildings, a stark contrast to the grandeur one might expect from the lair of an all-powerful entity.

Astarion casts a critical eye over their surroundings, his lips curling into a wry grin as he takes in the scene before them. "Honestly, I was expecting an all-powerful brain to have a lair that was a little flashier," he quips, his tone light despite the grimness of their surroundings. "Not immaculately designed or anything, just to have a sense of drama to it."

His attempt at humor falls flat, met with silence from their companions. But Delphie's lips twitch ever so slightly at his jest, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes despite the gravity of their situation.

Shadowheart's abrupt halt at the intersection brings their progress to a sudden halt, the group pausing as they consider their next move amidst the labyrinthine passages of the ruins. Seizing the momentary respite, Delphie turns to Astarion.

"How are you faring, dretri?" she inquires softly, her gaze searching his crimson eyes for any sign of the turmoil that churns within him.

Astarion responds with a thoughtful hum, his expression a mask of stoic resolve despite the weight of their predicament. "Oh, as well as can be expected when facing down the end of the world," he quips with a touch of dry humor, though the underlying seriousness of their situation is not lost on either of them.

The wood elf nods in understanding, her fingers intertwining with Astarion's as she draws him closer, her eyes betraying her inner fears as she gazes into his crimson orbs. "Do you think we can win this? Will we go back without the influence of the parasite?" she asks, her voice trembling with apprehension.

Astarion's sigh carries the weight of uncertainty, but his grip on Delphie's hand remains steadfast. "I can't say for sure," he admits. "But we've come through a lot already. It would hardly do to fail now."

As eerie sounds swirl around them, Delphie finds herself drawn into her lover's gaze, seeking solace in the depths of his eyes. "Astarion, I can't—" Her voice falters, barely audible above the unsettling cacophony that fills the air. Beneath her skin, anxiety coils like a serpent, threatening to overwhelm her fragile resolve.

Astarion's keen perception doesn't fail to notice the toll their journey has taken on Delphie. He sees the exhaustion etched into the lines of her face, the weariness that weighs heavily upon her slender frame. She's weathered countless trials, faced unimaginable horrors, and now, on the precipice of their final confrontation, she stands on the brink of exhaustion.

"I'm so scared. I'm so tired of this," Delphie confesses, her voice quivering with emotion. "Now that we're here, it exists, and we don't have a choice but to fight. Is it so bad I just want to stop fighting?"

Astarion's touch is gentle as he cups her cheek, his thumb tracing a soothing path against her skin. Delphie leans into his touch, finding comfort in his presence amidst the chaos that surrounds them. "We're all tired, darling," he murmurs, his voice a soft reassurance. "Trust me when I say the last thing I want to do is face off against a huge brain. Nobody's fighting because we want to. We're fighting because we must."

Delphie tilts her head in confusion, her brow furrowing as she searches his eyes for understanding. A small smirk tugs at the corners of Astarion's lips, a glimmer of mischief in his gaze. "You know, darling," he continues, his tone playful yet earnest, "it seems to have come full circle for us. If I do so recall correctly, it was you who taught me that."

Delphie's amused scoff is tinged with a hint of nostalgia as she recalls the journey that has brought them to this moment. "That it was," she agrees. As she gazes up at Astarion, her heart a tumult of conflicting emotions, she finds herself drawn to the warmth of his gaze, the familiar curve of his lips. "Can I kiss you? One last time, in case we...don't make it?"

Astarion's response is immediate. "If this is our last kiss, we'd better make it count."

With a soft smile, he leans in to meet her lips. It's the sweetest kiss they've ever shared, each brush of their lips a testament to the love and passion that binds them together. In that fleeting moment, it's as if everything they haven't said to one another is spoken in the language of their touch.

But just as they lose themselves in the embrace of their final kiss, the spell is broken by Shadowheart's voice. "Hate to ruin the moment, but I think I figured it out," she declares with an eye roll, her words cutting through the intimacy like a knife.

As they break apart, Astarion's heart aches at the sight of the solitary tear tracing its path down Delphie's cheek. Without hesitation, he brushes it away with a gentle sweep of his thumb. "We'd better survive this, because I never want to stop doing that."

Delphie's response is a silent nod, her lips pressed together in a bittersweet smile as she swallows back the surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. "We should probably go before she aims a guiding bolt between us," she suggests with a wry twist of humor.

Astarion chuckles softly, the sound a welcome reprieve from the tension that hangs in the air. He intertwines his fingers with hers, leading her away from the tender moment and toward their waiting companions. "Shadowheart, you really have a knack for ruining moments. I hope you realize that," he teases.

The half-elf arches an eyebrow in response. "And you have a knack for getting on my nerves," she counters.

"Enough dalliance! We have tasks at hand that demand our attention," she asserts, already striding ahead of the group with purposeful determination.

With a shared glance of understanding, Delphie and Astarion follow in Lae'zel's wake.

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

The path they traverse is littered with the remnants of their battles, the echoes of their victories mingling with the acrid scent of caustic brine that lingers in the air. They've faced a plethora of intellect devourers and their mutated variations, each encounter pushing them to the brink of exhaustion.

As they draw closer to their ultimate destination, the voices in their heads grow louder, their insidious whispers gnawing at the edges of their sanity. Delphie stumbles, her strength waning under the relentless assault, but Astarion's quick reflexes prevent her from falling, his arms wrapping protectively around her to steady her trembling form.

But their respite is short-lived, as the ground beneath them begins to tremble with increasing intensity. A sense of dread settles over them like a shroud as they watch in horror as the murky waters ahead begin to churn and roil, a harbinger of the impending doom that looms on the horizon.

And then, emerging from the depths with an ominous presence that sends shivers down their spines, the Netherbrain reveals itself. Crowned with the Crown of Karsus, its malevolent aura casts a pall over the surrounding landscape, its very presence a tangible manifestation of the darkness that threatens to consume them all.

Astarion's grip tightens around Delphie, his gaze locked onto the looming figure before them. But even as their hearts pound with trepidation, they stand united in their resolve to confront the Netherbrain and put an end to its reign of terror once and for all.

You think you know why you are here.

Delphie's emerald eyes widen as the Netherbrain's voice echoes within her mind, its chilling presence piercing through the veil of her thoughts.

You think by killing the Chosen and taking the Netherstones, you can destroy me. You are wrong.

The weight of its words hangs heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the daunting task that lies before them. But as the others reach for their weapons, Delphie remains rooted in place, her gaze locked onto the looming figure before her with a defiant resolve that belies the fear gnawing at her insides.

She's tired. Tired of being scared, tired of letting fear consume her every thought and action. Astarion's words echo in her mind.

They're not here by choice. They're not here because they want to be. But if they must face death, then at least they'll face it together.

As the three Netherstones fly out of Delphie's pouch and merge together to form a single triangular shape, a surge of anticipation courses through her veins. The stones pulsate with an otherworldly energy, their ancient power humming in the air as they weave themselves into a mesmerizing pattern before her eyes.

With a blinding flash of light, the Netherstones emit a radiant glow that envelops them, transporting them into the very heart of the Netherbrain. Delphie's senses reel as they are thrust into a surreal landscape of swirling colors and ethereal forms, the boundaries between reality and illusion blurred in the maelstrom of the aberration's consciousness.

And there, looming before them like a titan of nightmares, is the monstrous visage of a mind flayer, its head the size of multiple giants stacked together. Delphie's jaw drops in astonishment at the sheer magnitude of the creature before them, its presence casting a shadow that seems to stretch into infinity.

"Delphnye!" Shadowheart's urgent voice breaks through the haze of Delphie's awe, snapping her back to reality with a jolt. "Use the Netherstones!"

With a resolute nod, Delphie closes her eyes, shutting out the chaos of the moment as she focuses on the future that awaits beyond the battlefield. In the darkness behind her eyelids, she conjures images of life after the battle, each thought a beacon of hope amidst the turmoil that surrounds them.

She thinks of Astarion, her beloved whose plight weighs heavily on her heart. With unwavering determination, she vows to find him a cure for his vampirism, to offer him the chance at a life free from the shadows that haunt him. Together, they will forge a new path, perhaps even building a home within the tranquil embrace of the Dragon Cove, where they can find solace and peace in each other's arms.

But her thoughts also turn to her step-siblings, the family that her father created for her in his final act of love and sacrifice. They may have only known her for a short time, but their bond is strong, and Delphie refuses to let them down. She will honor her father's memory by protecting and caring for those he entrusted to her care.

And then there are her companions, the ragtag group of adventurers who have become like family to her in their own way. Each one has their own story, their own hopes and dreams yet to be realized. Delphie cannot bear the thought of robbing them of the chance to see those dreams come to fruition. She owes it to them, to herself, and to the memory of her father to succeed in their quest. She will not falter. She will not fail.

With a deep breath, Delphie opens her eyes, her gaze unwavering as she focuses her will on the Netherbrain before them. With a commanding tone that brooks no dissent, she demands its submission, channeling the power of the Netherstones with all the strength and conviction she can muster.

But as the rays burst forth from the Netherstones, she watches in dismay as they miss their mark, the Netherbrain seemingly unaffected by her command.

By eliminating Ketheric, Orin, and Gortash, you have simply unbound me. Exactly as I intended. The Crown is mine to command - mine alone.

"Again!" Lae'zel's voice cuts through the air like a clarion call, her tone filled with urgency and determination. "The Grand Design must not come to pass!"

Delphie closes her eyes once more, shutting out the cacophony of voices that clamor for her attention as she focuses on the one thing she knows best: her impeccable aim with a bow. She draws upon the wellspring of her skill and expertise, channeling her focus and determination into a single, unwavering purpose: to strike true and vanquish the Netherbrain once and for all.

With a steady hand and a calm mind, she visualizes her target, the image of the Netherbrain burned into her consciousness with crystalline clarity. If she can set it in her sights, she knows she won't miss.

As she opens her eyes, she watches with bated breath as another round of rays bursts forth from the Netherstones, their radiant energy illuminating the darkness with a dazzling display of light. But her hopes are dashed once again as the rays miss their mark, the Netherbrain seemingly impervious to their attacks.

The Crown is not my weakness - it is what made me what I am. I needed the Crown to build an army. I needed the Chosen to bring it to me. They would not have surrendered it freely, so I gave them what they wanted - power. Just enough that they would play their part in my design. Their part has ended. The next orders will be mine.

Delphie's mind reels with the implications of its words, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with a horrifying clarity. But amidst the suffocating despair that threatens to engulf her, a voice breaks through the darkness, a whisper of warmth and reassurance that cuts through the cold grip of fear. Astarion's voice, filled with unwavering conviction and fierce determination, reaches her ears like a beacon of hope in the midst of the storm.

"Delphie, listen to me," he murmurs, his gaze locked onto the aberration before them with a fierce intensity. "You are stronger than this. You are the most resilient person I know. Don't let this oversized brain break you."

With a steadying breath, she closes her eyes, shutting out the cacophony of voices that clamor for her attention as she focuses on the sound of Astarion's voice, the warmth of his presence grounding her in the midst of chaos.

When she opens her eyes once more, she finds herself faced with the daunting task before her, the weight of their mission pressing down upon her with suffocating force. With a flicker of uncertainty, she watches as another ray bursts forth from the Netherstones, its radiant energy fizzling out before it can reach its intended target.

Delphie's shoulders slump with a sigh of frustration.

And you - you had your role to play too. Who do you think told the Chosen about the Astral Prism? Who do you think planted the knowledge of Orpheus' power, and the fear of what it could do? When the Chosen sent my thralls to retrieve the Prism, who do you think let the 'Emperor' slip its leash, knowing it would be the one to bring you to me?

Delphie can hear the Emperor's voice inside her head in total disbelief, completely unaware of the situation.

I only needed one Netherstone loosened from the Chosen's grasp to guarantee my freedom. You brought all three to me. In doing so, you have liberated me. This was your role - and it is complete. Now you will witness the Grand Design.

"We're running out of time!" Shadowheart's words ring out, their urgency echoing through the cavernous chamber. "Dominate it, Delphnye!"

With a final surge of determination, Delphie squeezes her eyes shut, pouring every ounce of her being into the Netherstones. As she opens them, a flicker of hope ignites within her chest as she watches the rays shoot forth.

For a fleeting moment, Delphie dares to believe that they have succeeded, that their efforts have not been in vain. But as the dust settles and the echoes of the attack fade into the ether, a heavy silence descends upon them, broken only by the ragged sound of their breath.

A shared look with Astarion is all it takes to confirm her worst fear. The Netherstones have hardly made a dent in the Netherbrain's defenses. Their plan has failed. In the face of overwhelming odds, they have lost.

[sgcstories]

Chapter 5: Pages of Prophecy

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Scarlet hopped down, brushing against McKenzie’s leg. “Complicated men,” the cat said.

McKenzie smiled. “Indeed, Scarlet. But aren’t they all?”

On the way back to her quarters, the castle seemed different now—its stone walls whispering secrets, its corridors winding like forgotten memories. As they turned the corner, the torches flickered, their flames dancing erratically. McKenzie’s breath caught. “Scarlet,” she whispered, “do you feel that?”

The cat’s fur bristled, and her eyes widened. The air thickened, as if unseen hands tugged at them. Shadows slithered along the walls, taking shape—a spectral figure, half-hidden, half watching from the darkness.

“Who’s there?” McKenzie called, her voice echoing. But there was no reply—only the rustle of unseen wings.

They pressed on, the tension mounting. The floor beneath their feet shifted, as if the castle itself conspired against them. Portraits leered, their eyes following McKenzie’s every move. One whispered, “Beware the moon’s touch.”

Scarlet’s tail lashed. “We’re not alone,” she hissed. “And this isn’t a dream.”

McKenzie’s heart raced. “What do they want?”

The torches flared, revealing a fork in the corridor. A cold breeze swept through, carrying with it a haunting melody—a dirge of forgotten spells. McKenzie hesitated, torn between paths.

And then, from the shadows, Snape emerged. His eyes held a glint of something otherworldly. “Miss McKenzie,” he said, “the night reveals truths. Choose wisely.”

Before she could respond, the spectral figure materialized into something else—a woman with moon-pale skin and eyes like fractured mirrors. “Remember,” she whispered, her voice echoing. “The silver pool awaits.”

McKenzie glanced at Scarlet, who stared at the woman. “Who are you?” McKenzie demanded.

The woman’s smile held both sorrow and menace. “A weaver of dreams,” she replied. “And a keeper of forgotten tales.”

The spectral woman stepped closer, her eyes twin moons in the encroaching darkness. The torches flickered, their flames guttering as if afraid to illuminate her face.

“Who are you?” McKenzie asked, her voice echoing down the corridor. “Why do you haunt my dreams?”

The woman’s laughter was like wind through ancient ruins. “Dreams,” she mused. “They are the threads that weave reality. And you, McKenzie, are the weaver.”

McKenzie’s pulse quickened. “A weaver? What does that mean?”

The woman’s gaze bore into hers. “You touch the edges of forgotten magic,” she said. “The silver pool—the nexus of worlds—awaits your choice.”

“But what choice?” McKenzie pressed. “And why me?”

The darkness thickened, tendrils curling around their ankles. “Destiny,” the woman whispered. “Paths diverge, converge. Snape—the enigma—holds answers. But beware the moon’s touch.”

McKenzie blinked a few times and looked around. Scarlet watched from beside her, eyes wide with knowing.

“Choose,” the woman urged. “Embrace your power, or be lost to the dreams forever.”

The spectral woman’s laughter twisted—a melody gone discordant. Her moon-pale features contorted, eyes now hollow pits. Shadows slithered from her form, tendrils reaching for McKenzie.

McKenzie stumbled back, her heart pounding. “What do you want?”

The woman’s voice was no longer wind through ruins; it was a dirge. “Power,” she hissed. “The silver pool—the gateway to all worlds—can be yours.”

But the shadows closed in, suffocating. McKenzie’s breath came in ragged gasps. She glanced at Scarlet, who hissed—a feline warning. The spectral woman wailed, fading into mist. As her form dissipated, the shadows thickened, coalescing into grotesque shapes. From the darkness emerged creatures—twisted, half-real. Their eyes glowed like dying stars, and their limbs moved with unnatural grace.

McKenzie’s breath hitched. “What are they?”

Scarlet hissed, her fur standing on end. “Nightmares given form,” she whispered. “They hunger for your fear.”

The creatures lunged, their claws scraping the air. McKenzie stumbled, her heart racing. In that tense moment, as the shadows threatened to engulf McKenzie, Snape appeared. His wand swept through the air, invoking a spell of light. The corridor blazed—a twenty-foot radius of brilliance, pushing back the darkness. Scarlet hissed, and the twisted creatures recoiled, their eyes shrinking into pinpricks.

“Stay close,” Snape commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Fear feeds them.”

McKenzie nodded, her heart still racing. The spectral woman’s laughter echoed, but Snape’s magic held firm. The castle pulsed, and they stepped away from the abyss, guided by wand light and the enigmatic presence of Snape.

Scarlet followed, her white fur a beacon. “Complicated night,” the cat mewed.

In a swift motion, Snape guided McKenzie and Scarlet through the labyrinthine corridors. His wand illuminated their path, pushing back the encroaching shadows. The twisted creatures snarled, but Snape’s magic held them at bay.

Finally, they reached his quarters—a refuge of flickering candlelight and ancient tomes. The doors closed behind them, sealing out the nightmare. Scarlet leaped onto a velvet armchair, her fur still bristling.

“Safe, for now,” Snape said, his eyes unreadable.

McKenzie nodded, heart still racing. The spectral woman’s laughter echoed in her mind. She wondered: Was this destiny or madness? Snape’s presence offered no answers, only more questions.

The candlelight in Snape’s quarters flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. McKenzie glanced at Scarlet, who had settled on a velvet cushion, her eyes wide.

“Professor Snape,” McKenzie began, “why did you bring us here? Why not my own room?”

Snape’s gaze held hers, inscrutable. “Safety,” he replied.

McKenzie raised an eyebrow, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, Professor Snape,” she drawled. “I completely understand the need for safety. But pray tell, why is your dungeon liar considered safer than my cozy little room? Is it the charming ambiance or the delightful aroma of bat wings and potions that puts it over the top?”

Snape’s scowl deepened, and McKenzie couldn’t help but smirk. The tension in the room crackled like a static. “Miss McKenzie,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, “my room is not merely a dank dungeon. It is meticulously enchanted with protective spells—warding off intruders, hexes, and even the occasional overly curious student.”

He leaned in emphasizing each word. “Unlike your cozy room, my quarters are impervious to magical interference. The very air crackles with ancient magic, and the walls themselves repel danger.” His gaze swept over her, assessing. “So, while you may find my company less than delightful, rest assured that my room is the safest place within these castle walls.”

As Snape’s eyes bore into McKenzie’s, the air thickened with tension. She felt her heartbeat quicken, and her palms grew clammy. His proximity was both exhilarating and unnerving.

“Professor,” she stammered, “I-I didn’t mean to—”

But he silenced her with a curt gesture, his fingers brushing against hers. The room seemed to shrink, and McKenzie’s mind raced. She was caught between the allure of danger and the embarrassment of her own audacity. Snape’s mask of irritation slipped back into place, and he stepped away from McKenzie, creating a chasm between them. His eyes, once intense, now held a frosty detachment.

“Enough,” he said curtly, his voice devoid of any warmth. “We have wasted enough time on this frivolity.” And with that, he stepped further away from McKenzie, leaving her standing there, cheeks flushed and her heart pounding.

The moment had passed, and Snape became aloof, leaving her to grapple with the remnants of the embarrassment.

“It’s late,” he said, his gaze meeting hers. “Get some rest.” His words hung in the silence, a dismissal wrapped in concern.

McKenzie nodded, her heart still racing from their charged encounter. As she turned to lay on the bed, she caught a fleeting glimpse of something softer in Snape’s eyes—a vulnerability masked by sternness. But by the time she blinked, it was gone, and he was once again the aloof professor.

The next morning, the sun peeked through the castle windows, casting a warm glow across the stone floors. McKenzie rubbed her eyes, the memory of Snape’s intense gaze still lingering. She wondered if he’d slept at all, or if he’d spent the night brewing potions in his meticulously enchanted room. As she stumbled toward the Great Hall for breakfast, she couldn’t shake the embarrassment of their encounter.

McKenzie adjusted her robes, glancing down at Scarlet, her white cat perched on her shoulder. The feline’s eyes glimmered with an otherworldly intelligence. “Scarlet,” she whispered. “Did you notice Snape’s reaction last night? I mean, I was being sarcastic, but he—” The cat interrupted her with a soft purr, nuzzling her cheek. McKenzie sighed. “I know, I know. He’s an enigma wrapped in a potions textbook. But there’s something about him, Scarlet. Something that keeps me awake at night.”

Scarlet’s eyes gleamed, and her voice came out soft. “Ah, my dear,” she purred. “You tread a dangerous path. Snape is no ordinary professor. His heart is a labyrinth of secrets, and his past—shrouded in shadows.” The cat’s tail flicked, as if emphasizing her point. “But perhaps,” Scarlet continued, “it’s the mysteries that draw you in—the thrill of unraveling those mysteries, even if they lead to heartache.”

McKenzie blinked, startled by the depths of Scarlet’s insight. “Be cautious,” the cat warned. “For love and danger often dance hand in hand.

McKenzie shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks flushed. “Love?” she stammered. “Oh, no, it’s not—I mean, Professor Snape and I—” She stumbled over her words, avoiding Scarlet’s knowing gaze. “It’s complicated,” she finally admitted. “He’s just… intriguing. But love? Definitely not.”

The cat’s eyes twinkled, as if she saw through McKenzie’s flustered denial. “Of course,” Scarlet purred, “just like a potion simmering on low heat—complex, volatile, and utterly irresistible.”

McKenzie sighed. “Exactly,” she whispered, wondering how she’d gotten entangled in this magical mess.

The Great Hall buzzed with activity as McKenzie and Scarlet found an empty table near the stained glass windows. Sunlight streamed through, casting colorful patterns on the stone floor. The enchanted ceiling mimicked a clear sky, dotted with drifting clouds. McKenzie glances at the high table where Snape sat, his expression inscrutable. She wondered if he’d noticed her arrival, or if he was lost in his own enigmatic thoughts. As she settled into her seat, Scarlet curled up beside her, tail twitching.

McKenzie’s heart skipped a beat as she observed Snape lean in, his lips moving in hushed conversation with the headmaster. His gaze flickered toward her, and for a moment, their eyes locked. What were they discussing? Was it about her? The Great Hall faded into the background as she tried to decipher Snape’s inscrutable expression. Scarlet, sensing her unease, nuzzled her hand.

“Secrets,” the cat said. “Always secrets.”

As the Great Hall hummed with activity, Snape approached McKenzie’s table. His dark eyes bore into hers, and she felt a shiver of anticipation.

“Miss McKenzie,” he said, his voice low and measured. “Your sorceress training begins in thirty minutes. Meet me in the west tower.” His words hung in the air, laden with mystery and purpose.

McKenzie savored the last crumbs of her breakfast, her mind racing with anticipation. The west tower loomed before her. As she stepped into its shadowed corridor, Snape awaited her, his eyes inscrutable.

“Miss McKenzie,” he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Your sorceress training begins now.”

The narrow stone staircase led McKenzie and Snape down into the depths of Hogwarts. The air grew colder, and the torchlight flickered. The silence was palpable. McKenzie cleared her throat, her voice echoing in the dimness. “Professor,” she began. “I appreciate the training opportunity. But, um, do you always make dungeons your preferred teaching locale?” She cringed inwardly at her attempt to break the ice.

Snape’s lips twitched, and for a fleeting moment, the stern facade wavered. “Miss McKenzie,” he replied, “sometimes the most potent magic thrives in darkness.” With that cryptic response, they continued their descent, leaving awkwardness and curiosity in their wake.

McKenzie took a deep breath, her footsteps echoing as she walked. “Professor,” she spoke up again, her voice steady. “I’ve always wondered—what’s your favorite potion? You know, the one that makes you feel—alive?”

Snape glanced at her, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Alive?” he repeated, as if the concept were foreign to him. “Miss McKenzie, potions are not about feelings. They’re about precision, control and achieving desired outcomes.”

McKenzie’s eyes rolled of their own accord, and she suppressed an exasperated sigh. Conversing with Snape was like navigating a maze of riddles. “Of course,” she muttered under her breath. “Because straightforward answers are overrated.” Scarlet, ever perceptive, twitched her tail in agreement.

Suddenly, Snape halted. His eyes bore into McKenzie’s, and his voice was a whip-crack of authority. “Miss McKenzie,” he snapped. “Insolence will not be tolerated. You are here to learn, not to mock.” His words hung in the air, and McKenzie’s cheeks flushed. She had pushed too far, and Snape’s stern gaze was a reminder that magic had consequences beyond eye rolls and sarcasm.

[purekesseltrash]

Hey babe, new Shoutoko just dropped

Dark Shadow Has Never Received Any Attention Ever: In This Essay I Will

Rating:  Gen

Pairing:  Shouji Mezou/Tokoyami Fumikage

Words:  579

Genre:  Unrepentant Fluff

“You’ve got to be kidding meeeeee.”

Mezou sucked in a long suffering breath before turning to the shadowy twin of his boyfriend’s soul.  “I have to do this, I’m not sure what else to tell you.”

“Dark Shadow-”

The shadow held up a spectral clawed hand, beak shoved up into the air.  “Not now, Fumikage, Mezou and I are busy.”  It then proceeded to lean in close to where Mezou was hunched over his laptop, emboldened by the dusk falling outside the window.

“I need to study,” Mezou repeated as he tried not to sound too long suffering.  “And a part of that means that I can’t spend all of my time on you.  I already said that I can pet you with one hand if you’ll stay still-”

“One hand?”  It said, voice aghast.  “You expect me to be fine with one hand?”

Oh yeah, and the new chapter of Young and Menace dropped today, lol

[myhauntedsalem]

Ohio’s Haunted Salem Church Cemetery

Though Ohio has a plethora of notoriously haunted places, some of the most spiritually active are known only to locals. Salem Church Cemetery in Jackson County, Ohio is one of these places.

Established in the early 1800s, the old Salem Church and surrounding cemetery is the final resting place for many Civil War soldiers who died in the infamous Morgan Raid that happened nearby. It was the greatest Confederate invasion in Ohio and resulted in many casualties. Although the church building is in decent shape and the grounds are well-maintained by, locals shy away from Salem and warn out-of-town thrill seekers to stay away too.

Since the 1870s, visitors have reported seeing a ghostly sentinel in Civil War uniform. He is often spotted close to the veterans’ area, keeping an eternal guard over his fallen comrades. The soldier’s spirit has never shown aggression and usually disappears before anyone can speak to him. Other visitors have seen orbs floating around the trees on the grounds and have seen shadowy figures lurking behind the silent church.

Some sightings in the Salem Church Cemetery are more menacing. According to local legend, a high priestess from an evil coven was secretly executed and buried on the land years before it became a church cemetery. Over the years, hundreds of visitors have experienced uneasiness and the cold touch of icy hands. Unexplained scratches have also appeared on visitors’ arms and legs, and spectral shadows loomed threateningly around them. Has the Dark Witch returned to get her revenge on Jackson residents for eternity?

Locals say that if visitors knock three times on the church’s vaulted doors, they will hear three eerie knocks coming from within. Area paranormal investigators and psychics have studied Salem Cemetery with mixed results. EVP recordings and infrared cameras have captured disturbing sounds, shadows, and orbs that cannot be explained.

The township has lost scores of caretakers over the years because of eerie experiences. Many people tending the lawn have been scared out of their wits by phantom hands grabbing their feet and disembodied voices whispering in their ears. Ancient tombstones have changed positions and statues have disappeared, only to show up again days later.

[ghost-strawberry]

Taking Control

Prompt by Dekalkomania for Phic Phight 2021. Danny hasn't been feeling himself, blacking out and having strange dreams. Unbeknownst to him, Freak Show's staff was not the only artifact that could control ghosts. Even worse, Jack and Maddie are the ones who get their hands on that object.

"I'm not sure Jack," Maddie murmured, distrust in her eyes. She picked up the object tenderly, examining it. It was some kind of orb, about the size of her palm. Shining red and encased in an intricate wire structure. Even through her gloves a cold temperature leeched out from within it. "This is a great opportunity Maddie! How often do we get our hands on something like this?" It seemed nothing could dampen her husband's elation when faced with such an interesting project. "Of course, it is wonderful to find an artefact like this, and I will take great pleasure in examining it thoroughly, I just wonder how dangerous it could be." She delicately placed the orb in a glass box and slid a heavy metal lid over. She crouched down beside it, staring at it through the glass. There was something... compelling about it. Maddie didn't believe in magic or superstition, she only put stock in that which could be clearly defined and measured with science. Ghosts residing in latter category. This object though, well, it was like nothing the scientist had ever seen before; she had only read about the like in damp ridden, old textbooks on the occult. The swirling crimson pattern seemed almost to move as she stared.

"Let's get this show on the road," she said, reaching for the controls next to her. Maddie deftly flicked several switches on the machine beside the glass case and twisted a dial, causing it to generate a smooth hum. Jack was almost bouncing up and down with excitement. Maddie smirked at his child-like joy whilst maintaining her concentration on the equipment. She had no idea what kind of results they would uncover. The object began to shiver in its cage and Jack observed the fluctuating results, taking notes. In her mind, Maddie dredged up all her limited memories on studying ecto-artefacts such as these and their possible abilities. She hoped it would be some kind of device they could use in their ghost hunting, perhaps to capture, or control the spectral beings? Wouldn't it be great to find something that could properly capture that ghost kid menace: Danny Phantom?

*

The infinite fog rolled towards him in voluminous banks, the insubstantial trees beside him were withered and twisted. Harsh rain lashed down, stinging his face and eyes. The dark earth trembled and cracked beneath his feet. A disembodied voice drifted through the haze. "What?" The rasping words crept out, "how did you get in here?" A face appeared, mouth malformed, twisted and confused. Glass eyes like an insects shimmered in and out of sight. A scent of fear suffused the air. Glowing ruby trails traced an outline around a familiar room. His lips moved of their own accord. "You requested it of me," came out in a drawl. "Turn it off! Now!" Before he could react, complete darkness fell.

*

Nightmares were nothing new to Danny. Something about having died, facing horrible creatures everyday and fighting fearsome ghosts did that to a boy. But this dream, this nightmare last night... it was... different. He shivered in his bed, pyjamas sodden with sweat. He tried to recall what the dream was about. He couldn't remember anything particularly scary about it, in fact, he could only clearly see one image, imprinted on his mind. His mother, wearing her usual blue hazmat suit and red safety goggles. Danny shook of the vestiges of the dream and swung himself out of bed. It probably didn't mean anything important.

*

"Hey Danny-o!" The jovial voice greeted him as he walked into the kitchen. The large, blockish figure of his dad bundled across the room, obviously excited about something. "Hey, Dad," Danny responded, in a monotone voice that was his attempt at expressing his disinterest in whatever crazy experiment his dad was working on. Needless to say, his dad wouldn't pick up on anything as subtle as that. "Got some big stuff we're investigating today! Can't wait to show you!" His white teeth gleamed as he spoke. "Now Jack, don't go getting Danny intrigued. You know we can't show it just yet, not until we know what it does," his mum calmly chimed in as she finished her bowl of cereal. That actually made this project more interesting to Danny. His parents were not the kind of scientists to adhere to any kind of health and safety, or to purposefully shut him out like this. Danny had been allowed full access around their laboratory and usually informed about all of their work since he'd been about ten years old. "So," he said, trying to show a natural curiosity whilst busying himself making breakfast, "what does it do?" "Well, it's basically-" his dad started, but was abruptly cut off by his wife standing up and sharply clapping him on the shoulder. "Basically sweetie, we don't know... yet. And we couldn't tell you anything because we don't know, right Jack?" She turned to look at him pointedly, hand still resting on his shoulder. Danny sat down and started to eat, not surprised. He would have to find out about this experiment another way. "Yes... yes of course." His dad grinned with the secret and shot a sly, deliberate wink to Danny. "Danny, would you be a dear and wash up our dishes from breakfast? We've really got to get to the lab," his mum asked. Before she had finished speaking, a strange rush of feeling rose up in Danny, his stomach turned over like he had butterflies, his hair stood on end. Without meaning to, Danny got up quickly, dropping his spoon which clattered noisily in his bowl. He snatched his parent's dishes from the table and began cleaning them in the kitchen sink. "Yes," the one syllable word dropped out of his mouth, in a voice that didn't seem like his own. It was as if he was watching someone else washing up, with his arms, from the confines of his own head. "Oh... thanks sweetie!" His mum remarked, in a surprised tone, "it would be nice if you reacted like this every time your father and I asked you to do something!" Danny's head nodded, his eyes in the sink and on the task, unable to look anywhere else. He heard his parents footsteps leave the kitchen and go downstairs to the basement. His thoughts tumbled over in his mind, his vision growing darker around the edges. This sensation, it was too familiar. Then, as swiftly as it had come over him, he was back to normal. The dishes lay clean and dripping on the draining board. Danny slumped down in a chair, unnerved. What was that all about? He ran his hands through his inky black hair, trying to make sense of the experience.  His mum had offhandedly asked him to do something, and he had been somehow forced to do it. Remnants of last nights dream came back to his mind, involuntarily. He racked his brains for an answer, for the familiarity of the sensation to explain itself. This must have had something to do with his parents' 'secret project'. He would have to go and investigate this for himself, now. Just as he reached for the power within him to turn into his ghost side, he blacked out.

*

"Maddie... Maddie... Maddie!" Jack shouted, either ecstatic or extremely anxious. Probably both. "Shhh Jack! I know," Maddie hissed through clenched teeth. She was gently shuddering with anticipation. Here it was, just as she had imagined, the ghost kid. In their laboratory! Dozens of mechanical objects whirred and ticked around the scientists. "Are you getting this data?" "Sure am," Jack whispered, pen flying across the page of his notebook, eyes darting to and from various devices and the floating ghostly child in the centre of the room. Maddie observed the phenomenon. It was, just hanging there, weightlessly, with a blank look on it's face. It's eyes were glazed and still and it wasn't exhibiting any of the usual traits they had associated with the ghost kid, namely being aggressiveness. In fact, it wasn't doing anything at all. The glowing, red artefact shimmered in her hand. It was obviously an ancient object used to summon ghosts. Since the phantom had appeared, the lab had grown cold; Maddie could see her breath drift in the air. In her other hand, she had an ecto-weapon directed at the ghost kid's head. If it noticed this, it made no sign. "What are you doing here?" Maddie asked, more steadily than she felt. "You requested it of me." The chilling voice echoed in the basement and reverberated in her mind. "What are you?" "A ghost." It's head slowly turned to look directly in her eyes. The unblinking, icy blue glare sent a shiver down her spine. She raised her weapon. "A human," it continued. "Now, that's not possible. A human can't be a ghost..." "Your son." These words from the spectre sunk into her chest, heavy. "No... no that can't be. You're not Danny, you're not my Danny. This is obviously a trick." Maddie turned towards her husband imploringly, eyes wide in suspicion. "Yeah, no putrid ectoplasmic manifestation is a son of ours!" Jack bellowed, as if he wasn't afraid, notes and pen forgotten. A solid thunk on the metal floor made them both jump. Maddie's eyes shot down to see she had dropped the artefact in her distress. The ghost seemed to flicker, it's face turning from Maddie, to Jack, then to the room around it. It appeared to regain control of it's limbs, it's mouth noiselessly hanging open. Maddie instinctively charged up the weapon and fired, but was left only with a black, smoking ring on the wall behind where the phantom had been. The lab was suddenly quiet. All of their equipment stood still. Jack moved quickly to her side, comforting her. "Don't worry Maddie, it was just trying to trick us." Maddie said nothing, only remembering in horror the look of fear and confusion on the ghost kid's face before it disappeared. In that one moment, it had looked too much like her son, like Danny.

[rokhal]

Revenge as a magical binding mechanism in ANGR?

Hwaet I got more speculation about the concept of revenge in ANGR, because Eli’s dialogue makes some very interesting implications.

Let’s skip forward to Issue 12, where Eli has already got to work on his back-up plan to kill Yegor Ivanov with Gabe, but nonetheless continues to badger Robbie about it.

“I’m telling you kid...as long as Yegor Ivanov is alive and I’m unavenged, you’ll never catch a break. You’ll be under constant attack at all times. If you kill him and avenge my death, you’ll bond with me forever -- becoming a satanic serial-killer for eternity, which you’re so desperately trying to avoid -- but if you don’t kill Ivanov, no one around you will be safe...ever.”

Apparently, one condition of Robbie and Eli’s “partnership” is that avenging the other’s death binds the avenger to the avenged. This is in direct contrast to the more typical pop culture role of revenge in magical contracts, where an act of revenge frees the avenger from a pre-existing debt to the dead.

What Eli is saying is, if Robbie serves Eli in this way, he would give Eli more power over him, not less. Robbie’s already stuck with Eli, but if he avenged Eli’s death he would be even more stuck, and it would be easier for Eli to erode Robbie’s self-control and use him for violence.

It’s always wise to be skeptical when a psychopath delivers exposition, but ANGR issues 11 and 12 are seriously crammed and Smith might not have had any better characters at hand to reveal this. Plus, this fits with Smith’s very obvious philosophy in ANGR that revenge is bad, and forgiveness, though difficult and dangerous, is good.

But, but! I’ve got more. Let’s go back in time to Issue 3. Right where Eli first introduces himself to Robbie.

“We’re kindred spirits, Robbie. We’re unstoppable, everlasting, eternal friends, you and I.”

“Eternal?”

“Well...not if you die again, we’re not.”

Yep, Robbie died in Issue 1.

“I was killed by a bunch of low-life bastards just like you were last night, and when I saw it happen, I brought you back.”

Robbie died and Eli was aware when it happened, before he resurrected Robbie as the Ghost Rider in Issue 1. And what’s the first thing the Ghost Rider does in Issue 2?

He drives right through a personnel carrier manned by the crew who’d just murdered Robbie.

“Hostile terminated...with casualties. Over.”

“My men have returned...most of them, anyway.”

We see Robbie and Eli perform this bastardized PIT maneuver again in Issue 7, when Eli talks Robbie into shaking down a fellow street-racer for money Robbie had lost, but Robbie seems to immediately regret their action when that happens. We can reasonably suspect that Eli is in control when he melts the Charger right through a car full of people and flings them all off an overpass before teleporting away.

The first thing Eli does when he possesses Robbie is avenge Robbie’s death.

And who wakes up in his own bed after a bad dream and goes to school like nothing happened, even after being resurrected and receiving unholy powers and becoming bound to Eli Morrow’s favorite car? Robbie.

Next issue:

“I couldn’t get away from you even if I tried.”

OMFG. This is hilarious. Eli has definitely tried. Eli fucked up so, so bad and he is now scrambling to fix it.

I argue this because there is no fucking way that playing evil Jiminny Cricket to his nephew who still controls his own body but now also can control Eli’s car and his ability to transform into a demonically powered spectral menace was Eli’s plan when he did whatever he did to himself that allowed him to linger in the mortal realm after his death. And he did do something. Evil ghosts that possess people and grant them horrifying powers don’t just happen. Eli sacrificed people to demons; it’s canon. It’s reasonable to suppose that he made the sacrifices so he could come back from the dead, perhaps by possessing someone else.

Being a voice in the back of Robbie’s head is probably not what Eli made all those sacrifices for unless Eli died before he could finish his resurrection spells.

So, following the implications of “in ANGR, revenge binds you to the person you avenge”:

ANGR begins when the spirit of Eli Morrow accidentally binds himself to Robbie Reyes by avenging Robbie’s death. Throughout the comic, Robbie is the primary driver of their shared body. While Eli occasionally wanders off and even acquires a secondary host, he is mostly stuck with this arrangement. To fix this, Eli attempts to trick Gabe into killing Yegor Ivanov and therefore binding himself to Eli in a subordinate role. Instead, Gabe expels Eli, who is drawn like a magnet back into Robbie’s body. (“I couldn’t get away from you even if I tried.”)

At last, Robbie does kill Yegor Ivanov, and his connection to Eli becomes more permanent, and according to Eli, more influential and harmful. Eli says that his personality and desires will bleed into Robbie on a subconscious level, refraining from violence will become unrewarding and miserable, and Robbie will inevitably succumb to his new predatory impulses.

“By killing Yegor Ivanov you’ve avenged me and bonded our souls eternally. ... You may have saved Gabe’s soul, but you’ve thrown any hope of getting rid of me right out the window. ... From now on you will live with the constant urge to extinguish life. It will consume you...and you will murder again.”

Robbie’s motives for killing Ivanov were correct. Yegor Ivanov, a boss in a Russian crime syndicate (Eastern European organized crime has a reputation for being willing to harm unconnected women and children) was holding a gun to Gabe’s head. This was absolutely a justifiable homicide. But the outcome of Robbie’s actions is misery and corruption. Robbie no more wants to bind himself to Eli than Eli meant to bind himself to Robbie, but it still happened.

Vengeance was a key theme in Ghost Rider (1990), but in ANGR, revenge appears to be a key part of the mysterious mechanism of how Robbie and Eli work. And remember, kids: revenge is bad for you.

[hankwritten]

Immaterial Witness

Demoman/Soldier, 5k

Request for r2mich2, Ghosthunting

Demo was less than thrilled about being selected for mandatory company ghost-busting work. His enthusiasm dropped even lower when he saw who’d be accompanying him.

“You!” he exclaimed.

“You!” Soldier replied. “Except with a different inflection! To indicate I am also not happy to see you!”

“Bloody hell,” Demo groaned as the looked at the man before him. “Jesus of all the BLU’s she could have picked for a ‘cross team eradication venture’, and she went with you.”

“I didn’t agree to this either, maggot,” Soldier assured him. “I am under orders not to strangle any REDs until this mission is complete, but my tractability will be put to the test if said RED is such a weakling and liar.”

“For the last time, I never called you a-”

“And what about all the things you did say, you son of a bitch?”

Demo scowled, not looking forward to going through the same recycled arguments over again. She had some nerve putting the two of them together after what she’d put them through; complete and total destruction of a friendship, and for what? Just to decide TF Industries was going to be managing both teams a few months later? It was a load of crap if Demo ever heard it.

“What are you even wearing?” he scoffed at Soldier’s new uniform.

“This is regulation specter pummeling gear, you sissified maggot scum!” Soldier puffed up proudly. Gone was the red jacket and fatigues, instead superseded by a singular beige jumpsuit.

“And what’s that?” Demo pointed to the canister vacuum strapped to his back. No bells, no whistles, just a regular old vacuum with a flexible nozzle.

“Ghost sucker,” Soldier said plainly.

“Right. Obviously.”

“Well what did you bring RED?” Soldier accused. “These ghosts are going lift you up by your frilly little underthings and fling you right out the door if you do not have anything to protect yourself from their disembodied maliciousness!”

“I,” Demo said, flexing his fist, “have this.”

Engineer had built it with such efficiency, Demo was sure he’d made the blueprints years ago and was just waiting for someone to ask for a ghost-capturing device. The device’s visual design was similar to that of the gunslinger, but instead of a limb replacement, it functioned more like power armor, cradling the outside of the wearer’s hand and increasing their grip tenfold.

“This ‘lil beauty has everything,” Demo continued haughtily. “EKG readings, built in spooktralizer, and-” He pulled back his fingers, activating the now-glowing disk in the center of his palm. “Anti-gravity net. No spirit’s going to escape this vortex, which is a good thing because you can’t suck up a ghost with a vacuum cleaner.”

“Shows how much you know, buster,” Soldier said. “All those doodads won’t do jack when you are staring into the blood-red eyes of a flesh-hungry phantom—these are creatures of the other side! Of the great beyond! They do not care about technology.”

“Oh aye?” Despite himself, Demo got right into Soldier’s face. “We’ll se about that when my power glove’s saving your sorry arse from having spectral boot shoved up it.”

“I will take that bet, princess,” Soldier spat back.

“Uuhhhhhhhhhhgggggggggg,” a new voice cut into the conversation. “If I have to sit through another one of your lover’s spats I’m going to kill myself. Again.”

Soldier’s eyes narrowed, fixating on something over Demo’s shoulder. “Oh great. The sword is here.”

“Yes! The sword is here!” the Eyelander chirped sarcastically. “And since I’m bloody gracing you with my company, you can do me a favor and get on with this thing. We’ve been standing out here for ten minutes.”

“It’s right,” Demo admitted as Soldier continued to stare daggers at the weapon strapped to his back. “Let’s head in.”

Demo didn’t wait to see if Soldier followed him as he took his first creaking step onto the house’s porch; by company orders, they were stuck together for now, no matter how much bad blood ran between them.

“So why are we clearing this place of ghosts anyway?” Eyelander asked as Demo pushed in the front door. The doubles groaned with an appropriate level of eeriness.

“The Voice’s orders,” he shrugged. “She wants this for a new battleground, but she wants it ghost free. Apparently there’ve been too many complaints about the past few Halloweens for her liking.”

“Really?” Eyelander said aghast. “Who doesn’t like Halloween?”

“Eh. Some of the mercs think it’s too random. Chaotic, hard to focus on what’s going on. They don’t like all the candy packs and the fact that idiot in a robe shows up and turns a ten minute match into a thirty minute nightmare.” At the last, he eyed Soldier over his shoulder.

“Do not look at me!” Soldier barked. “That isn’t my fault!”

“Yes it is! Last time he even said ‘SOLDIER THIS IS YOUR FAULT!’ as he was dropping bombs on our heads!”

“Well I am not the only causer-of-halloween-related-problems in this company,” Soldier said, jogging to get ahead of Demo to block his path. “The giant floating eyeball with red wig and child-sized overalls certainly wasn’t mine.”

Demo rubbed his face. “Jesus, just forget it. The only reason we have to tolerate each other is because there’s some soul with soon-to-be-finished business lurking around here, and we picked the short straw. So let’s find whatever apparition, spirit, or poltergeist is squatting in this dump and get out of each other’s hair.”

About to offer some stupid retort, Soldier was abruptly cut off as Eyelander yelped, “w-wait! Poltergeists?? You didn’t say anything about those arseholes!”

Demo and Soldier exchanged a look.

Soldier leveled a frown at the Eyelander. “You are a ghost, maggot. How on God’s green earth are you afraid of ghosts?”

“I’m afraid of poltergeists, eejit,” Eyelander snapped back. “You don’t bloody mess with a geist unless you want your immortal soul turned to shreds and left to wander the infinite abyss forever.”

“Whatever, this is getting us nowhere.” Demo pushed past Soldier. “C’mon. We’ve got a job to do.”

As he passed under the precarious looking chandelier overseeing the foyer, Soldier murmured, “tch. Only ever got the job. Typical.” Demo pretended he hadn’t heard.

What he did hear—over the sounds of the Eyelander whining about powerful forces they didn’t understand and eventually sinking into resigned grumble—was the sound of an organ playing in the deep bowels of the manor.

“Thirty bucks says there’s no one playing it when we get there,” Demo said.

“Deal,” Eyelander replied.

They readied their weapons. Well, not exactly weapons (and definitely not weapons in Soldier’s case, as he strangled his vacuum’s hose in a viselike grip), but tools that would get this bloody ghost out of here and let Demo go home for the day. His footsteps scraped decades old rugs as he padded carefully across the ground, power glove extended into the gloom before him. No readings yet, save for Eyelander’s steady thrum, but as soon as they crossed the barrier of the music room the EKG jumped like crazy.

“Called it,” Demo said as the organ continued to press down one ivory key after another, despite the only human beings in the room being the two mercs who had just entered. “Pay up, Eyelander.”

“Sure! Let me just grab my wallet.”

“Smart-arse.”

“It’s called a pommel.”

“If you two ladies are finished,” Soldier growled, drawing closer to the haunted piano, “let’s bag this ghost-maggot.”

Demo rolled his eye, sweeping to the other side of the organ that’s girth took up the entirety of the room, pipes clawing at the ceiling as wax burned down to nubs around it. “You ‘n your cleaning supplies just stand back.”

“And let you fumble our ticket out of here? I don’t think so.” Soldier flipped on his Hoover.

The glove began to gyrate in Demo’s palm. “You’re the one who’s messing this up! If you’d just believe me when I tell you something-”

“How can I believe you when your history of treachery continues?”

They were nearing the organ now, the disk glowing a menacing red and the vacuum jumping like it was trying to escape Soldier’s hands. The music doubled its tempo, growing more erratic with every step the pair took toward its console.

“There is no history,” Demo spat. “I didn’t do it in the first place!”

“But you still took the contract!”

“Because you did first!”

There wasn’t so much music now as random mashing of keys, a pained wailing accompanying the stressed notes in an unholy shriek. A bolt of electricity shot from the glove collided with something on the piano seat, revealing a ghastly form in the middle of the two men.

“Maybe I would have gone back on it!” Soldier roared as he struggled to maintain control of the hose, writhing in his hands like a viper. “If you’d talked to me I would have known it wasn’t-”

“THAT SHOULDN’T BE MY RESPONSIBILITY.”

“WELL IT HAS TO BE SOMEBODY’S.”

As Soldier screamed his final words, the ghost between them joined in the crescendo. The two forces on either of its sides pulled and pulled at its edges, wind howling and light flashing until-

Demo and Soldier were thrown into opposite walls with a resounding crack.

Grimacing, Demo pushed himself up, rubbing away the white spots in his vision that their techno-vortex had left him with. When things were mostly clear, he blinked at the organ seat, finding no trace of the specter the power glove had briefly outlined.

“Did we get it?” Soldier asked, likewise suppressing aches as he got to his feet.

“Dunno.” Demo tapped a few buttons on his glove. “Well there’s only one reading now. Maybe we fried it?”

“Bag isn’t full,” Soldier noted, poking the vacuum. “Must’ve.”

“Hm. I suppose that was climactic enough. I’m fine with leaving if you are.”

“There’s nothing I want more,” Soldier said, already halfway to the door.

“Feeling’s mutual,” Demo grumbled, following him out. “Went down pretty easy, all things considered. Barely a quarter of ‘ole Merasmus’s hit points. Can’t believe Eyelander was scared of that.”

The Eyelander said nothing.

Demo stopped walking. “You alright, mate?” he asked over his shoulder to where Eyelander was sheathed.

Still, it didn’t respond. He pulled it out, a soft sssth in the now quiet music room, and held it in front of him. He was about to ask it again, when Eyelander finally blurted, “oh uh! Right, me. I’m fine, just peachy, how are you?”

Soldier paused, and turned on his heel. “RED. Why doesn’t your sword have a stupid accent anymore?”

“Uh, crap uh,” the sword sputtered. “Blimey is what I meant to say governor! Pip pip bob’s your uncle and all that!”

“You!” Demo said, squeezing the imposter ghost for all it was worth, to which it gave a tiny eep! “What have you done with Eyelander?”

“Look, this doesn’t have to be a problem right?” the geist said. “I can still be a haunted sword! And do whatever it is the old ghost did, but please don’t make me get out. I’ve been trapped in that organ for fifty years! I want to go, see the world, oh please oh please take me with you?”

“Maybe we let it,” Soldier snorted. “Can’t be any more annoying than the old one.”

“That’s not funny,” Demo snapped, then turned his singular glare to the sword. “Listen here you useless lump of ectoplasm, you tell me what you did with my friend or I’m going to turn your soul into sizzling anti-matter.”

“No!”

And to Demo’s shock, the sword went flying from his hands, shooting up into the room’s ceiling.

“No, I won’t go back!” Encased in an orange glow, the sword maneuvered under its own power, spinning wildly until it had become an airborne lawnmower blade. “Screw you guys!”

“Shite!” Demo said as he charged out after it as it went shooting into the hall.

He followed it all the way to the foyer again, sprinting around each corner just to keep it in sight, but when he arrived out of breath at the grand staircases he had to admit there was no catching it.

“Shite,” he repeated.

“What in the goddamn hell was that about?” Soldier had, of course, followed him back to the entrance. “Now we’re stuck here until we find it again. Couldn’t have withheld your groveling freak out for one damn second.”

“I wasn’t just going to let it steal Eyelander’s sword!” Demo retaliated.

“You and the fucking Eyelander,” Solder swore, helmet wobbling as a snarl curled on his features. “Always with the Eyelander. You care more about that sword than you do anyone else, and you always fucking pick it in the end.”

They were in each other’s faces once more, nose to nose as the manor creaked around them. Demo glared, and softly replied, “well maybe the sword is better company.”

That might have been the end of it any other time, but they were too close now, too entwined, and Soldier grabbed the front of Demo’s shirt. “…God damn you,” he muttered. His face rippled with something unrecognizable. “That’s what I mean. Maybe that wasn’t you in the video, but when you took that contract you started saying crap like that.”

A hard knot found itself in Demo’s throat. He ignored the beeping coming from his glove. “After hearing ‘I never liked you’ enough times, it’s hard not to believe it.”

“…We ever going to stop lying to each other?”

Demo pulled the hand from the front of his shirt. The beeping was growing incessantly loud but he blocked it out, only focusing on stamping away from the Soldier-

And not noticing when the chandelier above him gave an ominous jolt.

His head whipped up too late when the chain broke, the glove practically screaming as he froze in panic for split second-

The cacophany when the chandelier came down was earsplitting, hundreds of glass teardrops shattering on the marble floor below, crashing into each other as their frame became nothing more than a bent pile of metal. Demo wheezed, having been thrown into a solid surface for the second time in less then ten minutes, and his brain caught up enough to realize he wasn’t dead.

The Soldier, having tackled Demo to bring him out of the worse of the poltergeist’s attack, had taken the brunt of it. He winced, rolling onto the hip that didn’t have any glass stuck in it.

“Christ,” Demo hissed, staring at the broken fixture. “It really is trying to kill us now, isn’t it?”

“You threatened to atomize its soul,” Soldier grunted. “Can’t blame it.”

Demo’s eye reaffixed to the bleeding BLU, tongue catching on the question. “You-” But what was he even supposed to say?

Soldier avoided his gaze. “Shut it, maggot. This was merely a rescue based on contempt and rivalry—no one’s allowed to kill you but me, yadda yadda, you get the picture.”

“Soldier…”

Years of bitter hatred choked down whatever else he would have said, but they couldn’t stop the swell of concern as he watched blood bloom on Soldier’s jumpsuit.

“Here,” he said, getting to his knees and picking his way through the broken glass. “Let’s get you up.”

Soldier glared in suspicion. Their argument still hung hot, bar of iron glowing yet unforged, not sure what shape it was suppose to take. But the blood was moving steadily down Soldier’s leg, and with distaste he resigned himself to being lifted under one arm.

“I can do it myself, maggot,” Soldier said once Demo had helped him to the stairs and tried to push up his pant leg.

Demo stared at him for a moment, hand holding the bandage he’d torn from the jumpsuit’s opposite leg, eye unargumentative as he gazed at the Soldier. A few more seconds of reproach ticked by, but then Soldier sighed in resignation, glancing away as Demo tied up his leg.

When it was over, he wasted no time getting to his feet, refusing Demo’s arm this time. “Definitely can’t let that thing run wild now,” he said. “Get your stupid glove to tell us where it is.”

There was an obvious limp to his walk, but Demo knew he had survived worse. That Demo had put him through worse.

The Demoman tapped his wrist a few times and said, “this way.”

The second floor was just rows and rows of suits of armor. All of them identical, all of them leaning down menacingly as the mercenaries passed beneath, listening to the spooktralizer’s pulse become a steady companion. There was constant draft, a thrumming chill up Demo’s spine, and he tried to remind himself that ghosts had the power to get inside your head and trigger your fear response. The fact that the haunt had turned murderous was nothing to be worried about—that he was, in all reality, afraid of no ghost.

The nearest suit of armor vibrated, and he jumped three feet in the air.

So did Soldier, bristling like a cat and demanding, “show yourself Casper! I am not afraid of your pathetic saber rattling!”

In response, every suit in the hall lifted it arms.

Soldier yelped, and he and Demo found themselves back to back, their respective ghost hunting equipment bared in front of them. But they were surrounded, the suits jerking to life and taking their first halting steps off their pedestals, clanking stiffly at the two mercenaries. They were forced backwards, one step, then two, until suddenly Demo found himself on the ground, the creeping terror that he’d been repressing now roaring overpoweringly. It was just a mind trick, just a manipulation, but knowing that and being able to act were vastly different things—and as the ancient warriors drew closer, he reached out and clung desperately to the closest thing he could find.

Clang went the greaves in front of him, coming to a stop as the full-body rattle started again. Shaking and shaking and Demo didn’t look, burying his face in Soldier’s shoulder-

“Ayyyiiieeeeeee,” a voice screamed as something small and spectral went spinning out of the armor.

After several seconds of silence from the suits around them, Demo finally lifted his head. All the armor had gone stiff and immobile, and the only clue to their previous animation was the ghostly impression of a sword floating a few feet off the ground.

“Eyelander?” he blinked.

“Uhhhg…my rain gaurd…” the Eyelander’s apparition groaned. “What…urhg…what happened? …….And why are you two cuddling?”

Demo looked down to find Soldier was clinging to him just as tightly as Demo was to he. Soldier realized it at the same time, and immediately pushed Demo off him, saying, “I did not give you permission to use me for comfort and safety, maggot!”

“Oi! You were the one who started it!” Demo turned his attention to the Eyelander. “What the bloody hell was that about? You trying to make us crap our pants?”

“Urhg, I don’t know!” Eyelander snapped. “If I’m not concentrating on anything in particular I just end up doing ghost type things. Like how you just start making horse noises when you think you’re home alone.”

Soldier snickered. Demo shot him a glare.

Ignoring him, Soldier got to his feet and dusted himself off. “That’s one thing to check off the list.” He paused, inspecting the form floating before him. “…Why are you a sword?”

“…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Wait, no, Soldier’s right,” Demo said, getting up as well. “You’re not in the blade anymore, you can look like anything you want! You used to be a mortal, didn’t you?”

“I don’t remember okay?” it snapped. “That was centuries ago, I don’t know how to be anything but a ghost sword.”

“Aw, give it a shot mate,” Demo encouraged. “If we’re going to hunting around for the geist that stole your sword, you might as well try a new form.”

“…Alright, I guess I can give it a try.”

Slowly, the illusion in front of them melted, growing until it was humanoid, then rippling as details began to make its shape. The jaw strengthen, and a hole appeared in the right side its face, features sharpening until a near-copy of the Demoman stood next to the suit of armor. It was a hazy reflection, as though looking at himself in green glass, but a reflection just the same.

“Hey, don’t be me,” Demo said.

“Yeah, we already got enough of those,” Soldier added under his breath.

“Uhg,” it complained. “Sorry. You’re the most recent person I’ve been.” The uncanny valley was further emphasized that Eyelander forgot to move Demo’s mouth when it was speaking.

“Just be yourself,” Demo insisted, as much due to the ghost-him’s creepiness as the fact that he was a bit curious about who Eyelander used to be. “Go on, give it a shot.”

Grumbling without moving its mouth, the Eyelander began to change again, Demo’s features swept away as though lost on the wind. It grew inexorably, towering of the mortals below it like a warrior from myth; then it shrank, arms and ghostly blade disproportionately detailed like recalling a fighting feeling.

Both of these faded, other particulars bubbling up from the surface. A tartan hood crawled over the general shape of a head, plunging the face into inscrutability. From its shoulders sprung a cape, one that would have pooled across the ground if the mirage weren’t floating a half-foot off the stone. A thick tunic billowed, then fell down to the mirage’s knees, held in place by a sash across its chest.

The face beneath flickered. Morphing, becoming-

“Damn it,” Eyelander groaned as the features fell back into darkness, effort weakening its voice. “I really don’t remember.”

“Ach, it’s fine Eyelander,” he assured it, hearing the clear disappointment. “We’ll get your sword back in no time.”

“…Thanks mate.”

Suddenly, Soldier pushed past him, far roughing than necessary. “If the ghost is done having an identity crisis, lets get back to busting.”

Demo frowned after him, but according to the readings he was headed in the right direction, so he said nothing to it.

Eyelander was a different story. “OoooOOOoooo, jealous again are we?” Catching up to him was no problem when it could simply glide across the ground, cape fluttering behind it.

“Silence apparition!” Soldier stated. “You cannot get inside my head with your devil words, nor your OoooOOOoooo.”

Eyelander cackled, floating in front of him and forcing him to walk into it. He shivered as he passed through the ethereal dregs, breaking from his path and pivoting into the nearest set of doors. They found themselves in the grand library, tiers upon tiers of floor-to-ceiling books simply rotting in the dust. Cobwebs clung to everything, ancient lamps and moldering fainting couches, rendering the entire room silent.

“Touch a nerve?” Eyelander was enjoying its new ‘body’, swinging a spectral arm over Soldier’s shoulder that he was unable to shrug off. “Not still mad he likes me better than you?”

“Only goes to show how poor his taste is,” Soldier snapped.

Demo had to jog to catch up. The library’s various stone busts turned to watch him as he moved.

“Maybe, if he was hanging out with you to begin with,” Eyelander persisted. “Does that bother you, yankee doodle?”

“Eyelander, lay off him,” Demo said, surprising even himself when the words came out of his mouth. Soldier didn’t look, breathing heavily through his nose

“Why?” the ghost huffed. It was odd seeing the body language to accompany it for once, the entity folding its arms across its chest. “He’s the one who throws a fit whenever I’m around, and I’m bloody sick of it. Why should I have to put up with some moron you don’t want anything to do with?”

“Shut your nonexistent mouth!” Soldier was really heated now. “If you keep talking to me I will put my boot up so far up your ass you will feel it in the afterlife!”

“OoooOOOoooo,” Eyelander said, and it was a proper ghostly ooo that reverberated about the empty library. “I’m so scared. Should I start crying out in fear? That’s all a lout like you knows how to do, just yell until someone cries and then piss off entirely. Well guess what, eejit, he’s just fine without you.”

“I am warning you…” Soldier growled.

“Oh but that doesn’t stop you from getting all possessive does it?” Eyelander just goaded, heedless of anything else but its own petty revenge. “More possessive than me, and I’m the one possessing him! Is that the sort of bond you’re going for yank? Spending a lot of time in-”

With a furious scream, Soldier launched himself at the Eyelander. On instinct, it jerked to the side to try and avoid his murderous hands, but it didn’t matter either way as Soldier when flying through the ghost’s form and crashed into the bookcase behind it.

The bookcase swung like a revolving door, and Soldier disappeared from view.

Eyelander and Demo shared a glance. “Did that just…?” he asked.

“Hold on.” It glided forward, passing through the bookcase unimpeded. A moment later, it stuck its head back out through the wall and said, “aye! It’s a secret passage! Some stairs going down into a basement of some sort.”

“Stairs? Is Solder alright?” Demo worried as he came forward and tried to trigger whatever had moved the loose shelf.

The Eyelander stuck its head in, then back out again. “Eh, I’m sure he’s fine.”

Demo found him, if not exactly fine, then stabilized. His leg had started bleeding again, but the tumble down the basement stairs had shaken the fight out of him. He let Demo rebandage his injuries with barely a word.

“Good work finding the passage, lad,” Demo said, as though he didn’t feel a terrible heat of embarrassment on the back of his neck. “Based on the readings, that’s where the ghost is hiding.”

“Hm,” was all Soldier said. He wouldn’t look at either Demo or the levitating knight.

“…Eyelander, why don’t you float on ahead?” Demo said after a moment. “Scout things out a bit for us?”

“Yeah, sure. Not being bound to a mortal vessel anymore gives you a lot more free range of movement.”

Demo helped Soldier to his feet. Several long minutes were spent walking down a cold, damp tunnel, only illuminated by bulbs covered in metal grates that flickered in sync. When Eyelander had drifted far enough ahead in its impatience, Demo asked what had been on his mind since they’d come down here, spinning over as the guilt he’d been holding back for years weighed heavier on him than it ever had.

“…Jane?” he mumbled. The Soldier jumped at his real name. “What Eyelander said back there…have I really been…?”

“Don’t believe anything that comes out of that ghost’s pie hole! Its ghost pie hole! Where it puts its ghost pies!” Soldier barked hastily. “It is- I don’t-!”

Demo let Soldier sputter for a moment before frowning at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Soldier choked mid denial and whipped his head so hard his eyes showed wild underneath the helmet. “You- What?”

“You were right,” Demo rubbed his face. “About always lying to each other. Saying we didn’t care, just to make it easier. And you’re right that I treat my friends like crap sometimes, picking the sword—the job—over anybody else. So I fucked up too, believing their lies just as much, listening to them because it was the easiest.” He lifted his head, making eye contact with the alarmed Soldier. “So maybe I do pick the sword sometimes. But I never should have taken a bribe over my best friend.”

They’d stopped walking, Soldier just staring at him, mouth slightly open.

Soldier breathed in deep. “…Your best friend?”

Cautiously, taking care not to startle Soldier or his own frayed nerves, Demo reached out and held Soldier’s hand. He could hear Soldier’s labored breaths, even as the BLU looked down so steeply at their linked hands that his helmet obscured is whole face.

“Aye.”

Soldier’s mouth writhed a second longer before saying, “I’m sorry. Too. For all the crap I said to you after. I didn’t mean any of it either, I always liked you. I always…”

Demo squeezed his hand. “We’ll talk after we get my sword back, aye?”

Soldier finally lifted his chin, a grin of joyous relief across it. “Affirmative! We will beat the crap out of that weapon-stealing cheat, and then boot it back to kingdom come.”

“Our powers combined, eh?” Demo wiggled the fingers on the power glove.

Soldier lifted his hose. “Lets get this spirit-maggot!”

“Are you two coming?” the Eyelander demanded, reappearing in the grimy tunnel before them. “There’s this big evil laboratory at the end of the hall and the bell-end body-snatcher is just waiting for someone to come and kick its pommel.”

Demo grinned at his once-again best mate. “Don’t worry Eyelander, that bastard’s got another thing coming.”

The rescue squad stormed into the evil lab, magic and science and supernatural forces in hand. The room was exactly what you’d think: test tubes full of pulsating green goo, an open slab with leather straps around it, giant Tesla coils pointing all which way as though the whole space was ready to zap you at a moment’s notice.

“You!” Eyelander demanding, pointing a menacing spectral finger at the sword floating in the center of the room.

“Aw crap,” it said as it turned and saw the trio of ghostbusters that had come for its soul.

Immediately, it tried to make a run for it, zipping off on a trail of orange magic. But Soldier was faster, flipping the Hoover to ‘suck’ and immediately summoning a typhoon from the nozzle’s end. The geist shrieked as it was pulled backwards, forward momentum fighting against the suction until was it pulled taught mid-air. Demo wasn’t going to inadvertently help it this time, though. Instead, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his best mate, and sent a pulse of magnetic energy to join the vacuum’s pull.

“NOOOOOooooo,” the geist screamed as it began to lose ground.

It still wasn’t enough. A humanoid shape was being drawn from the sword, but that only made it struggle harder, fighting tooth and nail as it screamed all the while.

The Eyelander’s spirit stormed forward. With both hands it gripped the sword, pulling away from its rival ghost with its impressive incorporeal biceps. The geist screamed harder, but in a three-on-one it was losing, even as it tried to wrench the hilt away. Eyelander grabbed above the crossguard, and a gush of ethereal blood splattered on the floor, but the extra leverage worked, and it ripped the blade free from enemy hands.

Eyelander reared back, and the ghost went falling into the vacuum with a scream.

The impact knocked Demo flat on his ass. It wasn’t as rough as the first explosion, but he still groaned as he sat up. “We get it this time?”

Soldier poked the bag, which moaned in protest. “Yup. We got it.”

“How about you Eyelander?” Demo got up and walked to where the sword had fallen. “Everything back in the bits?”

“Uhrg…my whole fuller hurts,” the blade on the floor said in what was definitely the Eyelander’s voice. “Put me back in my scabbard…I want a nap.”

Demo chuckled, and did as he was asked.

“Teamwork saves the day!” Soldier declared, walking up to the pair. “Goes to show what camaraderie and true American sprit can do.” He clapped Demo on the shoulder, and the two exchanged a smile.

“…Did I miss something?” Eyelander asked from its sling on Demo’s back.

“Nah,” Demo said. “Jane ‘n I just worked some things out. Don’t worry your pretty little locket about it.”

“We are best friends again!” Soldier was too excited to hold back. He grabbed Demo’s hand again and squeezed.

The two shared a look of shining eyes and full hearts.

“Yuck,” Eyelander noted. “Do I have to be here for this?”

“Ah, shut it,” Demo said. “We just saved your life.”

“I didn’t want to be brought along in the first place!”

“You hate being left alone at the base,” Demo pointed out.

“Yeah but that was before you brought ghosthunting into the picture. You should have known better! What if one of your stupid machines had malfunctioned and killed me instead?”

As they walked back up through the secret passage, Soldier leaned toward the scabbard and said, “looks like there’s trouble in paradise after all, huh.” Demo had never heard him be smugger.

“Keep grinning, eejit,” Eyelander grumbled. “Next time we get into battle I’m carving a new smile into your throat.”

Soldier snickered, and they left the manor victorious.

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Chapter Seven: Way Down To Wonderland

(Image not mine)

Rated: PG

~Hey Alice, is it greener here Or does it seem like dirt? Does it feel the same, can you say that you Are happy to be home?

The rabbit seems to call your name You're late, so it's time to move Oh Alice, you know it's your fate Tick, tock. No time to lose

Hey Alice, time is running short This can't take too long Make a choice now. On which side of the door Do you feel you belong?~

Did I know it was a bad idea?

Yes. Yes, I did.

Did I do it anyway?

Yup.

Was I going to regret it?

Yeah, probably.

Did that thought stop me?

Absolutely not.

I was going with Jack. I was going to leave that freezing nothing-in-nowhere place behind me and I was going to be free. With the Winchesters protecting me, I would never have to be afraid of anything ever again.

At least until they found out the truth. But I could keep them fooled for long enough, right? I mean, Jack seemed to like me. I wasn't sure in what way exactly, but he did seem to like me. That was something wasn't it? It had to be.

Me and Jack just sat and talked while Sam and Dean burned the bones and covered the body back up. The only reason I knew the body was there was because I had found this place three years ago, though as to the corpse's identity I had no clue. I was just making crap up.

When the job was finally done it was around midnight and the hunters wanted to go back to their motel. They also wanted me to come with them.

"But where would you sleep?" I argued.

"Oh, I don't sleep that much." Jack simply shrugged. I chewed on my lip, for every excuse I could come up with, Jack had a solution.

"Look Jack, I've spent a long time here and I've got, like, this 'secret hideout' where I always sleep- er, slept, and I just wanna go back there, collect my stuff and say goodbye, ya’ know? I'll meet you outside your motel bright and early tomorrow morning. Alright?" Maybe the slight truth would work where excuses had failed miserably. Jack sighed.

"You promise you'll come?" He asked.

"Cross my heart," I said, doing the motion.

"Good cause' if you don't show, Cas will know where you went," Sam said, his voice was friendly but it sounded like a threat. I guessed he was suspicious. Sam got in the car.

"That is true," Castiel said, following him. Yeah, they were both suspicious of me.

"Oh. Uh, nice." There went all hopes of running away from this. "Well where are you guys staying? Just so I know where to go," I asked.

"It’s called North Sea Motel, or something like that." Jack paused for a moment. "Uh, I think." I smiled with a shake of my head.

"I think you mean North Port Motel," I corrected him. Jack smiled.

"Yeah, that one!"

"Okay, well, I'll see ya there!" I started to dismount from where I sat, perched in a different tree, but Dean's voice stopped me.

"Say, where is this little ' secret hideout' of yours? We could drive you, just tell us where. Then you could get your stuff and come to the motel with us, you might even get a good night's sleep," Dean offered. I turned him down with a shake of my head.

"Nah, you boys get some sleep. Besides, if I told you where it was, it wouldn't be my 'secret hideout' now would it? Also, it’s not exactly accessible by car anyway, but don't worry, it’s not far." That was a lie. It was all the way across town, but I might need to use it to hide from these guys one day so telling them the location wouldn't be smart.

"Alright well, see ya’ tomorrow, kid." Dean climbed into his car and revved the engine, waiting for Jack before driving off.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow!" Jack smiled at me. His smile was sort of strange as his mouth curved up on one side and down on the other at the same time. I liked it.

"See ya’ tomorrow Jack-Jack." I winked at him from where I sat, perched in a different tree. Then in the blink of an eye, Jack was beside me, pulling me in for a hug. I was surprised but hugged him back. I took a deep, breath through my nose.

'Holy zoodles, you smell amazing!' I thought to myself. For a split second the thought entered my mind. For a split second I considered what it might be like.

But that wasn't going to win out.

I pulled away from the hug and Jack smiled his crooked smile and he disappeared, and I waved as the Black Impala drove off. I sighed.

"Whatever you're gonna say, you can go ahead and say it!" I said to the air.

No reply.

No Isaac.

Nothing.

"Ugh! You're so dramatic! If you wanna talk then talk, ya friggn' weirdo!" I shouted to no one.

Isaac still didn't appear. I hopped off my branch and began to sprint through the snowy woods at top speed. Mocking all the way.

"Oh I'm Isaac and I'm so superior to everyone and I'm a stinkin' drama queen who has to be all cryptic about my USELESS OPINIONS!"

I shouted the last bit before climbing the rope into the tree house. I had made it in under five minutes. When I hauled my sorry butt inside the tree house, Isaac stood there, waiting. He had his arms crossed and his shoulders square and his face was a mask of barely controlled rage. I copied his stance and stared back at him. He remained silent. I could only do it for so long.

"What?" I asked, giving in. Apparently that question was all it took for Isaac to explode.

"DO YOU THINK THIS IS A FRIKIN' GAME?!" He shouted. I couldn't help but stumble back a few paces. Isaac never yelled, not at me. Isaac yelled at everyone else, but never, ever, me. I blinked a few times, trying to discourage the tears.

"N-no! I-I-I just-"

"DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?!"

"NO! But I-"

"REALLY? BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE! BECAUSE THAT'S HOW YOU'RE ACTING! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" Isaac took a menacing step, and it took a lot of will to stand my ground.

"I don't know! I wasn't-"

"THAT'S RIGHT! YOU WERN'T!" I looked away, blinking furiously to dispel my tears. Isaac sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself.

"I was just trying to save our butts! I didn't think they would take it like that and try to adopt me on the spot!"

"Why didn't you just say no?!"

"Because that would have looked suspicious!"

"Then just run! They'll move on without you! They'll keep going with their lives! They don't care about you!" Isaac insisted. His words hurt. Why? Why did they hurt?!

"That's not true! They said they'd search for me!" I tried, but it was a weak response, and I knew it. Isaac laughed, it was bitter and without humor.

"What? Is it that Half-Angel freak?" He snorted. I lowered my head.

"He's not a freak," I mumbled.

"Sorry, could you say that a little louder? I couldn't hear you over all your stupidity!" Isaac sneered. My head snapped up and my teeth and fists clenched.

"Jack. Is. Not. A. Freak!" I growled. Isaac's eyebrows shot up.

"Wait, you don't- No. No, you're not really-" I knew what he was asking, and I simply glared at him.

"What?"

"Do you like him?" Isaac asked, disgust prevalent in his tone. I looked at the floor, grinding my teeth.

"No."

"OH COME ON! REALLY MARTY? YOU GOT A CRUSH ON THAT FREAK-A-ZOID!? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" Isaac roared, "HE'S A FRIGGIN' TWO-YEAR-OLD FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!" I couldn't take it anymore.

"SHUT UP ISAAC!!!" I screeched, my pitch rising with my anger. I took a deep breath and stared him in his cold, dead eyes. "If Jack is a freak then so am I!"

"No, you are what you are. That kid, if you can even call him that, is trying to be two things at once! He's more powerful then the actual angel! Couldn't you feel it? That thing could probably kill you without even trying!" I rolled my eyes, my fists clenching tighter. I could feel my nails cutting into my hands, but I didn't care.

"Jack wouldn't hurt me. He's not like other hunters, Isaac! He's not doing this out of hate!" I insisted. Isaac's face twisted into a snarl. He walked over and looked down on me.

"And when he finds out that you've been lying? What do you think he'll do then? What do you think they'll all do? Do you think they'll just shower you with hugs?" He questioned, mockingly.

"No."

"They'll never except you. Once they find out the truth, and they will find out, they'll never love you. You know why?"

"Stop." I ground out through clenched teeth.

"Because they are not your family, Marty. They never will be," Isaac hissed.

"I don't need them to be. Besides, I can always talk them into it." Isaac stepped away now and started pacing the floor of our hideout.

"But you won't. You know why? Because it will never be real. That's what you want, isn't it?" He jeered.

"I just want to be safe! I don't wanna run anymore!" I protested, even though he was right. Isaac shook his finger at me.

"No, you want it to be real. You want it so desperately, don't you? That's what this is all about, isn't it? Deep down it's all about Jack, and you know it."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Isaac," I seethed. He turned to me with a quizzical yet mocking expression.

"This little crush you have on the hybrid freak, do you really think you have a chance?" Isaac flicked his finger against my skull. "I know you're all grown up in there, but out here you're still fourteen! And you heard it right out of his mouth, he may be grown up on the outside but he's still only two-years-old! I don't care which side you look at it from, that's pedophilia either way!" I wished I could punch Isaac in the face, much more than I usually did.

"It's not like that! You can't stop me Isaac! This isn't your decision to make!" I shouted at him.

"I'm not letting you go with them. If that means murdering all of them in their beds, then so be it! I'm not going to let them hurt you!" Isaac barked.

"What is wrong with you?! This is my decision! Why do you keep trying to control my life?!" I demanded.

"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO WATCH MY SISTER DIE!"

I blinked. I couldn't speak. What could I even say? We stood across from each other, the anger draining away into heartbreak.

"I just want a friend, Isaac. Is that really so wrong of me?" I demanded in a whisper. A rain of emotion was beginning to sizzle out the fire of my fury. My spectral companion stopped in his tracks.

"A friend? What am I, chopped-liver?" Isaac asked, sarcastically. Though his tone was mordant, I could sense the hurt that sapped through.

"Isaac, that's not what I meant," I tried to back-track, but it was useless. Isaac's lip curled and his eyes narrowed.

"I've spent five years stuck in the veil, not being able to talk or be seen by anybody but you. All of that just so your sorry ass wouldn't be so friggin' lonely! I put off going to heaven and this is what I get for it?! What? Am I suddenly not good enough for you anymore? Is that it?!" He spat.

"Of course not, Isaac! You're my brother! You're my best friend and you always will be!" My voice came as a stressed whisper as I strived to explain, "It's just that-"

"That what? What makes him better than me? What makes any of them better than me?! What does that Nephilim freak have that I don't, huh?" He challenged, his voice like burning acid. I couldn't take it anymore.

"YOU'RE DEAD, ISAAC!!!" I screamed, tears gushing down my face like salt-water rivers. I couldn't stop them. "YOU'RE DEAD AND IT'S ALL MY FAULT!" Isaac blinked, speechless. "Mom and Dad and Jackie and Bree and Jazz; they're gone! They're all gone and it's all my fault!"

"Marty-"

"No, Isaac! You're gone and I can't have you back, not for real. I can't high-five you when we laugh, I can't punch your shoulder when you're annoying me, and when I'm upset you can't wrap your arm's around me and hold me until the tears run dry! You can't do that, and I don't blame you, but you can't!" I took a deep breath and looked at the rough wooden floorboards as I tried to mop up my tear-stained cheeks, but it didn't work. All the sadness from the last five years was escaping now.

"I don't-" Isaac started but I wasn't finished just yet.

"I need someone who can do that, Isaac. It's been exactly five years, eleven months, and twenty-two days since somebody hugged me! I didn't realize how much I needed it until now, and I don't think I can go on like this any longer! Isaac, I am all alone," I lamented.

"You have me, Marty," He whispered. I hadn't realized that ghosts could get choked up.

"Isaac, you're not really here," I whispered, painfully. "I know you're all I have; but I don't have you, not really. I don't want you to go, but every single day, this figment of you reminds me that you're never coming back," I sniffed, still trying to keep it under control, but the look in Isaac's eyes made that impossible.

"Oh, Marty... I-I'm sorry." I rubbed at my eyes, wishing once again that I could lay my head on his shoulder and just cry like I wanted to, but I couldn't.

"I just want you back!" I sobbed, my ragged breaths scraping at my dry, tender throat. Isaac reached out but his arms passed right through me, just like always. I looked to him in despair before moving to sit on the mattress. "Why did you have to die?" I whispered.

"I don't know."

"Just let me go with them, Isaac. I can't do this anymore."

"If you're going then I'm coming with you. Through thick and thin, remember?"

"Through thick and thin," I agreed. Isaac smiled at me weakly.

"Well, get your stuff together, we're goin' on an adventure," He said. I nodded and strode over to the backpack in the corner. Reaching to the very bottom of the bag, I grabbed hold of the two objects I hated the most.

Two bags filled with a pint each of human blood. The label bore the name: Aspirus Keweenaw Hospital. It was the only hospital anywhere near Copper Harbor, though it was more than twenty miles away. It was a long way to go by foot but now I would never need to go again. I just hoped that wherever these hunters lived there was a hospital nearby. I weighed the bags in my hands and considered the possibility of smuggling them past the hunters. The odds were pretty bad.

"Just wondering, how do you plan to keep this a secret while under the watch of four hunters?" Isaac asked from behind me. I inhaled deeply before turning back to him.

"No idea! But as for right now―" I ripped open a small hole in one of the bags and raised it into the air the way you would raise a toast― "Drink up me hearties, yo ho!"

I think you can figure out what I did after that.

-2 hours and 56 minutes later-

I finished packing all of my belongings into my backpack and a few extra things I stuffed in my violin case. Then, I saluted the now abandoned tree house farewell and tromped off through the snow to say goodbye to the one person in this town that I actually considered a friend.

The bell dinged as I pushed open the door to the pharmacy. I smiled at the shapeshifter behind the counter and waved. Dan-the-Dope-Man, regardless of anyone's opinion about his behavior, was the closest thing to a friend as I had made in these past five years. He may not have been the best person, but I owed him a lot and now this was the only way I could repay him.

"Marty! I thought you died! When I watched you go with those hunters, I didn't know what to do! Are you okay?" There was no one else in the store, so the man with the face of a forty-year-old hopped over the counter and rushed over to me, enveloping me in a hug. In this form, he didn't have his Brooklyn accent.

"I'm fine, Danny but, uh, I gotta tell you something." Dan released me and held me at arm’s length.

"What? What's wrong?" He worried.

"Nothing's wrong," I told him, shaking my head, "But I'm leaving."

"What? Why?" Dan exclaimed.

"Those hunters, they asked me to come with them, they said they're gonna protect me." Dan's brows pulled together and he looked at me with concern.

"Marty, they're hunters. Protecting things like us, vampires and shapeshifters, isn't exactly what they do!”

"They don't know what I am, and I plan to keep it that way. But these guys, they're different. They're gonna protect me, and maybe they'll help me find Felix!" I said, gently.

"That's a dangerous game."

"Let's hope I'm good at it."

"You're really gonna do this?"

"Yeah." Dan sighed.

"Well in that case, I'm gonna miss ya, Marty." He wrapped his arms around me, and I hugged him back.

"I'm gonna miss you too, Danny!" Apparently, my eyes hadn't rid themselves of tears completely. A few salty droplets dripped down my cheeks.

"Take care of yourself, sweetie. Remember, if you ever need a place to go, my door is always open." He said, patting my back.

"Thank you, man. For everything. I owe you a lot." I wiped my cheeks and gasped a breath as I pulled away.

"Eh, don't worry about any o' that. Stay alive, Marty. That's all the payment I want," Dan smiled.

"I can do better than that," I promised, smirking.

"Whattdya' mean?"

"If any hunter ever comes to check this place out again, I'm gonna give you a head's up. Sound good?" Dan grinned.

"Sounds great, Marty." He hugged me again and when he pulled away, he had an idea.

"Before you go, here, take these," He said, grabbing several items from different shelves and stuffing them in a bag which he gave to me. I peeked into the bag, inside were several boxes of chocolate truffles, four Hershey's bars, and one of those little solar powered flowers that waves when you place it in the sun. "It's not much, but it’s something to remember me by."

"I'll savor every chocolate, Dan. I'm gonna miss ya, have an awesome life buddy!" I waved as I pushed my way out the door, "I hope you get your daughter back!"

"Thank you, Marty! Take care of yourself! I hope things get better for you!" Dan waved back and I left the pharmacy behind, muttering to myself as I walked down the street to the motel.

"I hope things get better too."

~Hey Alice, do you want to play? The Queen's great (or so it's been said) Hey Alice, can you play croquet? If you're good, you can keep your head

Hey Alice, are you here or there Or somewhere in between? Hey Alice, would you ever dare To go back through where you've been?

Hey Alice, time is running short This can't take too long Make a choice now. On which side of the door Do you feel you belong?~

Lyrics from: Hey Alice by Rachel Rose Mitchell

[maxwell-grant]

Can we talk about the girasol ring? Like, a bunch of adaptations seem to think it's magic in of itself, rather than being a focus of The Shadow's hypnotic powers? And also, it's origin is kinda weird and wonky and also kinda eesh? And is it actually an important part of The Shadow's iconography.

I think the easiest way to describe the Girasol, for a start, is that it’s The Shadow MacGuffin, the one that does whatever the hell you want it to and serves whatever purpose you want it to, depending on the story. There was a one-shot comic once released by the Literary Volunteers of Chicago called Quest for Dreams Lost, where various comic book characters go on a quest to retreive some of the most important mythical items in fiction. And The Shadow’s Girasol Ring is one of those, right next to items like Dorothy’s ruby slippers, the Maltese Falcon and the portrait of Dorian Grey.

Which kinda sums up what it’s ultimate purpose in The Shadow is, once you get past all the many different uses and origins it had over the years. Sometimes it’s really just an ordinary ring that carries meaning only because it’s attached to The Shadow or some history, sometimes it’s got all sorts of weird functions, and sometimes it’s The Shadow’s Excalibur, Cosmic Cube, Mother Box, whatever you name it. The ring constantly changes colors as much as it constantly changes function.

In the pulps, the Girasol was right there in the first story. There’s a story Walter Gibson wrote in 1929 called The Purple Girasol that is supposedly about a mystical ring, but I haven’t been able to read it yet. The first instance The Shadow ever displayed something resembling the superpowers he would later gain in future adaptations was in The Red Menace, when he uses the ring to hypnotize a man into writing a confession. It’s the first instance of him ever using hypnotism, before that became his “thing”

You’d be surprised, however, at how little The Shadow actually uses hypnotism in the pulps. Gibson didn’t like overplaying it, and indeed, one of the most fun things about The Shadow novels is the many ways information gathering plays a big part in the stories and the many ways The Shadow and his agents acquire it. He doesn’t type into a supercomputer and immediately has everything figured out or tortures goons into squealing, he thinks and plans and manipulates people and circumstances and solves puzzles as a cunning magician (it helps he was written by one). Gibson wasn’t big on him using hypnotism as a shortcut and so it very rarely happened. 

Instead, in the pulps the girasol is largely used as a means of identification. It’s the most concrete signifier of The Shadow’s identity. The Red Menace shows the first hint we get that the ring has a deeper history, when he reveals to Prince Zuvor that the base of the ring is engraved with the symbol of the Seventh Star, a secret organization he used to belong to in Tsarist Russia. Later, The Romanoff Jewels reveals the gem itself used to be a part of the Romanoff’s personal collection, “a memento of friendship from the man who owned it”. In The Five Chameleons, The Shadow explains this to the story’s proxy heroine:

This girasol," said the spectral voice, "is the symbol of The Shadow. Few have ever known its significance. You are one. "He who wears this stone - like which there is no other - is The Shadow. No matter what his guise may be, he is The Shadow. Tell none what I have told you!" 

And later in the story, he gets really injured in a gun battle and lies unconscious, and the proxy heroine is able to recognize the unknown man by the girasol ring on his hand, and offer him medical assistance. I have in my notes somewhere that there’s a story where Jericho Druke is given the ring (something that never happened with any other agent) in order to contact someone on The Shadow’s behalf, but I can’t find it.

The ring is usually kept hidden beneath his gloves until he has to take them off dramatically. In some stories like The Crime Crypt, it’s stated no one ever sees the ring, but in others, he wears it openly as Lamont Cranston, like in Gypsy Vengeance where he uses it to impress people at a party. Theodore Tinsley had The Shadow use his ring to cut glass in three separate stories, and in The Crimson Phoenix, Tinsley shows a crook recognizing The Shadow by his ring. In a later story called Six Men of Evil, he pops open the ring’s hinge to reveal at the base a different sign than the one in The Red Menace

Tam Sook's eyes bulged as he saw the figure. 

"The sign of Chow Lee!" he exclaimed. "The sign of The Great One!"

"Yes," came the weirdly-whispered reply, "the gift of those of Chow Lee - those who are even more powerful than you! Only one man, other than your own, has this sacred symbol. I am that man!"

(There’s a theory that this is the token The Shadow receives in Grove of Doom, from the reclusive Chinatown mastermind Choy Lown, and that The Shadow either placed it on the base of the ring atop the Seventh Star, or he engraved it on another ring).

And of course, later when Kent Allard was introduced in the mythos, we got the whole story about the gem being from the eye of an idol, given to him in the Yucatan by the Xinca when he crashed there in 1925. Gibson later explained at a con in 1977 the situation as there being two Girasol Rings, as an idol has two eyes ( Michael Uslan went with this when he wrote The Shadow x Green Hornet). This really could have been a major contradiction, but I think Gibson’s explanation very neatly joins the two origins together and doesn’t really contradict the stories when you read them. I posted the interview here, and I have excerpts saved from another interview Gibson did where he talks about the ring’s origin, although I lost the source. 

It was during the Spanish Conquest the ring was stolen. Ships brought it to the Phillippines, and then it went to Russia

Kent Allard (or whoever he was posing as) met up with the Czar and was awarded the ring as a gift in recognition of his spy work in Russia. This is the ring with the 7th star, and he carried it early on already knowing of it's hypnotic effects

But he's wondering all this time how this Opal ever got in the Czar's collection

Becoming acquainted with things in Mexico, he tried to get the answer there. He learned about this and decided he had the missing eye of an idol, which was in the Yucatan.

And then he showed to the Xincas their missing gemstone and was welcomed by them. I assume the whole “bird god” thing is the part you refer to as “kinda eesh” and yeah, the Mighty Whitey parts of the Shadow’s backstory plainly suck. There are some takes on The Shadow’s dynamic with the Xincas in modern comics that go some ways to rectifying it, but whether it even works at all is a subject for a different post. 

You could argue the ring has also become a sort of symbol for The Shadow’s history and purpose. It’s got an engraved mark from his time in Russia and a gemstone that used to belong to the Romanoffs, it’s got a Chinese token given to him by one of his allies, the gem’s real origin is from the Yucatan where Kent Allard died and The Shadow walked out of. He wears it on his left hand’s third finger, same place where you put the wedding ring, literally married to the job. He wears a stone that’s incredibly charged with symbolic meaning that also correlates to several of his key traits:

For ages, people have believed in the healing power of opal. Opal is also said to stimulate originality and creativity. 

Opal is porous and because of this, it is quite absorbent. Due to its ability to absorb, it is thought that it can pick up the thoughts and feelings of people and amplify emotions. 

Fire opal carries strong karmic powers, representing justice and also providing protection for its wearer.

Opals have been carried for invisibility.

During the Middle Ages, precious opal was regarded as especially lucky because it displayed the colors of many different gemstones (of course even The Shadow’s own gemstone is going to be a shapeshifting chameleon)

However, not every culture has shared this view. A well-known Russian superstition associates precious opal with the evil eye. Opal is also the official birthstone for October (the month of Halloween)

And that’s just the pulps, but every adaptation since then has run with a different idea of what the ring means, is capable of, and represents. It was absent in the radio show and the S&S Shadow Comics. In the 60s Archie series that everyone hates, if I recall it was used to activate his communications panels. The movie also used the ring for a similar end, where it’s used primarily as a signal for when he is needed at the Sanctum, and the movie also shows that all of his agents receive rings of their own for communication (Which is a neat idea but kinda falls apart when you consider that eventually someone would put together the connection between the rings and The Shadow, and that would place a massive target on anyone wearing them)

There’s been all kinds of rings in Shadow merchandising over the years and there’s a reocurring element of rings with unusual properties across Shadow stories (as well as pulp fiction, but again, separate post). 

The comics for the most part have largely stuck with the hypnosis function that Denny O’Neil highlighted in the 70s DC run. Matt Wagner’s Shadow uses the ring as a focus for his powers, a “telescope into the minds of others” as he describes. The Shadow Strikes had some pretty out-there ideas for the ring’s origin and power, but I don’t talk about The Shadow Strikes for obvious reasons so I can’t elaborate on them. 

Garth Ennis’s arc on the 2012 Dynamite run uses the ring not just for hypnosis and creating optical illusions (like when he makes a Nazi see himself murdering his own mother), but also to somehow speak to the dead and prevent them from passing on to the afterlife long enough for him to get information out of them. I have my gripes with excessive superpowers in Shadow stories and Ennis’ Shadow, but I’ll be honest and admit that was a really badass concept I would very much like to see again in some capacity.

Michael Uslan’s Dark Nights had a pretty wild reimagining of the ring as a weapon of ultimate power carved out of a meteor by the Xincas before it was stolen, even specifically compared to a Cosmic Cube, something Khan is able to use to create a super death ray powered by Blue Coal, and it presents that much of The Shadow’s life and backstory has been spent guarding it from the world. It’s a very fanciful reimagining, and as a whole Uslan’s comics with The Shadow veer a little too much into superhero stuff for my liking, but I still like them and I think there’s something to this idea. 

And that’s just what I can gleam off my notes, because I’m pretty sure there’s other varied takes on the ring that I’m forgetting. 

In some ways, the ring may very well be the most concrete part of The Shadow's identity. It's the signal that he gives so that his agents can recognize him, no matter what he looks like. It's the token that allows those he helps to find his help even when they can't trust anyone around them. It's got signs engraved on it that grant him and others passage through whatever underworlds he wishes to pass through. It's a gemstone with a backstory, for a while The Shadow's backstory was just the Girasol's backstory. It's the bright light that shines while being held by a blot of darkness in human form. It can be merely a shiny trinket, or the ultimate power. Like the Green Lantern's ring, it's an instrument of will. Not just The Shadow's will, but the will of who is writing him. It’s the will of the story, the ultimate power of fiction.

It’s not an important part of The Shadow’s iconography so much as it IS The Shadow’s iconography, the closest thing he has to a true symbol other than his silhouette in shadow (which can really represent just about any figure of mystery and fear, as The Hat/Cloak Man has become a universal symbol of fear). It’s an early form of the Bat logo or an emblazoned “S” on the chest that lets everyone around them know the superhero has come to save the day, except it’s not attached to a superhero at all, it’s being used by a weird ghoul who looks like he’s gonna shoot the Waynes in a dirty alley. 

How do you trust him? Because he’s The Shadow. How do you know he’s The Shadow and not just any number of scary beings in dark silhouettes or disguises? Because he’s got The Shadow’s ring. And no matter what he uses it for, it will be for the sake of good and for the sake of your protection, grim and relentless as it may be.