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dewdropdinosaur · 11 months ago

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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.

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fanaticsnail · 5 months ago

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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

#one piece #x reader #fic swapping #Donquixote Rosinante #Donquixote corazon #rosinante x reader #corazon x reader #one piece x reader #one piece angst #x f!reader #heart pirates

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istoleyoursphenoidbone · 18 days ago

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In Search of Kindred Spirits - Chapter 3

Hi folks, welcome back for chapter 3 of In Search of Kindred Spirits. We have one more chapter after this to go! I don't have much to say on this chapter other than here we get to see Danny's search through the zone. But have fun everyone, and as always feedback is welcome!

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The Ghost Zone stretched infinitely in every direction, an otherworldly expanse of swirling green mist, floating islands, and jagged portals that flickered like torn seams in reality. Rivers of shimmering ectoplasm wound their way through the void, glowing faintly as they meandered past bizarre, gravity-defying landscapes. It was a place of eerie beauty, alive with strange whispers and the occasional flicker of ghostly figures darting between dimensions. Yet its vastness was daunting—so endless that even Danny, who had spent countless hours navigating its labyrinthine reaches, often felt like a single drop in an infinite ocean.

Jason wasn’t here. At least, not in the places Danny thought he would be.

The search was proving longer and more grueling than Danny had anticipated. Six months had passed since Jason had vanished, six months of tirelessly scouring the Ghost Zone’s countless nooks and crannies. Danny had questioned every ghost he encountered, chasing cryptic hints and fragmented tales that inevitably dissolved into dead ends. He had dived headfirst into unstable portals, braved spectral storms, and crossed paths with some of the Zone's most notorious denizens—all in pursuit of a lead, a sign, anything to guide him to Jason.

The weight of his task was beginning to press down on him. The Ghost Zone was infinite, unpredictable, and dangerous. Doubt whispered insidiously in the back of his mind, asking questions he didn’t want to face: What if Jason doesn’t want to be found? What if he’s gone for good? But Danny shook those thoughts off as quickly as they came.

He couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t give up. Jason had been there for him when no one else had, standing by his side in the moments that mattered most. Danny had made a promise—not just to Jason, but to himself. No matter how vast or treacherous the Ghost Zone might be, he wouldn’t let him down.

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

The first lead had come from Skulker, the self-proclaimed ghost hunter who seemed to delight in crossing paths with Danny. This time, he was lurking near a swirling vortex of green energy that looked suspiciously like a trap.

“Looking for someone, whelp?” Skulker had asked, his tone laced with mocking amusement.

Danny dodged the green net Skulker flung at him with practiced ease, his glare sharp. “None of your business, tin can.”

Skulker grinned, his predatory smile revealing rows of jagged teeth. “Oh, but it is my business. Word travels fast in the Zone, Phantom. I hear you’ve been scouring, chasing after a wayward soul. Someone… human?”

The accusation made Danny freeze mid-air. He masked his surprise with a glare. “What do you know?”

Skulker’s glowing eyes narrowed, glinting with a mix of menace and amusement. “More than you, it seems,” he drawled. “But let me offer a morsel of advice: tread carefully. The Ghost Zone holds many secrets, and not all who perish find their way here. Some fates…” His voice dipped lower, almost reverent, “are stranger than even you can imagine.”

Danny’s stomach tightened. The weight of Skulker’s words settled heavily in his chest, but before he could press for more, Skulker vanished into the swirling void, leaving Danny alone with his thoughts and a growing sense of unease.

It was the first time Danny truly questioned the foundation of his search. What if Jason wasn’t in the Ghost Zone at all? The possibility hit him like a punch to the gut. Every lead he had followed, every corner of the Zone he had searched, might have been for nothing. And worse—what if Skulker was right? What if Jason’s fate was something Danny couldn’t even begin to understand? -----------------------------------------------------------------------

Months slipped by, and Danny’s search grew increasingly desperate. He ventured deeper into the Ghost Zone, navigating its most treacherous and mysterious regions—places he had once considered nothing more than ghostly folklore. He braved the Valley of the Lost, a desolate expanse where wandering souls cried out in anguish for memories that had long faded, their voices hauntingly hollow. He ventured into the Obsidian Flats, a strange void where time and space twisted in impossible ways, folding in on themselves like a cruel labyrinth.

Everywhere he went, Danny asked the same question: “Have you seen a soul named Jason Todd?”

The responses were as maddening as they were unhelpful. Some ghosts sneered at him, their laughter echoing mockingly through the void. Others offered cryptic riddles that left Danny more frustrated than before.

“You search for one who is neither living nor dead,” Nocturn, the ghost of dreams and shadows, told him one night. His voice was smooth and ominous, like silk sliding over a blade. “Much like yourself, but also not. Such souls are rare, Phantom. If he is not here, then perhaps he lingers… somewhere in between.”

Danny’s frustration bubbled over. “In between what?” he demanded, his voice cracking with urgency.

Nocturn smiled faintly, the gleam of his teeth visible even in the dim light of the Zone. “That is the question, isn’t it?” he mused before vanishing into a swirl of dark mist, leaving Danny alone with his thoughts.

Nocturn’s words gnawed at Danny. What did “in between” even mean? The Ghost Zone was supposed to be the final destination for souls caught between life and death. If Jason wasn’t here, then where was he? And worse—what if Danny’s search was destined to lead him nowhere? -------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t until Danny visited Clockwork that he finally got some clarity—though, as with most things involving the Master of Time, the answers came wrapped in riddles.

Clockwork floated serenely in the center of his lair, his current form that of an aged man draped in flowing robes. The constant ticking and whirring of countless clocks filled the air, a reminder of time’s relentless march. Danny stood before him, fists clenched tightly at his sides, his desperation barely contained.

“Clockwork, I need your help,” Danny said, his voice steady but pleading. “I’m looking for someone. His name is Jason Todd.”

Clockwork’s glowing red eyes shifted toward him, calm and unblinking. “Ah, Jason Todd,” he said, his tone almost wistful. “The boy who died but did not pass on. I wondered when you would finally come to me.”

Danny’s breath hitched. “So… he’s alive?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Clockwork replied, gesturing to a swirling portal that appeared beside him. Within its depths, images began to form—flashes of Jason’s life. Danny saw Jason’s brutal death at the hands of the Joker, the quiet stillness of his grave, and then the violent churn of a bubbling green pit. The scene shifted to Jason clawing his way out, his body trembling, his eyes wild and filled with rage.

“What is this?” Danny whispered, his voice barely audible over the rhythmic ticking.

“The Lazarus Pit,” Clockwork explained, his voice carrying the weight of ages. “A pool of ancient, corrupted ectoplasmic energy capable of dragging souls back from the brink of death. But its gifts are not without consequence.”

Danny watched, his stomach twisting, as the portal revealed Jason’s transformation. Gone was the boy Danny had known, replaced by someone colder, angrier—haunted.

“He’s alive,” Danny murmured, a mix of relief and dread coursing through him. “But… why hasn’t he come back? Why didn’t he tell anyone?”

Clockwork’s expression remained impassive, though there was a flicker of something—pity, perhaps—in his gaze. “Because the Pit does not give without taking. It warps the soul, twists it into something new. Jason Todd may walk among the living, but he is not the same as he once was.”

“No,” Danny said firmly, shaking his head. “That’s not true. Jason is still… Jason. I know he is.”

Clockwork’s voice softened, though his tone remained measured. “Perhaps. But the boy you seek is no longer in the Ghost Zone. He resides in the world of the living now, much like you—a soul caught between what was and what is.”

Danny’s mind raced. If Jason was alive, then there was still hope. Yet the images of the Lazarus Pit and Jason’s pained expression lingered, filling Danny with unease. Somewhere out there, Jason was waiting to be found—but he might not be the same person Danny remembered.

The questions swirled in Danny’s mind, heavier than the Ghost Zone’s silence. But one thing was clear: his search wasn’t over. Not yet. --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny returned to the human world a changed person. He’d grown stronger, his powers sharper and more refined. But he’d also grown more determined. He couldn’t let Jason’s memory—or the hope that he might still be out there—fade into the background. So Danny turned back to the letters, remembering the city that began it all.

“Gotham,” Danny murmured, holding the letter in his hands. The city that had taken Jason from him. The city that might still hold the answers he was looking for. --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Moving to Gotham felt like stepping back in time. The city was just as grimy, chaotic, and dangerous as Danny remembered. But this time, he wasn’t a scared little kid clinging to Jason for protection.

This time, he was Phantom.

Danny took to patrolling the streets at night, his white hair and glowing green eyes making him a ghostly blur in the shadows. Gotham’s criminals were ruthless, but so was he. Phantom became a whispered legend among the city’s underworld—a vigilante who moved like a ghost and struck like a storm.

But for all his heroics, Danny’s true mission remained the same: find Jason Todd. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On one particular night after months in the city, as Danny hovered above Gotham’s rooftops, scanning the streets below, he spotted something unusual. A group of armed men was unloading crates from a truck, their movements tense and hurried.

Danny narrowed his eyes. Smugglers, probably. He swooped down, his ectoblasts glowing in his hands.

“Alright, boys,” he called, his voice echoing eerily. “Drop the weapons, or I’ll make you drop them myself.”

The men froze, their eyes widening at the sight of him.

“What the hell—?” one of them started, but before he could finish, a gunshot rang out.

Danny dodged effortlessly, phasing through the bullet like it was nothing. He smirked. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

Before he could strike, a second figure appeared, dropping into the fray like a shadow.

Danny’s breath caught.

The newcomer was clad in black and red, a helmet obscuring his face. He moved with brutal efficiency, taking down the smugglers one by one with a combination of gunfire and hand-to-hand combat.

Danny watched, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t need to see the man’s face to know who it was.

“Jason,” he whispered.

The Red Hood turned, his posture stiffening as he noticed Danny hovering above him.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the air between them heavy with unspoken words.

Danny felt a lump form in his throat. After three long years, he’d finally found him.

“Jason,” he said again, louder this time.

The Red Hood tilted his head, his voice cold and unfamiliar. “Who’s asking?”

#dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #jason todd #red hood #fanfic #chapter 3 update #platonic dead on main

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yoyomomiko · 1 month ago

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[TWO] — The haunted shed

☆ `` SPECTRAL SCAMMERS ``

☆ — summary: when cartman comes up with yet another 'get rich quick' scheme, he forces his friends, and you, into starting a ghost hunting service. armed with a mix of makeshift equipment, a questionable van and no actual skills, you begin taking jobs to "exorcise" haunted houses.

warnings: strong language, cartman being cartman

(a/n): it's so short and it feels pretty bland, but I'll try to get better and make the chapters longer :(( also, it looks like there's no ghosts in this chapter! at least for now.

wc: 2.7k+

★m.list

★series m.list

<- [PREVIOUS] — [NEXT] ->

The next day, you all met in Cartman's basement, which now served as your official 'Specter Squad Headquarters'. Cartman paced in front of the whiteboard, still scribbled with your chaotic business plan, a smirk glued to his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." He began, pausing for a dramatic effect. "We have our first job!"

Everyone exchanged uneasy glances, except for Tweek, who was already trembling.

"Who's the poor sucker?" Stan asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Cartman waved his phone in the air proudly. "My mom's friend's neighbor. Apparently, their shed is haunted by some ghostly menace. Creepy noises, things getting knocked over, the whole paranormal package!"

Kyle frowned sitting on the edge of the couch with his arms resting on his knees. "Let me guess. You told them we'd take care of it for a ridiculous amount of money?"

"$50." Cartman replied with a smug look on his face.

"Fifty bucks for a shed?!" Kyle repeated, eyes wide.

"Hey, ghost insurance isn't cheap." Cartman shot back. "Do you even know how much ectoplasm containment costs? Exactly. I'm giving them a good deal."

You snorted, leaning back on the couch. "More like you're scamming them. What's next, charging a consultation fee?"

"That's not a bad idea..." Cartman muttered, trailing off as he mentally added it to his list.

Stan sighed. "Alright, so what's the plan? Just show up, wave a flashlight around and hope no one notices we're full of crap?"

"Uh, no, Stan." Cartman replied, rolling his eyes. "We need equipment. Real ghost hunting tools! If we show up empty handed, we'll look like amateurs."

"We are amateurs." Craig pointed out, but Cartman ignored him.

...

Within minutes, you all had rummaged through the basement for anything that could count as equipment. Flashlights were passed around, most of them barely functioning, as Cartman dragged a vacuum cleaner from a corner.

"This." He started, holding it up. "Is our spirit vacuum. It sucks up ghosts and traps them inside."

"That's literally just a vacuum." You stared at Cartman, crossing your arms.

"Not anymore." Cartman declared with a smirk, sticking a few glow in the dark star stickers on its side. "Now it's paranormal tech. You're welcome!"

"This is so stupid." Kyle groaned, running a hand down his face.

"You're stupid!" Cartman snapped. "But guess what? The customers don't care. They just want results. And results are exactly what we're gonna give them. Fake or not!"

You grabbed one of the flashlights, testing it's weak glow before glancing at Kyle. "You think this thing's gonna last the night?"

"Not a chance." Kyle shook his head, the corners of his lips tugging upwards, forming a faint smile.

His gaze was fixed on you for a moment longer than necessary as you felt heat rushing to your cheeks.

"Alright, lovebirds!" Cartman interrupted, snapping his fingers in your direction. "Save the awkward flirting for later. We've got ghosts to catch!"

"We weren't-" You quickly spoke up, but Cartman was already moving on.

The group assembled just outside the neighbor's picked fence. Cartman stood at the front with his back straightened and a clipboard in hand.

"Alright, listen up." He began, his voice hushed. "This is our first gig, so we're going to nail it. No screw ups, no whining, and definitely no blowing our cover."

"Cover? You mean the fact that we're not actual ghost hunters?" Stan raised an eyebrow.

Cartman glared at him. "Exactly. So shut up and follow my lead." He turned back to face the house, his face lighting up with smug confidence.

You all exchanged glances but followed him up the driveway anyway. You stayed close to Kyle, who was mumbling under his breath.

"This is going to be a disaster." He muttered, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Probably." You agreed, giving him a small smile. "At least it'll be entertaining, right?"

"You have a weird definition of 'entertaining'." Kyle glanced at you, the corners of his lips tugging upwards.

Before you could respond, Cartman knocked loudly on the front door. A moment later, it creaked open to reveal a middle aged woman with dark circles under her eyes.

"Thank goodness you're here!" She exclaimed. "It's been awful! Just awful!"

"Ma'am, you made the right choice calling the Specter Squad. We're South Park's best paranormal investigators, and we're here to solve your ghost problem." Cartman faked a professional tone, which wasn't really convincing.

"Oh, I just don't know what's in that shed. Every night, I hear the strangest noises... Scratching, banging, sometimes even growling... It's terrifying!"

"Sounds like raccoons..." Kyle muttered under his breath.

Cartman elbowed him sharply, giving the woman a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, ma'am. We've dealt with worse. Now let's talk about payment..."

"Payment?" The woman blinked, caught off guard as her brows raised in surprise.

"Of course! Ghost hunting isn't cheap, you know. We've got specialized equipment, years of experience-"

"Years?" Clyde interrupted, but Cartman ignored him.

"And we offer a guarantee of satisfaction. For a case like this, we'll charge a base fee of $50."

"Alright... Fifty... But only if you can get rid of whatever's out there." She hesitated, looking towards each of you in the group.

"Deal!" Cartman exclaimed, sticking out his hand. She shook it hesitantly before leading the group around the side of the house and into the backyard.

The shed came into view, at the far end of the yard. It was old, its wooden walls splintered, with rusted hinges hanging off the door.

Cartman took a deep breath, clipboard clutched to his chest. "Alright, this is it. Stan, [Y/N], you investigate the area. Kyle, you're with me. Clyde and Kenny, guard the door. Craig, Tweek- uh... Just stand there and look useful."

"This is a bad i-idea! What if it's not a ghost?! What if it's like, a demon or something?!" Tweek panicked, fidgeting nervously.

"It's not a demon." Craig replied flatly, but even he looked a bit uneasy.

You and Stan both glanced at each other as you both began walking around the shed, flashlights in hand.

"So... What do you think we're actually dealing with here?" You asked as you waved your flashlight around.

"Probably racoons." Stan answered with a shrug. "But knowing Cartman, he'll find a way to make it sound like a ghost."

"That sounds about right." You smiled softly.

On the other side, Cartman was crouched, pretending to examine the ground. Kyle stood nearby, arms crossed as he had a tired expression on his face.

"What exactly are you looking for?" Kyle asked as he sighed loudly.

"Ectoplasmic traces." Cartman replied, nodding to himself.

"You don't even know what that means." Kyle ran a hand over his face, sighing for the nth time that day.

"Shut up Jew! I know what I'm doing."

Kyle rolled his eyes but gazed at you when your flashlight beam caught something shining in the grass.

"What's that?" He asked, walking over to join you.

You bent down and picked up the small, glinting object. A broken piece of metal that looked like it had come from the shed's roof.

"Probably nothing." You responded as you held it up for him to see.

He leaned closer, his face inches away from yours.

"Still, good eye."

You felt heat rushing up to your cheeks, but before you could say something, Cartman's voice cut through your sweet moment.

"Alright, idiots! Enough playing around. Let's get inside and find this ghost!"

...

The shed's door creaked loudly as you pushed it open, earning a whimper from Tweek. Your flashlight glow cut through the dark, revealing cobweb, scattered tools and a floor with littered leaves. You quickly turned off your flashlight as you looked away from the sight.

"Alright assholes, try not to screw up." Cartman declared, clipboard in hand as he gestured towards the shed.

"We have to act professional!" He whisper yelled, eyes narrowing.

"How professional can we look with a broken vacuum and dollar store flashlights?" Craig muttered, but his words were drowned by Cartman's loud, fake cough.

"Why do I feel like this is going to be a disaster?" Clyde mumbled, rubbing his arms for warmth.

"It's always a disaster when Cartman's in charge." Kyle replied in a dry tone.

You smirked, catching the way Kyle's gaze studied the shed. He glanced at you, his eyes softening, though only for a moment, the tension in the air didn't feel so heavy.

"Are we doing this or not?" Craig asked impatiently as he crossed his arms.

"Yes, Craig, we're doing this. But first, we need to assert dominance!" Cartman sighed out in an exaggerated way.

"Dominance?" You repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"I like how that sounds." Kenny snickered, and so did Clyde as he nudged Kenny's shoulder.

"You don't just walk into a ghost's lair! You have to show it who's boss!" Cartman pointed at the shed dramatically.

"We're ghost hunters, not wrestlers." Stan stated as Craig chuckled.

Ignoring him, Cartman turned to the neighbor, who was watching nervously from her back porch.

"Ma'am, we're going in. We've got this under control." Cartman spoke up confidently.

"Please... Just be careful." The woman clutched her cardigan tightly as she nodded. "It's been making horrible noise lately."

"No worries, we'll take care of it. By the way, there's a $10 fee for ghost insurance in case it tries to follow us home."

"Ghost insurance?" Kyle repeated, squinting his eyes at Cartman.

"Do you want to get haunted, Kyle? Didn't think so." Cartman shot him a glare.

...

The group gathered their supplies, which were only some barely working flashlights, an old vacuum cleaner Cartman had given the title of 'Spirit Sucker 3000', and a few random tools from Clyde's garage.

"I still don't understand how this is supposed to work..." Tweek muttered, holding his flashlight like it might explode.

"It works because I said it works." Cartman replied, adjusting the vacuum strap on his shoulder.

You rolled your eyes and turned on your flashlight again. The shed wasn't particularly big, but the barely standing wood made it seem more sinister. Plus the cobwebs, creepy old tools and leaves left on the floor.

"Let's just get this over with." Craig sighed as he stepped up to the door.

"Hold up! The leader goes first!" Cartman held up a hand to stop him.

"You're not the leader." Kyle shot back.

"Yes, I am!" Cartman snapped. "I made the website, I set up the payment system, and I'm the only one here who isn't a total pussy!"

"Fine. Go ahead, fearless leader." Craig mocked.

Cartman smirked as he confidently pushed the door further and stepped inside.

...

The air inside was heavy and barely breatheable, carrying the scent of mold and rotting wood. Your flashlight flickered as you swept it across the space, revealing shelves packed with rusted tools and boxes stacked carelessly.

"Wow..." Kenny's eyes scanned the area. "This place is charming."

"Spread out, assholes! We're looking for signs of paranormal activity!" Cartman waved his clipboard dramatically.

"What exactly counts as a sign?" Stan asked as he stares at a random jar with unidentifiable substances.

"Anything spooky." Cartman answered simply. "Weird sounds, cold spots, glowing slime... You know, ghost stuff."

"You're making this up as you go, aren't you?" Kyle groaned.

"Shut up, Kyle! Do your job!" Cartman yelled.

You held back a laugh as Kyle mumbled something under his breath. When he caught your eye, his gaze softened, giving you a small smile that made your heart pound in your chest.

...

You all explored different corners of the shed, examining and looking out for 'spooky stuff'.

You crouched near a stack of boxes, brushing away cobwebs to get a closer look. The wood beneath your fingers felt slightly wet and splintered. You noticed a faint light coming from above.

"Hey..." You called out, shining your flashlight towards the roof, standing up. "There's a hole up here."

Kyle joined you, squinting up at the opening. "That could explain the noises. If wind's getting in, it might make the walls creak."

"Or it could be the ghost's escape route." Cartman interrupted, scribbling something on his clipboard.

"Pretty sure ghosts don't need escape routes." You sighed.

Cartman ignored you, turning his attention to a nearby workbench.

Kyle stood by your side, tilting his head thoughtfully as he examined the roof. "Good catch." He praised, his voice quieter now.

"Thanks." You replied, smiling to yourself like an idiot as you felt your cheeks warm up.

All of the sudden, a loud crash echoed from the back of the shed.

"What was that?!" Tweek yelped, clutching his flashlight like a weapon.

"Relax." Kenny spoke up, moving towards the source of the noise. "It's probably just-"

His words cut off as he stumbled upon a crate.

Kenny crouched down, shining his flashlight on the wooden box. It was old and had a loose lid that looked like it hadn't been touched in years.

"What do you think's in it?" Clyde asked, creeping over Stan's shoulder.

"Only one way to find out." Kenny replied, slowly taking the lid off.

Inside was a trio of small and furry bodies. Wide eyes reflected the flashlight glow as tiny claws scratched against the wood.

"Aww, raccoons!" Kenny cooed as he pouted. "They're adorable!"

"They're so cute!" You purred as you admired them. They were so small and it could fit perfectly in your palm!

"I wanna pet them." Kenny said as he reached out to pick one up.

The once cuddly creatures now hissed loudly, lounging at him with surprising speed.

Kenny screeched, stumbling backwards as the raccoon latched onto his sleeve.

The other two raccoons bolted from the crate, darting across the shed.

"Jesus Christ!" Stan yelled, jumping out of the way.

"Get it off! Get it off me!" Kenny screamed, waving his arm around crazily as the raccoon kept clinging onto his sleeve.

"Stop moving!" You shouted, grabbing a broom and trying to swat the raccoon away. It hissed at you, revealing its sharp teeth.

Another raccoon climbed onto a shelf, knocking over jars and sending their contents crashing to the floor. Tweek jumped onto a crate to avoid the mess, grabbing at his hair.

"Where are they coming from?!" Cartman swung his flashlight around wildly.

"They're everywhere!" Craig noted, dodging another raccoon as it ran past him.

"We need to get them out of here!" Kyle tried to block one of the raccoons' paths.

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Stan yelled, ducking as another jar flew above his head.

"Loud noises!" Cartman quickly grabbed a rusty pot from a workbench. "Scare them out!"

You didn't have a better idea, so you grabbed a pan and started banging it against the broom handle. The others quickly followed, grabbing tools and smashing them into anything, clangs echoing through the shed.

Tweek kept flinching at the loud noise, but he also followed and helped the rest.

The raccoons screeched in protest, before finally rushing out the hole in the roof.

"Victory!" Cartman shouted proudly, slamming his pot.

You lowered your makeshift drumstick, panting from the effort. Kyle was standing beside you, his face flushed.

"Nice work." He nudged your shoulder lightly.

"Not bad yourself..." You replied, smiling despite what just happened.

You all stumbled out of the shed, disheveled but successful. The neighbor was waiting in the yard, fidgeting nervously.

"Well? Did you get rid of it?" She asked, nibbling on her bottom lip.

Cartman puffed out his chest, clipboard in hand. "It was a tough case." He started dramatically. "But yes, the ghost has been banished. You're welcome."

"Oh, thank you!" She exclaimed, reaching out for her wallet.

"Now, about the payment..." Cartman stopped her, holding up a finger. "It was an agressive spirit, so we're charging an extra $10 for chaos pay."

The woman hesitated but handed over the cash either way.

As you all walked away, Cartman grinned joyfully, stuffing the money into his pocket.

"First job: complete. We're officially ghost hunters, bitches!"

★yoyomiko ★miko

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thisdudedoesntexist · 3 months ago

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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.

#dc x dp #helluva boss #danny phantom #octavia goetia #crossover #dpxdc #dc comics #vivziepop #spectral owl #danny phantom is the ghost prince since he's immortal and thus can only wear the crown in a crisis #reformed? Pariah Dark #Stolas is not having a good time #danny loves like an addams: completely and wildly #saw this in a dream #john constantine is mentioned #teen titans are mentioned #dawg i just think they'd be cute together #them and loona #Octavia is ace according to the wiki and thats still good :)

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miss-sturn · 7 months ago

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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

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kaedeharakaori · 7 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔 || 𝘍. 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴 (Masterlist)

ﾟ ⋆ 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?

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echosong-87 · 3 months ago

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"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.

youtube

#echosong 87 #dreamworks trolls #trolls #dreamworks trolls world tour #moonlit prince!branch au #moonlit prince au #minuet sonata trolls #trolls moonlit prince!branch #moonlit prince!branch #ask moonlit prince! branch #branch trolls #minuet sonata trollstopia #minuet sonata #Youtube

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harpershigh · 20 days ago

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Closed starter for @relentlessgrief because Connor deserves all the love in the world

Jaheira leaned heavily on the worn table, her fingers tracing the faded contours of a map laid out on it. The dim glow of candles illuminated the room, casting flickering shadows across the parchment. Beside her, a half-full cup of wine stood as a lone companion to her thoughts. She took a sip now and then, savouring the warmth it brought amidst the chill of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, even though at this point the wine was as bitter as everything in her surroundings.

Footsteps approached, hurried and uneven. A Harper stumbled into her line of sight, his face pale as death, his hands trembling like leaves in a storm. "Re-reinforcements have arrived," he stammered, voice cracking for whatever horror he had just witnessed. He tried to continue but failed, simply lifting a shaky hand to point at the door.

Jaheira glanced up, and the sight froze her in place. A shiver coursed through her spine like ice water. The "reinforcement" stood in the doorway — a towering skeleton, almost twice the height of a man. Chains wrapped around its form like a grotesque cage, spectral and writhing, glowing faintly with unspeakable energy. The very air seemed to shudder around it, thick with the aura of decay and menace. The bones creaked unnervingly as the aberration shifted its weight, its eyeless sockets locking onto her with an uncanny stillness.

When Jaheira had learned that the Harpers would send reinforcements to the Shadow-Cursed Lands, she had braced herself for anything — anything — except a colossal undead draped in magical chains and radiating an aura of death and ruin. That was definitely a new one. The Harpers did have a very eclectic assortment of people in their ranks, didn't they?

“Well,” she muttered under her breath, downing the remainder of her wine in a single, frantic gulp, “it seems we’re combating fire with fire. Or, more aptly… undead with undead.”

Straightening her posture and smoothing her tunic, she strode toward the skeletal ally, determination masking her discomfort and her growing panic. Professionalism was key here — or so she told herself. After all, this creature was still a Harper, and Jaheira would treat it as nothing less. It was a somewhat reassuring thought, even as her gaze flicked once more to the chains clinking ominously with every movement of the skeleton. Gratitude tempered her unease, though; they had sent someone at last. After an eternity of pleading for reinforcements, her calls hadn’t gone unanswered. Even if the answer came wrapped in bones and dripping with menace.

Jaheira mustered her most diplomatic tone, her voice steady even though her heart raced in her chest.

“Welcome, Harper.” She began, offering the undead a curt nod and — why not? — a stretched hand. “I am Jaheira.” She paused, hesitating only slightly before continuing: “I suppose you've been briefed about our situation here and our enemy at Moonrise Towers?”

#after 84 years #and lots of edits #it's finally here #🥹🥹🥹#I'll be hugging this skeleton so bad #[ ❧ — interactions 》 connor ]#relentlessgrief

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is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not · 18 days ago

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Luna - ARRIVAL

The steady rumble of approaching ‘Mechs shook the ground outside FOB HAWK. Inside the cavernous MechBay, the air buzzed with the usual controlled chaos of repairs and rearmament. Warrant Officer Karrie DeLacey hovered near the main console, her fingers idly fidgeting with a wrench while her eyes darted toward the bay doors. Despite the base’s constant activity, her mind was preoccupied with the orders she’d received earlier that morning: two new machines, classified and experimental, assigned to Bays 6 and 7—just down the row from Spirit’s infamous Death Knell.

Karrie’s stomach churned as she glanced at Bay 8, where the stealthy Timber Wolf rested behind sensor-scrambling technology and lockouts that only she and Sigrid could bypass. She couldn’t help but wonder: Were these new arrivals connected to Spirit? Could they be related to the strange, secretive mission parameters Spirit always seemed to operate under?

Her train of thought was interrupted by a low murmur spreading among the MechTechs. The telltale rhythm of heavy footfalls grew louder, the sound reverberating through the steel walls. The team froze as the first ‘Mech came into view, its sleek, angular form emerging from the shadows like a predator.

The first 'Mech, looking like an Uziel that had seen too many fetish movies and covered itself in a black drone suit, stepped into the bay with an eerie grace. Its matte black armor gleamed faintly under the overhead lights, giving it an almost spectral quality. It moved with purpose, each step deliberate, before stopping in front of Bay 6.

“Is that… an Uziel?” one of the junior techs whispered.

“Not like any Uziel I’ve ever seen,” muttered another. "Little bigger, no PPCs…"

Then came the second machine. It was a towering presence, looking as though the first Uziel had been cloned and then forcefed a diet of steroids—it'a got to be north of 60 tons, maybe 70, thought Karrie, her ears picking up the difference in the footfalls between the two machines. Its frame was also swathed in similar, glossy black stealth armor. The twin Rotary AC/5s mounted on its arms and the menacing bulk of two SRM racks above the cockpit gave it the look of a machine designed for nothing but ambush and destruction.

Karrie stood rooted to the spot, her heart racing as her eyes drank in every detail of the two machines. “Woagh…” she whispered to herself, clutching the wrench tighter.

The bay fell silent as the machines powered down, and the pilots disembarked. Hustler was the first to descend. His movements were efficient and unhurried, his matte black bodysuit and opaque visor giving him an air of quiet intimidation. The MechTechs whispered among themselves, casting nervous glances as he walked past.

“Isn’t that the SLSOC guy? The one who never talks to anyone?”

“Yeah. Heard he’s some kind of cybernetic prototype. Creepy as hell.”

But it was the second figure who truly stole the room’s attention. Luna stepped down with feline grace, her slate-gray body gleaming with radiant golden accents. Her glowing eyes swept the bay, taking in every detail with a curiosity that felt both mechanical and deeply human.

Karrie felt her breath catch in her throat. She’s not human, her mind screamed, but there was something in Luna’s movements—her calm, measured steps, the way she looked at the MechTechs and nodded politely—that made her seem more alive than anyone Karrie had ever met.

“Good evening,” Luna said, her voice smooth and warm. “I am Luna. Thank you for preparing accommodations for myself and my machine. It is appreciated.”

The MechTechs gawked, but Karrie felt her feet moving before her brain caught up. She stepped forward, her hands clutching the wrench like a lifeline. “Uh, h-hi. Warrant Officer Karrie DeLacey,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing as Luna’s glowing gaze turned to her. “I, uh, I’ll be overseeing the servicing of your ‘Mechs. If, um, that’s okay with you?”

Luna smiled, a subtle but unmistakably warm expression. “That would be more than acceptable, Warrant Officer DeLacey. Thank you for your assistance.”

Karrie nodded rapidly, her face burning. “Y-you’re welcome. I mean, it’s my job. I mean, uh, you’re welcome.”

Hustler, standing off to the side, spoke quietly, his suit-modulated voice breaking the tension. “You seem stressed. Do not be. We will not hurt you.”

Karrie managed a nervous laugh, but her attention remained fixed on Luna. “Your ‘Mech is… incredible. Both of them are. But yours… It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” Luna said, her tone carrying a hint of pride. “Sekhmet is indeed unique. She is very dear to me.”

As the MechTechs moved to begin diagnostics, the whispers started anew.

“They’re definitely connected to Spirit,” one tech murmured.

“Yeah, those security upgrades on Bays 6 and 7? Same tech they use for Spirit's 'Mech. Has to be related.”

Karrie heard the whispers but ignored them, her focus entirely on Luna and Sekhmet. She glanced at Hustler’s Hustler One and felt a pang of curiosity. “Are you two, uh, part of the same project as Spirit?” she asked cautiously, not wanting to give anything potentially classified away.

Luna tilted her head, her optics glowing faintly brighter. “Spirit? I have heard the name mentioned but am not personally familiar.”

Hustler tilted his head slightly. “Negative. I have had no association with Spirit prior to this operation.”

Karrie nodded, though her mind raced with questions, but she pushed them aside. She resolved to do what she did best—fix the 'Mechs. For now, she turned to her team and barked out orders, her earlier awkwardness replaced by the confidence she only felt when working with machines.

“Alright, let’s get these beauties up on the gantries. Full diagnostic sweeps, and no one touches a damn thing until I clear it. Got it?”

As the techs scrambled to comply, Luna stepped closer to Karrie. “Thank you, Warrant Officer. Your enthusiasm is… refreshing.”

Karrie blinked, her face turning red again. “Uh, y-you’re welcome. It’s an honor, really. And you can call me Karrie. If, uh, you want.”

Luna smiled again. “Karrie, then. I look forward to working with you.”

As Luna and Hustler walked away, Karrie looked to the two 'Mechs.

Time to get to work.

#battletech #mechwarrior #operation touchdown

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dndfantasygirl · 9 months ago

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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.

#astarion x tav #astarion #astarion and tav #astarion angst #astarion fanfic #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #astarion x oc #named tav #astarion x tav fluff

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sgcstories · 7 months ago

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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.

#romance fiction #fanfiction #romance #fanfic #professor snape #severus snape

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purekesseltrash · 3 years ago

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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

#shoutoko #tokoshouji #shouji mezou #tokoyami fumikage

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myhauntedsalem · 3 years ago

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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.

#Ohio’s Haunted Salem Church Cemetery #ghost and hauntings #paranormal #ghost and spirits #haunted locations #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem #haunted cemeteries

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ghost-strawberry · 4 years ago

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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.

#Phic Phight 2021 #uh oh danny what you gunna do #danny phantom #phicc #fanfic #jack fenton #maddie fenton #mind control #mmm yah boy got some issues now

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