#(he hasn't had proper ghost training)

[ohbo-ohno]

Can't get over how fucking puppy shaped Johnny is. And how everyone can see it. Us, Ghost, the 141, his co's before them. That man is just begging for a good boy (and a belly rub!) and any excuse to get on his knees for his superiors. Like fuck, but for all his healthy disrespect of authority, Soap was made to take orders.

Just imagine that Simon isn't the first co to get handsy with Johnny, that he isn't the first to push the boundaries of what is proper. Ghost is all satisfied how well Soap is taking his slow puppyfication. Meanwhile Soap is so used to his co's giving him pats on the head, making him eat from their fingers, kneel between their legs and making dehumanizing comments about him that he doesn't even register what Ghost is doing as anything abnormal.

Just. Puppy!Soap where everyone and their mother knows that that was not supposed to be a human and treating him accordingly.

oh my GOD i just recently read a fic where soap (or maybe ghost) had had a previous CO take advantage of him sexually under the guise of "punishment" and he went to price (or maybe ghost) after he fucked up, expecting the same treatment, and instead of telling him "that's wrong, report that freak" price/ghost just takes advantage of him in the same way and 🥴🥴🥴 if someone here recognizes it PLEASE link it i need to reexperience it

anyways thinking about johnny obviously being completely puppy shaped, but because everyone sees that and treats him accordingly he becomes even more puppy shaped. like he becomes more obedient (and well trained) once people start to occasionally treat him like he's a dog :(

like CO's will write little notes in his file specifically about how he needs verbal praise (multiple literally wrote the words "good boy" or "good sergeant") and there are a couple notes about physical touch - punishment or congratulatory - work best to get his attention. CO's read those notes, take one look at johnny, and go Oh Alright and act accordingly. price and ghost are no different

price is more "talking to you like you're a K9 because it's what makes you most effective in the field" and ghost is more "talking to you like the mutt i just brought home who hasn't been trained yet because i want you to think of nothing but pleasing me", yk?

(it turns out that ghost's biggest problem isn't getting johnny to behave, it's getting everyone else to stop fucking touching him like only ghost should be)

[tinynerdz360]

Future Ghost Chapter 10

Kirk paced back and forth in his office, hands clasped behind his back, brow furrowed in deep thought. The dilemma of what to do with young Danny Fenton weighed heavily on his mind. At just 15 years old, the ghost-powered hybrid from another time had no business being an ensign on the Enterprise without proper academy training. And yet, here he was.

Kirk tapped the comm button. "Spock, McCoy, meet me in my office.”

Moments later, the door slid open with its familiar hiss, admitting the Vulcan science officer and the chief medical officer into the room.

"You wanted to see us, Captain?" Spock inquired, one eyebrow raised.

"It's about our resident time traveler, Ensign Fenton. We need to decide what to do with him. He's far too young to be serving on a starship."

McCoy crossed his arms. "Dammit Jim, we can't just send the kid packing! He's got nowhere else to go in this time period. And with those ghost powers of his, who knows what kind of trouble he could get into. Someone unsavory could take advantage of his abilities, make him disappear..."

"The doctor raises a fair point," Spock interjected. "Furthermore, as a hybrid from an undocumented species, Ensign Fenton presents a unique challenge. There is no precedent for this situation."

Kirk sighed, sinking into his chair. "I know, I know. But bypassing the academy entirely sets a dangerous precedent too. What kind of message does that send?"

"Look, we've made exceptions before in extenuating circumstances," McCoy argued. "And the kid's got a good head on his shoulders. He hasn't used his powers for any ill will since coming on board. Isolating him planetside could be disastrous."

Kirk nodded, acknowledging the gravity of McCoy's words. "But we can't just ignore the fact that he hacked his way onto the Enterprise."

"Which demonstrates considerable skill," Spock conceded, though his tone remained neutral.

Kirk drummed his fingers on the desk, considering both sides. He had to report this unorthodox situation to the admirals eventually. But perhaps he could delay that communique a bit longer, at least until he witnessed a demonstration of Danny's abilities for himself.

"Alright, we'll hold off on any final decisions for now," Kirk declared. "But I want to see what Ensign Fenton can really do, sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I’ve had Chekov investigate Danny’s hometown,” Kirk said, tapping his communicator. "Kirk to Chekov. Report to my office immediately."

As they waited for the young navigator to arrive, Kirk's mind drifted to Danny. The captain couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and concern for the boy who had managed to infiltrate Starfleet at such a young age. He only hoped his decision, whatever it may be, would be the right one.

The door chimed, and Chekov entered, his youthful face etched with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"Ah, Ensign Chekov," Kirk greeted. "What have you discovered about Amity Park?"

Chekov straightened his accent thickening with enthusiasm. "It vas very strange Keptin. At first, zere vas no record of zis Amity Park anywhere. But ven I dug into Earth's history from ze late 20th and early 21st centuries, a few references to ze town popped up. Zen...nothing. It's as if it disappeared after Vorld Var III and ze Eugenics Vars."

Kirk frowned. "Disappeared? What do you mean?"

"Vell sir, I asked a friend back on Earth to inwestigate ze town's last known location in Illinois. She reported some very odd things. She had great difficulty finding ze location, sir. She kept missing ze correct road, as if something vas... interfering vith her navigation." Chekov paused, his voice dropping slightly. "Ven she scanned ze area, she detected an unusual energy signature. As she got closer, she felt an overwhelming urge to turn back, like something vas trying to keep her away."

Spock's eyebrow arched higher. "Fascinating. An external force attempting to repel visitors?"

Chekov nodded vigorously. "Da, Mr. Spock. But that's not ze strangest part. Ven my friend finally reached ze coordinates vere Amity Park should have been, she found..."

"Found what, Ensign?" Kirk prompted, leaning forward.

Chekov swallowed hard. "A giant crater, sir. As if ze entire city had been... Ze whole town, vanished without a trace."

A heavy silence fell over the room as the implications of Chekov's report sank in.

Dr. McCoy's brow furrowed deeply. "And what about evidence of weapons? Surely, there'd be some sign of what caused such destruction."

Chekov's brow furrowed as he continued his report. "My friend found ze energy signature around ze crater fascinating. She plans to study it further. But vat really intrigued her vas ze persistent sense of needing to leave and ignore the area altogether. It was as if something was compelling her to forget about it and move on. But zere vas no signs of nuclear fallout, photon bombardment, or anything to suggest conventional or even advanced weaponry vas used. It's almost as if..." He paused, searching for the right words. "As if Amity Park vas cleanly scooped right out of ze earth itself."

Spock arched an eyebrow.

McCoy's face paled, a knot of dread forming in his stomach. "Good God, Jim. The implications of this... If the Ensign's entire hometown was wiped off the map, if everyone he ever knew........"

Kirk nodded gravely, his eyes distant as he processed the disturbing news. Spock, ever the voice of logic, interjected.

"Captain, I must advise caution in revealing this information to Ensign Fenton, at least until we have a clearer understanding of the full extent of his abilities and emotional control. Given his youth and the trauma of temporal displacement, learning of this tragedy could provoke an extremely volatile reaction."

"Dammit, Spock, we can't just hide this from the kid!" McCoy argued, his blue eyes flashing. "He has a right to know!"

Kirk held up a hand. "Bones, I understand your concerns. But I'm inclined to agree with Spock on this one." He sighed heavily. "The idea of a being with Fenton's potential power losing control in a fit of grief and rage... It could endanger the entire ship.”

The Doctor grumbled under his breath but consented to the captain’s judgment. 

"There's a difference between coming to terms with your loved ones passing naturally in your absence versus learning your entire world was horrifically snuffed out. And if the Ensign did return to his own time armed with that knowledge..." Kirk shook his head. "The damage to the timeline could be catastrophic. Amity Park clearly has a role to play in history. But for now, we keep this information between us."

***

Danny's laughter echoed through the mess hall as he sat with Tina and Kas, relishing his brief respite from sickbay. The normalcy of it all - just hanging out with friends - felt like a lifeline in the chaos of his situation.

"I should probably head back," Danny said reluctantly, pushing away from the table. "McCoy's gonna wonder where I am."

Tina grinned. "Don't want to make the good doctor grumpy, do we?"

Danny chuckled, waving goodbye as he headed for the exit. The corridor seemed longer than usual, his footsteps echoing in the quiet. Suddenly, a firm hand gripped his shoulder, spinning him around.

"Well, well. If it isn't the little imposter," Lieutenant Weston sneered, looming over Danny.

Danny's heart raced. "I-I'm just heading back to sickbay, sir."

"You shouldn't even be here," Weston spat. "You should be locked up in the brig. How dare you wear that uniform?"

Danny felt himself shrinking back, his throat tight. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Lieutenant Weston!" Captain Kirk's voice cut through the tension like a phaser blast as he walked down the hallway in passing. "What exactly is going on here?"

Weston straightened. "Sir, I was just-"

"Harassing a minor?” Kirk’s eyes narrowed. “Report to my ready room at 0800 tomorrow. You’re assigned to sensitivity training.”

As Weston skulked away, Danny let out a shaky breath. “Thanks, Captain.”

Kirk’s expression softened. “Come on, let’s get you back to sickbay.”

As they walked, Danny’s mind whirled with anxiety.

“Danny,” Kirk said gently, “I understand Weston is your roommate?”

Danny nodded, his stomach churning.

“We’ll arrange a room change immediately,” Kirk assured him. “You should feel safe here.”

A spark of hope ignited in Danny’s chest. “Does... does that mean I can stay?”

Kirk’s smile was enigmatic. “We were planning to change your quarters anyway. Weston’s behavior just expedited things.” He paused. “I haven’t made a final decision yet, but we do want you to feel secure here.”

Danny nodded eagerly. “I’ve finished rewriting my reports, sir. I’m almost done with the list of abilities, too.”

Kirk’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Good work, Ensign. You’re certainly eager to prove yourself.”

As they neared sickbay, Danny couldn’t help but ask, “Sir? Do you... do you think I have a chance of staying?”

Kirk’s expression grew thoughtful. “Danny, I won’t lie to you. Your situation is complicated. But I see potential in you.” He seemed to be wrestling with some internal debate before adding, “You remind me of someone I once knew. He had incredible abilities too, but... well, let’s just say I’m glad to see how well you’re controlling yourself, even when provoked.”

Danny’s brow furrowed. “Sir?”

Kirk shook his head. “Never mind. Get some rest, Ensign. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

As Danny entered sickbay, his mind raced with questions. *Who was this person Kirk had known? *

**

In sickbay, Scotty bustled in holding the strange stone device, his eyes alight with determination. "I've got an idea, lad," he announced, thrusting the object into Danny's hands. "Hold this and press your thumb to the smooth bit there."

Danny blinked down at the stone, confusion etched on his face. "Okay, but why?"

"Just trust me," Scotty urged. "Now, I want you to focus and push a wee bit of your ghostly energy into it."

Dr. McCoy watched the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Scotty, what in blazes are you up to?"

Ignoring the doctor's question, Scotty nodded encouragingly at Danny. "Go on, give it a try."

Danny shrugged and pressed his thumb to the stone's smooth surface, concentrating. A faint green glow emanated from his finger, and suddenly, the device beeped and lit up. A holographic screen popped into existence, floating in the air above the stone.

"HAHAHAH, I knew it!” Scotty exclaimed, his face lit with triumph.

McCoy leaned in. "About time."

As McCoy reached out to tap the hologram, trying to figure out what the strange symbols meant.

“I think those are ghost symbols…...maybe there’s an English setting….or something.” Danny mumbled.

"Fascinating," McCoy muttered. "Danny, try pressing that icon there."

Danny obliged, his finger hovering over a glowing symbol. As he touched it, a dial tone echoed through sickbay.

"What in the blazes—" McCoy started, but his words were cut short as a miniature holographic figure materialized atop the stone.

Danny's jaw dropped. "Dr. Bonechiller?!"

The tiny yeti ghost blinked, looking surprised to see Danny. "Great One? My, you look so young! Oh... I see. It's *that* time."

McCoy's eyebrows shot up, his gaze darting between Danny and the hologram. "Well, I'll be. I didn't realize ghosts came in such... diverse forms."

Dr. Bonechiller turned, noticing McCoy for the first time. "Ah, greetings! I am Dr. Bonechiller, young Daniel's primary physician. And you are?"

"Dr. Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the USS Enterprise," McCoy replied, his tone professional despite his apparent fascination. "Dr. Bonechiller, if you wouldn't mind waiting, I'd like to invite my commanding officer to join us."

The yeti nodded. "Of course, Doctor. I will await your return."

As McCoy hurried from the room to summon Kirk. “Danny, don't hang up!"

Danny stared at the green glowing hologram of his yeti doctor. "So... uh, nice to see you again, Dr. Bonechiller. You're probably wondering why I'm calling, huh?"

Dr. Bonechiller turned his attention back to Danny, his expression softening. "Oh, I have some idea…...but no matter, how are you faring Great One?"

Danny swallowed hard, his voice shaking. "I'm stuck in the future, Doc. I don't know how to get back." He paused, searching the yeti's face for answers. "I need help."

The ghostly physician waved a dismissive hand. "Your guardian says all is as it should be. There is no need for concern."

"My guardian?" Danny's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? Who are you talking about?"

Before Dr. Bonechiller could respond, McCoy strode back into the room, Captain Kirk close behind.

Kirk's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the holographic yeti, but he quickly composed himself. "Dr. Bonechiller, I presume? I'm Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Captain," Dr. Bonechiller replied cordially.

Kirk wasted no time getting to the point. "Doctor, do you know of any way to return Danny to his own time? Or Even to this infinity realm?”

Danny held his breath, hope rising in his chest. But Dr. Bonechiller shook his head, his expression apologetic. "I'm afraid that's beyond my abilities, Captain. I gave young Daniel this device in the past, but bringing him to the Ghost Zone now would not solve his temporal displacement."

"But—" Danny tried to interject, only to be cut off again.

"You see," Dr. Bonechiller continued, "Daniel's guardian has the power to return him to his proper time. However, this guardian has foreseen these events and won't retrieve Daniel until certain... circumstances have come to pass."

Danny's eyes widened. "Wait, are you talking about Clockwork?"

Dr. Bonechiller's amused chuckle sent a chill down Danny's spine. "Ah, young Daniel. You still have much to learn about ghost etiquette and cultural norms. You've already been adopted, you know."

"Adopted?" Danny sputtered, his face paling. "What do you mean, adopted?"

Dr. McCoy leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "Now, hold on just a minute. What's all this about adoption and guardians? He has human parents.”

"In the Infinite Realms, it is common for elder ghosts to adopt newly formed ones to guide them as they grow into their powers. And young phantom was not getting the care he needed from his human parents.”

Danny blushed deeply at this, feeling embarrassed on his parents’ behalf. “They just didn’t know! I was going to tell them at some point…...they tried!”

Dr. Bonecrusher gave Danny a gentle look in response. “It’s perfectly alright to have more than one guardian. And to gain favor with an ancient is no small thing.”

Kirk spoke up before Danny got a chance. "And why has this Clockwork chosen not to bring Danny back to his own time, as a guardian should?"

Dr. Bonechiller shrugged, his fur rippling. "I cannot say for certain. I only know that I was tasked with giving the Great One this device years ago in his past. Clockwork's motives are his own."

As Kirk opened his mouth to ask another question, the ghostly physician held up a hand. "Captain, I'm afraid I can only maintain this connection for a short while longer. This device was designed to navigate the fluxing times of the zone, you should be talking to the version of me from Danny’s time, it’s probably only Clockworks will, we are speaking now. But I am willing to share any medical information pertaining to the Great One, with his consent."

Danny nodded, giving his consent.

Kirk nodded, sensing the doctor's urgency. Through out this entire conversation Kirk was wondering why the ghost doctor kept calling Danny, ‘great one,’ but seeing as time was limited, he’d have to bring it up to Danny later. He could sense there was a story there.

Dr. Bonechiller's holographic form shifted slightly. "Very well. To begin with, Daniel's ghost core is quite young - only about a year old, if my calculations are correct. In ghost terms, he's essentially a toddler."

McCoy's eyebrows shot up. "A toddler? But he's-"

"His core is still developing," Dr. Bonechiller continued. "This means he'll be prone to emotional outbursts and may struggle to control his abilities, especially as new ones manifest."

Danny felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. *Great,* he thought. *Now they're gonna treat me like a little kid.*

Dr. Bonechiller wasn't finished. "Furthermore, due to his unique hybrid nature, Daniel may remain in a 'teenage' state for up to a decade. His aging process won't follow typical human patterns."

"That explains why he looks so young," McCoy muttered, glancing at Danny with a mix of concern and fascination.

Danny couldn't contain himself any longer. "Wait, what? I'm gonna be stuck as a kid for years? That's not fair!"

Dr. Bonechiller's voice took on a gentler tone. "I understand your frustration, Great One. But remember, ghost aging is influenced by multiple factors. Facing challenges and having a stable, safe environment to grow in can help accelerate the process."

Danny slumped in his chair, his mind reeling. He caught Kirk and McCoy exchanging worried glances and felt a pang of anxiety. What did this mean for his future on the Enterprise?

Kirk placed a reassuring hand on Danny's shoulder, his eyes filled with understanding. "We'll do everything we can to provide that for you, Ensign Fenton."

"Alright, Dr. McCoy," Captain Kirk continued with a sigh, "extract whatever knowledge you can from our spectral colleague here. I’ll be looking forward to the report. It was a pleasure meeting you Dr. Bonechiller.”

“Likewise, Captain.” Dr. Bonechiller replied with a nod of his fury head.

Kirk left sickbay, giving Danny privacy with his medical information, as Doctor Mccoy asked more in-depth questions of the other doctor.

***

After a suprisinly lenthy conversation regarding Danny’s health and medical history. Doctor Bonechiller, changed the topic to proper nutrition for the young hybrid.

"Alright, Danny, let's discuss your diet," Dr. Bonechiller's deep voice resonated from the communicator, a holographic image of his yeti-like appearance flickering above the small device. "Given the scarcity of ecto plasma in this time period, I've made some substitutions."

Danny's stomach growled at the mention of food, and he felt his face flush. Dr. McCoy raised an eyebrow, his lips pursing into a thin line.

"Substitutions?" McCoy raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with interest.

"More solid foods, especially proteins. He'll need to eat nearly twice as much as a normal growing teen," Dr. Bonechiller explained, scrolling through a digital document that appeared beside his image.

"Twice as much?" McCoy turned to Danny, his tone tinged with annoyance. "You never mentioned being hungry!"

"I didn't want to get caught," Danny mumbled, staring at his feet. "I was hungry a lot, but I figured it was better than revealing myself."

McCoy's face reddened. "You should have said something sooner, kid!”

McCoy crossed his arms and fixed Danny with a stern glare, though concern flickered in his eyes. “I'm a doctor, it's my job to make sure you're healthy."

Danny nodded, properly chastised. "Yes sir, I'm sorry. I'll be more upfront from now on."

"Good," Bones grumbled.

Dr. Bonechiller interjected, "I will also note that with proper nutrition, Danny's need to fulfill his obsessions will lessen somewhat."

"Obsessions?" McCoy echoed, puzzled.

"Ah, yes." The yeti nodded. "It's akin to a purpose or innate drive. All ghosts have one, sometimes several. It's best for Danny to explain his personal ones to you."

Danny felt his heart rate quicken. *Great, another weird ghost thing to explain. *

McCoy turned to Danny, his expression softening slightly. "We'll discuss that later, son. For now, let's focus on getting you properly fed."

As they wrapped up the nutrition talk, Dr. Bonechiller's image began to flicker. "The connection is fading." he said, his voice distorting.

“I’m sending a compressed data file with more detailed information on halfa biology and various factors for you and Dr. McCoy to review. I'm afraid, however, that further communication is unlikely - the chronal flux of the Ghost Zone seems to be interfering with the signal." Dr. Bonechiller continued.

Before they could get clarification, Dr. Bonechiller's image winked out, leaving them in stunned silence.

McCoy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, at least we got that biological data. I'll need to figure out how to transfer it from this blasted stone to our computers."

Danny stared at the now-silent communicator, his mind reeling. What did Bonechiller mean about time interference? And how was he going to explain his "obsessions" to Dr. McCoy? The thought made his palms sweat. One crisis at a time, Fenton, he told himself. First, food. Then... everything else.

Dr. McCoy turned to Danny, his expression softening slightly. "Alright, kid. You've had quite the day. Why don't you rest up for a bit? We'll be having a power demonstration later, and I want you at your best."

****

A few hours later, Danny stood nervously in one of the Enterprise's spacious cargo bays. Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, Mr. Scott, The Chief of security, lieutenant Uhura and Lieutenant Sulu were assembled, watching him with keen interest.

Danny felt his heart racing with anticipation and a touch of fear. He couldn't help but wonder: What if they saw him as a threat once they knew what he could do? What if this was the thing that finally made them decide he was too dangerous to keep around?

No, he told himself firmly. I'll show them I can control it. I'll prove I'm not a danger to anyone.

Kirk looked up from his Datapad, reading off of the list of abilities Danny had sent him. It was an impressive list, most of it Kirk was having trouble believing the scrawny teen could do. “I understand, there are a few things you can do in both forms? Is this correct?”

“Yes, sir. I can do more in my ghost form, but there are some abilities I can do in both, its usually weaker in my human form.”

“I see, Danny, I’m going to read off a few of these abilities, for you to demonstrate, and if some are too dangerous for you to demonstrate I want you to explain them to the best of your abilities.”

“Yes, sir.”

"I’d like you to show your abilities in your human form first. Starting with invisibility, and intangibility. Whenever you're ready, Mr. Fenton," Captain Kirk said, his voice kind but carrying an undercurrent of authority.

Taking a deep breath, Danny, blinked out of view. He smirked at the gasps of those who hadn’t seen him do this already. Then blinking back into view, Danny walked up to a crate and phased through it. Simply walking through to the other side, like it was the hologram.

"Isn't that dangerous? What if it fails and you get stuck in the crate."  lieutenant Uhura asked, her voice tinged with worry and fear.

Danny shrugged, “I don’t know, that’s never happened before……but I think I’d be fine.”

After explaining how he could do these abilities at the same time and how he could also make objects and people intangible and invisible, the captain asked him to demonstrate some abilities in his ghost form.

Danny took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "I'm going ghost," he whispered, more out of habit than necessity. He felt the familiar cold energy wash over him, transforming him from the inside out.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the astonished faces of the Enterprise crew staring back at him. Danny Phantom floated a few inches off the ground, his white hair and glowing green eyes a stark contrast to his human form.

"Fascinating," Mr. Spock murmured, his eyebrow raised in what Danny was beginning to recognize as his expression of intrigue.

“I would like a demonstration of the same abilities you can do in your human form, and the ecto-blast, duplication and shielding you have listed here.” Captain Kirk ordered.

Lifting gently into the air, ghostly tail replacing his legs, Danny took another fortifying breath. Time to show them what a halfa could do.

"I'll start with something small..." Raising a gloved hand, Danny concentrated ectoplasmic energy into his palm, forming it into a swirling green orb. The officers murmured.

Then, face setting in determination, Danny flew through a complex aerial pattern. He phased cleanly through a stack of cargo containers, unleashed a hail of ecto-blasts at a target, split himself into 4 duplicate Phantoms, and, finally, crafted a huge dome-shaped ectoplasmic shield around the entire group of watching officers.

Breathing hard, Danny floated back down, shifting back to human form as he landed. He looked up at the officers' faces, trying to gauge their reactions. Awe, intrigue, fear, wonder...it was all there.

"So...yeah. That's, um...that's some of what I can do." Danny rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "I know it's a lot. And kind of scary, the power I have. But I swear, I only want to use it to help people. To protect the crew." He met the Captain's eyes imploringly. "I'd never hurt anyone here. You have to believe that."

Kirk stepped forward, still looking shaken but also thoughtful. He studied Danny for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and clasped the halfa's shoulder.

"I do believe that, Danny. You've already shown you have the heart of a Starfleet officer." He smiled slightly. “I think that’s enough for today, the explanations you have in this ability sheet will be enough for the rest of it. Although expect some clarifying questions on some these other one’s you have listed. But as I understand it, some of these are too dangerous to demonstrate?”

Danny sighed in relieve, he had make sure to add as much detail to that list as possible. He was so glad he didn’t have to show a ghostly wail, he’d for sure destroy something vital. “Yes, sir, if you have any questions, I’ll try my best to answer.”

"I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Fenton. Now you’re dismissed.”

**

Kirk, Spock, and McCoy convened in the Captain's ready room, the door swishing shut behind them with an air of finality. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, the weight of what they'd just witnessed hanging heavy in the air.

"Well," McCoy said at last, breaking the silence. "That was...something else."

"Indeed," Spock agreed, one eyebrow climbing towards his hairline. "The extent of Mr. Fenton's abilities is quite remarkable. And potentially concerning."

Kirk nodded, his brow furrowed as he leaned back against his desk, arms crossed. "Agreed. The kid's got power, that's for sure. More than any one person should probably have."

McCoy's eyes sharpened. "You think he's a threat, Jim?"

"No," Kirk said immediately, then sighed. "At least, not intentionally. I meant what I said - I don't believe Danny would ever deliberately harm anyone on this ship. But Spock's right, that level of power...it could be dangerous, if he ever lost control."

"Which brings us to our next problem," McCoy said grimly. "Command. We're going to have to report this, Jim. And when we do..."

He trailed off, but they all knew what he meant. The admiralty's reaction to a crewmember with superhuman abilities was unlikely to be a positive one. Plus Danny had been someone who had hacked their way on board, that would not go over well.

Kirk's jaw tightened. "Then we don't tell them. Not everything, anyway."

Spock tilted his head. "Captain?"

"I'm not suggesting we lie," Kirk clarified. "But we report only the bare essentials. That Danny is half-human, with some extranormal abilities that could prove useful in first contact situations. We leave out the specifics of what he can do, at least until we know more ourselves."

McCoy crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. "We're treading on thin ice here, Jim. You know how folks react to anything that has an ounce of extra abilities. Danny's... different. He hasn't used his powers against any of us, and from what I've read about these ghost obsessions, and talked to Danny about what his are, that protection complex of his might be why."

"Indeed," Spock added, "his non-human biology may influence his ethical conduct. Unlike many humans who might exploit such power for personal gain, Danny does not exhibit those tendencies."

"Which is why we need to guide him," Kirk affirmed, his resolve hardening. Kirk turned to Spock. "I want you to work with him on controlling his powers, especially in emotional situations. It's clear that his feelings directly impact what he can do."

"Understood, Captain," Spock replied, his tone measured. "I shall endeavor to provide him with the necessary training to maintain equilibrium."

"Good." Kirk glanced at both of his officers. "Let's keep this between us for now. We'll inform the Academy and the Admirals of only what they need to know. For Danny's sake—and for the ship's."

"Agreed," McCoy said with a nod. "The last thing that boy needs is to become some sort of lab experiment because people got scared."

"Then it's settled." Kirk's voice was firm, his command clear. "We protect our own. Danny stays.”

*****

Dr. McCoy approached Danny with a PADD in hand, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "Alright, Danny, you're free to go.”

Danny's shoulders sagged with relief, but he eyed the PADD warily. "What's that?"

"Your new schedule," McCoy replied, handing it over. "I've got your schedule all set up. Classes, training sessions, therapy appointments - it's all there. And I expect you to stick to it, you hear me?"

Danny scrolled through the PADD, his eyes widening. "This is... a lot."

"You've got a lot of catching up to do, kid," McCoy said, not unkindly. "Oh, and you've got a new roommate. Ensign Luke McCann, he's 18. Should be a better fit."

Danny's stomach churned with a mix of excitement and anxiety. "A roommate my age? Well, closer to my age..."

McCoy continued, "you're also only cleared for part-time work in Engineering, with your age, full-time isn't appropriate yet."

"Part-time is better than no time," Danny said, attempting to mask his disappointment with optimism. "

"And Spock will be helping you with some meditation techniques," McCoy added, watching as Danny's face shifted from relief to apprehension. "It'll help you manage those powers of yours, especially when your emotions run high."

"Commander Spock? Really?" Danny's voice cracked slightly. "But... what if I mess up?”

A half-smile tugging at the corner of Mccoy’s mouth. "Spock's not going to judge you, kid. He's here to help. Besides, it takes more than a bit of raw emotion to rattle that Vulcan."

"Great," Danny muttered, his mind racing. He looked up at McCoy, feeling overwhelmed. "Dr. McCoy, I... thank you. For everything."

The doctor's expression softened slightly. “Remember, Danny - stick to that schedule. And comm me if you need anything.  Now get out of my sickbay before I change my mind."

As Danny left, he couldn't shake the conflicting emotions swirling inside him. Relief at being accepted, uncertainty about what lay ahead, and a nagging fear that he might not be able to live up to everyone's expectations.

Chapter 11

[parkersdahlia]

tough love || m.s

𝜗ৎ based on tough love by gracie abrams

𝜗ৎ warning: mentions of being drunk that's it i guess

you were currently sitting on a train, it was a saturday night and you felt crappy like you wanted to cry because your boyfriend of 2 years was gone. it was the night after your 24th birthday and the guilt of breaking up with him was starting to catch up. you had done it over text, telling him that it was the right thing to do. he was freaking out constantly asking you why and was it something he'd done or said. you explained to him how his growing popularity with his brothers meant that fans will get increasingly invasive and mean. he said he didn't care but you were pretty firm on your decision. he asked to meet up atleast once to talk things out and figure things out but you refused.

It has now been a week and at first you didn't feel much guilt but last night when you were celebrating, surrounded by your friends, you suddenly missed his presence and the guilt catching up to you. in a drunken state you stalked one of his brother's story and found out they're currently home. which is why you found yourself in a train that was taking you to boston. sitting in his jacket that had a little rip in the side. you look around the train full of strangers. normally, it would freak you out but not right now. you liked these strangers more, more than anyone else in this moment. you found being surrounded by them oddly comforting. you sat there and thought about how you hated when you both fought. It sucked. but then you thought whatever ,he's just one of the boys afterall and you're so young and you can date whoever you want and leave when you feel bored. there was no need to be so sad about it right?.

the train eventually came to a halt and you got down. the cold evening boston breeze hitting you, making you shiver and hug yourself tightly holding the jacket closer. you took a cab to his house feeling weird and doubtful all of a sudden about what you were doing. travelling all the way to his hometown all of a sudden? after ghosting him and not returning even one of his desperate calls or texts. was this right? you thought to yourself. you don't get much time to think because the cab was pulling up outside his house making your heart stop. you got down and called him before you could chicken out. he picked up making your heart skip a few beats "y/n?" he said "um hi" you said awkwardly, surprised at the fact he hasn't blocked or deleted your number yet "um c- can you- um I mean coul- could y- could you come outside?" he was confused "what? outside where?" he asked completely lost. you closed your eyes and gathering all your courage "can you come outside please? I'm here outside your house and I wanna talk" you said desperately. he goes silent for a moment. he peeks out of the window seeing you stand there completely shocked at the sudden visit. "matt?" you confirm if he's still there "um yeah i- I'll be there hold on" he said hurriedly ending the call. he comes out as you're standing there wearing his old jacket and hands shoved in the pockets. he looked so confused and totally not expecting this. "hey are you okay? is everything alright? " he asked concern lacing his pretty features and his voice. "um yeah everything is fine don't worry i- i just wanted to talk" you said looking down "I know this isn't the best time and after what I did i thought the least I can do is give you a proper explanation. I owe you" you see his features relax at that, making relief wash over yours. he nodded and your heart settled feeling greatful that he was willing to give you a chance to explain. matt was still angry and confused but he thought if you travelled all the way here just to talk then you deserved the chance and he really wanted to make things right too. he missed you so. he looks at you for a moment a little smile tugging at his lips "oh and by the way, happy belated birthday " he said , making you smile at the the fact he remembered. he took you to a coffee shop where you both talked things out, mostly you as you spent the time explaining why you did what you did and why you still think it's the best decision for the both of you. he kept on saying that he didn't care about the fans and that he can handle it, but you were firm on your decision. you told him with the amount of time spent working and increasing popularity of him and his brothers, it was easy for things to get out of control before he even realises and that he may feel like this is a bad decision right now but will resent your relationship down the line because things change and you didn't want to hold him back. "matt I'm so proud of you for doing so well but the timing isn't right" he shook his head vigorously assuring you none of that will happen. you looked at him, pained look takes over your features as you try to get your point across. you chuckled when he tried to call your bluff in desperation thinking you're making some sick joke and you shook your head. you told him you weren't just thinking about yourself but also about him and how vicious fame can be and how not charmed you are with the idea of it all and that's why you're leaving. he wouldn't understand but there's only so much explaining you can do "you'll understand my reasons eventually" you said giving his hands a squeeze whispering a quiet "goodbye" as he refused to meet your eyes swallowing his tears. you left him there in pieces, you didn't know what else you were leaving for.

leaving the coffee shop you felt heavy weight on your shoulder still lingering, not quiet off and with you not home and nowhere else to go you decided to take a walk by the river. the cold night breeze making you shiver as you kept walking you found a bench and decided to sit there and gather your thoughts. greatful for this little bench that gave you somewhere to go and washing you with a feeling of home. you sat there for a while thinking and rethinking things. it was getting too much, the constant thought of what if you were doing something wrong , what if this was a mistake and the hurt that came with breaking someone's heart you didn't want to think anymore. you felt the strong urge to forget and drown out your feelings. you realised there's a bar down the road, deciding on spending whatever time you have left in boston there.

you get to the bar only to run into the sister of a boy you had met through some mutual friend back in college. you and her decided to get wasted toghether. you didn't know her well but you knew she was a bit of a weird intellect. she was very harsh and direct with her words. she really liked to tell the truth and say things for what they are. that's why all her boyfriends up and left , they couldn't take her honesty. she just had that effect to her, you thought to yourself. you told her how you had just broken the heart of your boyfriend who is now an ex. you told her being honest and leaving feels brutal she nodded and said "but that's just tough love and you're lucky to receive it right?" she said hitting the table to go with what she's saying, god she was hammered , you thought to yourself. "he'll just crumble to pieces" she continued sipping on her drink shrugging her shoulders making you chuckle. "love is not always soft sometimes it's tough. I mean you left him because you were thinking about him and you care for him, right?" you nodded "you left him even though it hurt you , you left him because you don't want to hold him back. he may not understand it now but he will eventually" she said. she had a harsh way of telling things but she was also right.

after leaving the bar you walked towards the train station waiting for a train back home. you settled down inside the train, still clad in his jacket, in a similar position you found yourself in hours ago but this time your mind was much lighter and the weight lifting off by the second. you thought of all the negatives. everyone talks about things you'll miss when you seperate from a person but you tried to think of things that you won't miss about him, trying to make yourself feel better about leaving you though how you weren't going to miss the way he kicked you in your bed while sleeping, a childhood habit of his, or his crappy rich influencer friends who were entitled and so full of themselves who preferred to spend their nights binge drinking, or his old inflated ego that he couldn't hide sometimes knowing there's so many people that wanted him, or his shallow thinking, you were not doing to miss denying that you've got your own damn reasons. a smile taking over your lips as you thought there was no way you were wasting your 20s on random men. they were nowhere close to being cooler, smarter or tougher than all your friends and although you hated the thought of leaving someone's heart bleeding , you were still free and young and not ready to be with someone if it didn't feel right. you took a deep breath smiling to yourself,

now knowing and understanding, what you truly left for.

a/n: shaking as I type this because this is literally my first fic ever and I'm so scared and excited to put this out. I've wanted to write this for so long honestly but a huge shoutout to @jayz4dayz4 making that post that finally pushed me to write it and put it out <33 hope this is good enough xx

divider by : @poemale

[blacklegsanjiii]

Hii i wanted to share my thoughts on the soulmate for Oisín Sanji if thats alright

I voted for Zoro myself (even thought honestly they would all be sweet/funny) but i think the situation with Zoro is the funniest like-

imagine all your life till this point youve been training the be the greatest swordsman of them all and you has your eyes set on this one guy all this time and also in the back of your head youre aware he has a kid thats around your age (based on the wanted posters when they stopped updating) and you see it as someone to help you get closer to your end goal

Que you becoming a pirate and later meeting this pretty asshole of a cook who you quickly become head over heels for when he shows his spark when fighting, he's your equal and you havent had that since your best friend died

And then you find out he is the kid of your rival but somehow instead of it being heartbreaking it only makes it better because even in the time you didnt know, he takes care of your swords with so much love and care, he helps you get a proper swordsman diet like he has done it a thousand times already and- he has a swordsmans soulmate mark!!!

Idk i just think zosan for this would be very funny but at the same time very sweet (love sick Zorooo 💥💥 he loves his spicy boy friend)

But i also think it would give mihawk a giant headache so thats also funny

No, no I get it. Trust me. It is the funniest option but also gives Mihawk the largest headache-especially if Zoro never connects the dots fully until they meet up on Karai Bari. BUT BEFORE THAT???

Zoro who hasn't had a decent match since Kuina died. He's had his eyes set on Hawkeye since he was a kid and joined the dojo and wanted to be the best since. Not because Hawkeye was the best then-he wasn't but everyone knew he would be and he had a kid around his age and the kid has a twirly brow with a dumb name. Then the posters stop updating and Hawkeye becomes a warlord then Kuina dies. He takes Wado and leaves to fulfill his and Kuina's dreams. He becomes a bounty hunter because he needs the money and the roads and islands keep moving on him. He keeps his eyes out for the guy around his age who could be Mihawk's kid. Then he gets tied up in a marine base and is freed by a guy who wants him to become a pirate. He agrees. They get a crew, a navigator and then a liar/sharpshooter and when they get to this fish restuarant? Sure he loses to Mihawk and gets bisected and the prettiest guy he ever saw is yelling at him to give up his dream but he doesn't die. It's fine, it's fine~. He's alive and the blond guy is hot and he can kick ass and he doesn't use swords.

Also the blond guy's name is Sanji and Zoro doesn't use his name at all. He is whatever nickname Zoro calls him in that moment. He's an equal and Zoro tells him all about his plans to find Hawkeye's kid when it's time for a rematch and draw him out to a duel, twirly always laughs at him for it, keeps saying it's a one way ticket to dying. He says it with a dopey smile though. He cares for Zoro's swords when he's on bedrest and isn't allowed to move, doing so anyway despite Chopper's protests. Also they know they're so soulmates, Zoro's whole back covered in blue and fish. Sanji's shoulder braided like the hilt of Wado Ichimonji and just as beautiful. Zoro wishes he knew what Oisín's soulmark looks like because it would be so much easier to find him.

After Sabaody when he's on Kuriagana and wishing he could have been there for his captain but he's training against his dream, with the man who holds his dream and it's good. Even if ghost girl is there and he's away from his soulmate. When he asks Mihawk where his kid is and Perona is curious because he never came to warlord meetings with the kid. Mihawk is like 'yes, that was part of the deal I made becoming a warlord, they would stop updating his bounties. As for his current location, no idea.' because he has his own dream and he's not taking his father's mantle, doesn't want it. Zoro yells that he's no help and Mihawk asks if he wants to follow suit of the people who tried to take his son before him, just because he's stronger doesn't mean he's strong enough yet. Zoro takes massive offense to this.

When they get back together and are leaving Sabaody Zoro is absolutely complaining about this to Sanji despite saying he's stronger and Sanji is laughing his ass off again. Sanji points out that Zoro seems to be overlooking the fact the kid was raised by Mihawk and Zoro grumbles and just buries into his side. Of course after WCI and Wano Sanji is prickly, even to his soulmate, even after the death pact. Zoro is absolutely never letting Sanji out of his sight again so when they go meet Mihawk and the rest of the Guild on Karai Bari the crew is nervous. Except for the monster trio and Robin.

At some point either Mihawk or Sanji slip up, it's just habit as they cook together on the Sunny since Mihawk is the only one to get along with the Straw Hat pirates. They're chatting idly and the crew is there just to make sure and Sanji points at something and is like 'hand the salt over, dad' and Mihawk just hands it over 'Oisín, you're an adult, really?' before they both pause and sigh. The crew is absolutely losing it in different ways. Nami is pissed that Mihawk wasn't there for WCI, Zoro is pissed that Sanji hid being Oisín, Luffy is laughing really fucking hard and asking Zoro how he didn't know, Chopper and Usopp are despairing. Robin hums and asks Mihawk if he knew Zoro was Sanji's soulmate and Mihawk sighs long and loud and Sanji asks if Zoro was telling him the same shit he was telling him for their whole relationship, Mihawk says yes and that Zoro is a fucking moron.

Do I also have something utterly heart breaking and wrenching for acesan in Oisín!sanji? Yes. Was this fun to write? Yes.

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 11

This chapter seems to have picked up immediately where the last one ended. Laios hasn't even finished his bread with jam.

Now that I think about it, this story tries to come up with biological explanations for various types of monsters but it doesn't care to explain zombies and ghosts. Zombies are reanimated corpses while ghosts are spirits of the dead. And there's nothing more to them.

I guess zombies are created when a ghost inhabits a corpse.

This chapter demonstrates how Marcille does not fulfill the same role that Falin did. It's easy to forget since she hasn't used magic much, but Marcille is not a cleric. She knows some basic healing spells, but she uses attack magic. Marcille can blow up a ghost, but she can't actually deal with them in the same way a cleric is specially trained to.

Is this the first time Senshi's been told who Falin is? Chilchuck paused to tell Senshi about her.

I wanna say the incantation Falin made uses the same runes as the one Marcille used to cast magic. The font is different, but some of the characters look the same.

The chapter gives us our first proper glimpse at what Falin is like. It paints her as a very gentle and caring person. She also seems to get worn out easily. She was sweating after she exorcised the ghost.

I kind of feel that she's using her role as a cleric to offer compassion to the dead more than help to the living. She cast wards on the party so they wouldn't have to fight and hurt any ghosts and she apologized for exorcising the ghoul they found.

Since Laios has such an obsessive interest in monsters, I wouldn't be surprised if Falin has an equal obsession with ghosts and undead.

I didn't see the samurai guy in any panels in the flashback so I'm gonna guess he was a newer member of the party and that flashback wasn't during the trip that got Falin killed.

Halfway through Senshi's attempt to make Holy Water, I started to think he was actually trying to make soup. I think it was when he started adding sugar to it.

Love how the jar and rope are listed as ingredients to make the sorbet.

My question is how did this get the consistency of sorbet? It's made from water, jam (which was made from insect eggs and larvae), some alcohol, salt, and sugar. I would imagine it would have a consistency more like shaved ice.

Laios really rolled a 1 on the diplomacy check at the end. When Senshi was using the holy water to bludgeon the ghosts, Laios commented on how they were previously bemoaning how only Falin could handle fighting ghosts. I think Laios was kind of having his own version of that "easy vs convenient" conversation Marcille and Senshi had in chapter 8. Having Falin around made fighting ghosts easy. But when she was gone, no one knew how to handle the situation. So it would be better to think of a cleric as a convenient option while still knowing how to do things when there isn't one around.

And I think what Laios was trying to convey is them relying on her all the time made the party clueless about how to find other ways to handle situations she was capable of dealing with, and they wouldn't have discovered how to make that sorbet if she was around and just having her deal with the ghosts.

back

[screamsofanoutlawbrain]

My mind is plagued by mephone 3gs (inanimate insanity) and now I must ramble.

He was everything. He was nothing. He was stuck inside a closet. He is dead. He is in a coma. He is alive. He is a veteran of a war nobody knew about. He did horrible things. He was taught and raised to do what he did. He didn't know anything but his orders and his fellow soldiers. He came back home. He was betrayed. He knew better. He did not. He was raised a soldier and nothing more. He could've ran away. He couldn't escape what happened to him. He was misled to a closet for his grave. He was abandoned. His creator never forgot. His creator forgot. He pleaded for his life. He died screaming. He had nothing. He had it all. He had no cradle but deserved a grave. He had no grave. He lost his family. He only has a father left. He has no father. He has no family. He was always home. He had no home. He was never ment to survive his mission. He was killed. He was alive. He was made for a mission and never got past it. He deserves redemption. What he got was redemption. He never got the chance for redemption. He suffered for doing his job. His job was to suffer. He has skeletons in his closet. He's the skeleton in the closet. He was a machine. He was never a machine. His emotions were just as real as the rest of them were. They were all so real it hurt to see them go. His family survived. His family died. Innovation had no place for him. What came after him wishes to forget he existed. They forgot. What came before him was his family. He needs to go. He can't. He was built for this fate. He was never told what he'd become. He is a relic of history. He is all that's left of it. He is the ghost that doesn't exist. The one that came from the objective of war was the last thing he got to glimpse at. "Innovation" was afraid of him and his grave. His fianl cry caused a war between his creator and the fruits of his death. He should go to heaven. He should go to hell. He's on the train to purgatory. He is already in purgatory. He hasn't even died yet. History will never know him. History will one day find his name. History will be too late to save him. He fulfilled his purpose. He had so much he could do. Only two of those after him were made without the purpose of death or war. He saw the stars. He never got to join his troops in them. He will one day get a grave. A proper grave. Laid to peace with the ones after "innovation." Innovation is a lie. The graveyard will be full of dead soldiers. The graveyard will be full of ones too clean and complex to be dead. Surely they died by other means, right?

He never knew what his legacy would be. He has no legacy. "Innovation" was his legacy.

He is the hope in pandoras box. There were only two surviving evils in pandoras box. "Doubt" is the only evil to ever leave pandoras box.

He has a father. He is nobodys son. His loyalty is what led him to his death.

[eternally-tired-muffin]

Question about Hashira surplus au: Is Makomo still alive? If Sabito survived she could also live.

It would be nice for her to live if you want t have Tanjiro get a revenge kill on Hands Demon (aside from killing 10 other students) maybe have Makomo lose an arm and/or leg, and live with Urodoraki. Also, the idea of Makomo using Tanjiro as a punching bag with only one hand is hilarious.

Hello!! Thank you so much for the ask :D

Unfortunately, Makomo is not alive in this au. She does lose her life to the hand demon BUT she is also the reason Sabito survives in this au in the first place:

Makomo has caught glimpses of Sabito and Giyu before when she visits the mountain. She hasn't been able to speak to either of them before (they didn't find the clearing) but she is able to recognise them. In the hashira surplus au, Makomo manages to find Giyu in final selection. He initially thinks he's hallucinating from a combination of the blood loss + head injury, but the fear of losing Sabito is enough for him to get back clumsily on his feet. To look for Sabito, he leaves Murata, who is unable to follow him due to looking after other injured people.

This leads to Giyu finding Sabito in the middle of fighting the hand demon, just before his sword breaks. His sudden appearance shocked both Sabito and the hand demon enough that Sabito misses its neck and instead slices down its torso. Between the two of them, they are just able to defeat the hand demon. As it's turning to ashes, Giyu spots Makomo again, who says "thank you" before vanishing, though he couldn't hear her and had to read her lips. Before he can ask if Sabito also saw her, he passes out and only wakes up after final selection has ended, convinced that she was some sort of dream.

This means that from all of Urokodaki's students, only Giyu, Sabito and Tanjiro survive. Urokodaki believes that the reason Giyu and Sabito survived is because they had each other, which is not untrue, but Makomo's intervention was also a key factor.

So as the hand demon is already dead, Tanjiro doesn't end up fighting it and has a much easier final selection than everyone else. This confuses both him and Urokodaki, but they are pleasantly surprised. He also doesn't get to train with any ghosts but receives pointers from Giyu instead. As a result, Makomo doesn't get to meet Tanjiro in this au, but the image of her gently bullying him into proper form without being able to use forms herself is funny :P. I actually really recommend this post by @demonslayedher for a Makomo lives au!

Hashira surplus au masterpost

[lesuccube]

➚ 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐊 𝐃 : ᴀᴜ-ᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ʙᴏᴏ !

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — wanting to be with someone so bad you bring them back from the dead should be a superpower .

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 — dark trojan [ read at your own risk ! ]

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — not beta'd , constructive criticism is welcomed . reblogs and comments are appreciated .

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 — 1.7k

jonathan levy wasn't the most social person. he has friends yes but a very small and tight knit one. he's made friends throughout his life, a few long lasting relationships and some cut short, some drifted apart, others were drawn closer. jonathan levy wasn't the most social person but he knew how to hold them close to his heart.

when jonathan was 16, he made a friend in highschool. she was in some of his classes, a quiet soul. he's never seen her with a circle of her own, oftentimes seen alone and within herself only. he's never dared ask anyways but he still made friends with her. after much difficulty attempting to get more than a word as an answer.

she was silent, almost mute if not for her snarky one liners. but she was kind. he didn't have to see it to know, he just did. he can feel it behind the seemingly impenetrable wall of sass.

nobody else in class would approach her or talk to her unless they were forced to. the odd number of kids in his class made it so she was usually just by herself but it's never as if she minded it. if anything, she looked happier that way not that he'd seen her actually happy. always scowling, lips curled downwards to a frown.

but they were friends. at least jonathan liked to think they were. and they stayed that way for some time, friends, save for the budding seed of love in his heart. he liked her. he likes her a lot he thinks.

she'll never say it back. she never really says much of anything back unless it's a groan or a huff, a yes, no or maybe but never a proper sentence. all throughout highschool they stayed that way, unchanging. for her part mostly. jonathan liked her too much, his childish crush too intense for his teenage heart.

and graduation happened, a new chapter waiting for them already and he's not ready yet. he hasn't told her yet, he hasn't felt her yet. unable to move past the final sentence unless he's said everything that needed to be said. but ultimately, he's a coward. too scared of rejection, of hearing that cold tone of her voice as she tells him no.

so he does something else.

slipping an envelope that contained a few pages of his love to her bag. a proclamation, a dedication. his heart was hers even if she didn't want it. but he never got an answer back. not after the ceremony, not during summer vacation, not while he was in college, not even while he got married years later.

she stayed a ghost in the back of his mind. a haunting. a silhouette that passes through his neurons and shifting his train of thought to her station. daydreaming, wondering. how was she now?

maybe she got married too. maybe she's got her whole life ahead her now. she was a promising student after all despite her silence. does she think of him too like he thinks of her? he hopes so. he really does.

does it count as cheating that he thought about her even when he has a wife? a child of his own? he never told mira but he made her a godmother to ava. her daughter calls her her invisible auntie. or a ghost. she's never seen her, but she's heard stories. on nights her father would tell her about his past. she was always a part of it somehow, this mysterious woman. ava wants to meet her, her daddy does too.

jonathan realizes quite late in life that he's never had a picture of her. even if he scours the internet, scrolling hours and hours through old classmates' facebook profile or old albums of his time as a teen. not an image, not a trace. a ghost. like she wasn't even real.

maybe she wasn't. the way he can't find her facebook profile, nor instagram. he'd ask around but he thinks that might send a wrong message. he's got a lot on his plate already with his wife's affair and everything. plus he has a daughter.

so why was he trying so hard? why did he still preserve her in his memories? why can't he let her go?

was it because she listened to him despite never sharing things of her own? or that she'd correct his answers by showing her paper to him during an exam? or because even after all these years he longs for her silence? a peace of mind he only ever knew when he sat next to her. he still wants her. even after all this time. maybe she's all he ever wanted, his little ava too of course.

maybe he thinks about her too much that he's seeing her while he was awake too. that's why he's seeing her standing in front of him in the darkness of his living room. hasn't aged a day, still so beautiful, still so quiet.

maybe he's just tired. yeah, maybe. but then why does he approach her figure? hell, why doesn't he question how she even got in? but all that faded from his mind as he stands in front of her. a few inches taller, enough for him to have to look down to see her.

angelic, he'd describe her. unreal.

"where have you been?" was all he could ask her, voice hushed to a whisper as his wife and daughter slept in the floor above them.

a period of silence falls between them, jonathan refuses to blink or she'll be gone. she will be. he's thinking her up, a figure of his imagination for sure. and in a way, he was right.

there's so much he wants to tell her, enough that his mind fumbles for the right words to say but they never arrive. his voice stuck in his throat. instead she hears her, that same cold voice, just one word, one line. never two or three or too much to call it a sentence. but to him, her voice was sweet like a treat he can't get enough of. the word was bitter but to him it sounded much like salvation.

'where have you been?' the question hangs in the air longer than it should.

"dead."

he knows it's in a literal sense, not one for humor. it's dark out, well past midnight. unable to sleep with his thoughts plagued by the woman in front of him, thinking about her so much she's here now. she was a ghost, she haunts him, follows him from the corner of his periphery. a blur in the background but he knew it was her.

for the first time though he hears her talk longer than a word. her voice cuts in the silence like a knife to his wounded heart but he doesn't mind. he doesn't seem to mind a lot of things when it comes to her.

"you haunt me." she tells him. angry, spiteful. "i can't leave because of you. you're cruel, jonathan." oh how his name sounded so good when she says it. addictive, he wants to hear it again. "let me go."jonathan levy wasn't the most social person. he has friends yes but a very small and tight knit one. he's made friends throughout his life, a few long lasting relationships and some cut short, some drifted apart, others were drawn closer.

he made his heart her home. a place she didn't want to be, she never asked to be. she's chained, trapped in the memory of his past. he'd never close this chapter. he's bookmarked it to read back through.

she took the space in his heart for anyone else, not even mira. he packed her bags up and threw her out just so she could have it all to herself, his heart. it's hers, he's hers.

she didn't want it, not back then and not even now. her heart burdened for long enough she quit. her heart was vacant for long enough, for lease, for sale, for bulldozing. her heart can't be a home even if she wanted it to be. she was young but she wasn't stupid. to let him in was to stay, she didn't want to stay. she left, permanently. but she's back because he's tied her down, chained her to his soul.

"let me go." she repeats. he should, he couldn't, he wouldn't. "never." he answers. confident, unyielding.

"i will haunt you." hateful almost as she speaks, eyes squinted to a glare. but jonathan was a hungry man, starving for a love can never have in life or in death so he'll take whatever crumbs he could get his hands on even if it was only a memory of her, even if it meant her soul stayed in this world. he'd take anything as long as he can see her, remember her. he wanted her, jonathan needed her. desperate and clawing at him, tearing down his logic and reason.

crazy. insane. out of his mind. she spewed harsh insults he takes as sweet compliments. anything that falls from her lips are anything but sweet, in his mind at least. she can hurt him all she wants, however her ghost wanted, but he'd still say thank you. like hansel and gretel, he'll eat her up, craving her hate wrapped as a sugary treat and swallow it whole and still want more. unhealthy and yet too good to not have.

"then haunt me. stay with me. even if you're not real, a ghost or an image my mind conjured. be with me however you are, i'll take what i can get my hands on so stay."

[sumiresaitozakiloveher]

Degree of lewdity x reader dead PC mostly murdered

Alex: You were patrolling the area when you saw Remy men destroying the fence with axes. You marched right up the thugs and demanded them to stop emiditly. You failed the intimidation due to a lack of muscles. The irritated thug raises his axe and swung it towards you, striking your head. The thug pulls his axe from your head back into the air, striking you down multiple times. The other thug watched in horror as you got chopped up into pieces. Once your last limb was chopped off, the two men retreated from which they came. Alex noticed your absence and decided to go looking for you. With the dog being well trained by you, the dog is able to find your location right away. Or what left of you. The dog starts whimpering as Alex spots your mangled corps being a feast for a group of house flies. Alex wasted no time informing the police about his discovery, hoping they'll come quickly. Weeks later, the murder hasn't been cought yet, making your ghost restless. Days later, Alex started falling apart. He saw you as a lover, and now you're gone. He wakes up in his bed with another bottle in hand, recovering from a hangover. With your death staining the farm reputation and having no help, he's been drinking a lot. He knows Remy behind your murder but due to lack of evidence, they couldn't form an arrest. At the end of the day, he looks out the window that gives him the perfect view of the spot he found you dead. He sees your ghost standing there looking back at him. Your chopped off limbs are floating near their proper spot, intimidating there still attached to the body. Alex would always see your ghost watching him in that same exact spot every night staring back at him. He doesn't know why you never move or do this every night, but it brings him a little comfort seeing you each night.

Eden: You're being hunted. There's a bullet casing on the ground. You try to move quickly to get to the safety of town. At bullet whizzes towards you at high speed, impaling your lung from behind. You trip over your own feet, falling to the ground as breathing becomes too painful. There's no way you can survive with an injury like this. All you can do is lay here suffocating. You quickly die from your injuries as Eden comes close enough to see his latest kill. At the site of your body, Eden didn't say a word, but Eden had a bit of guilt for killing you. He picks up your fresh body and finds a nice spot to barry you near the lake and starts digging. Weeks later, Eden would sometimes hear and see things. He'll hear footsteps running away from him but follow him at the same time. Even with his tracking skills, no tracks would be left behind. Walking threw the woods, he saw a figure watching him from the distance within the trees. With the blink of an eye, the figure would be gone. In his cabin, he swares that the wood has an eye that watches his every move. He recognized the figure as you matching your appearance, including the bullet wound. Seems like he wasn't the only one who sees you. At the lake, the students would sometimes gather there telling the story about the girl in the woods. A school girl goes into the woods in search of lichen for her science project only to never return. The only clue that she was in the woods was her blood and bloody bullet. Now, if you ever see her stalking you, it's a sign that you'll be the next one to disappear.

Robbin: When Robbin wasn't in his room, you asked the other orphans about his wearabouts and got a hint from an orphan. Bailey took him to the docs after he failed to pay. Without a second thought, you rushed to the docs, hoping it's not too late to save him. There you find him getting tourtcherd by the doc workers. Not thinking straight, you tried to fight off the men horribly failing. Beaten and bruised like a brown banana, you begged to be Robbin replacement as a last chance to save him. The two men looked at each other, discussing the offer they were presented. Without saying another word, the men freed Robbin from his binding and started tying you up. Robbin ran straight home, leaving you behind. Weeks later, Robbin sat on his bed holding a newspaper with the headline young woman corpse found washed up on the beach. The newspaper expired days ago, but he can't help but feel responsible for your death. Bailey sent him to the docs to die, but you sacrificed yourself for him. It should have been him. He's been seeing Dr. Harper as a therapist as he started seeing a twisted version of you with rotten skin, soaked clothes, with algae all over the body. He's convinced that the guilt took a toll on his mental health, starting to make him hullinate. A tiny part of him feels like you're still here watching over him. It feels like you're watching him when he tries to sleep he'll see a shadow silhouette starting down at him every night when he tries to sleep.

[miidnighters]

@fairytaletold sent [ LINGER ]:          taking Bella’s hand, Cristoval lifts it to their lips, and gently kisses their knuckles, lingering for a moment before withdrawing. (Thinking about him running into her again 6 years later in a public place and having to be Appropriate about greeting her)

Bella had thought nothing of it, when her husband had informed her that they'd been invited to a ball. She'd simply dressed in the fashions of the time, a pale blue gown, with each curl carefully set atop her head, and taken her husbands arm, and here they were.

But now - she swears she's seeing ghosts. A man, across the floor, who looks just like her Cristoval, if only older by a few years. And, as luck would have it - he spots her too.

No - can it be?

It's like time stops, the pair of eyes connected. Bella's mouth drops open and she is revisited by the grief of finding him gone, the resolve that he would come back for her, and then the renewed grief when so much time passed that Bella could only assume the worst. What else could she think but that he was dead, given the way they'd whispered sweet nothings and traded soft touches only to be met with silence, even after the war ended?

Cristoval is clearly restraining himself within propriety - taking measured steps around the room to close the distance between them. Bella hasn't found it in herself to move, barely even blinking as he finally comes to a stop in front of her. The emotions inside of her continue to storm, especially as she can now see the relief and affection in his eyes. Clearly, time hasn't changed anything for either of them. Except time has also changed everything.

"Isabel," He breathes out her name like it's reverent, falling into a bow as he reaches for her hand. Bella, pointedly, offers her right - if only to save him for a moment longer.

"Cristoval," She can barely speak, words caugh in her throat in shock and grief and despair. Still bent, he brings her hand to his lips, eyes trained on her face. He won't find it to have changed at all in the last six years - unlike his own, more weathered now. More handsome. The kiss he bestows on her hand is just this side of proper, and Bella lets out a small exhale. "I- I thought you were dead."

Slowly he lets go of her hand - he's been holding it too long, and people will start to take notice. Bella can't help it though, letting it linger in the air between them for a moment longer, as if simply closing the distance will be enough.

[ranchthoughts]

inspired by @dudeyuri pointing this out in He's Coming to Me

I'm thinking about how HCTM goes HARDER with the concept of 'if you know how it's going to end, why start anything?' than even Bad Buddy.

In Bad Buddy, Pran doesn't see the use in verbalizing his feelings for Pat because it can only end in tragedy. He looks at their situation with their parents and doesn't see any way that he and Pat can have a happily ever after. But Pat's relentless optimism and love in the face of this helps Pran realize that some things are worth trying. Like in the episode 5 rooftop kiss, where Pat kisses Pran and Pran goes "...what the hell. Might as well go all in" and kisses Pat back. (I've talked about the kiss here and here (shout out to @dudeyuri' contributions); and more broadly about Pat and Pran and genre/tragedies here and here)

In Bad Buddy's case, Pran and Pat are able to defy their seemingly pre-destined tragic ending through the power of their relentless determination to be together (see @chickenstrangers' brilliant post here). If it means fake breaking up, if it means hiding parts of their lives from their parents and others, they can do it. They refuse to have their story end in tragedy. And they succeed! They have found enduring love and a future together in a situation where that seemed impossible, a guaranteed inevitability. They defied generations of family feud forbidden romance endings (Romeo & Juliet, Kwan & Riam) (and their own families' intergenerational trauma - see this post by @waitmyturtles) to find a happy ending.

But Bad Buddy's ending is not 100% happy - Pat and Pran aren't able to be open in front of their parents, they aren't able to realize their achingly simple dreams (Pat being respected and not questioned by his father, Pat able to join Pran's family at dinner - see @grapejuicegay 's tags peer reviewed here).

In the same vein, HCTM doesn't have a fully happy ending either, and it also deals with the looming spectre of inevitability tragedy. Only this time, it's even more inevitable.

(If you haven't finished HCTM beware spoilers)

HCTM establishes that ghosts remain because they died before their time, because they don't know the reason they died, or because they didn't get the proper funerary rites. If these issues are rectified, the ghost will be able to pass on and be reincarnated.

(forgive my potentially hazy remembering of HCTM, it's been a few months since I watched it and I'm writing this on a train)

Mes hasn't passed on because he didn't know the reason he died (and he hadn't received the proper care post-death from his family). Thun helps him rectify this: solves the mystery of how he died and helps arrange a proper send-off. Thun does all this because he loves Mes and wants to help him, and despite knowing it will help Mes pass on and leave him - the inevitability of their situation looms large.

At the end of the show, Thun cries because he believes Mes had left him forever, but by some miracle Mes has remained. But this is temporary, and we all know this. One day, Mes will pass on and be reincarnated. Not today - today Mes and Thun get to stay together - but one day, that is how this story will end.

So like Bad Buddy, it's not exactly a happy ending (Pat and Pran are trapped in a glass closet, Thun and Mes will be separated one day). But unlike Bad Buddy, there is less chance of a reversal of fortune, of defying the inevitable. Thun and Mes are working with cosmological forces of death and rebirth. Perhaps their love will be able to overcome this and Mes can stay with Thun... but the show doesn't confirm this. If anything, the show makes it clear that this is temporary, that eventually Mes will leave Thun.

Despite this though, and like always in Aof's stuff - better to have loved and lived than not at all. Despite their less than stellar ending, Pat and Pran have found an enduring love in each other and their lives are better and happier for it (Pat says it himself: he was happier when Pran wasn't in his life because he didn't have to compete so much, but he was damn lonely). Thun and Mes are the same - sure their love won't be everlasting because eventually Mes will have to pass on, but the joy and love it brings to their lives (and the self-realization it brought to Thun's) is worth it all.

Bad Buddy ends in the middle of things (Pran and Pat still haven't rectified things with their family) and so does HCTM (Thun and Mes are together, but only temporarily. We don't see their ending).

Shout out to another @dudeyuri post that made me think about this (here) and @waitmyturtles masterful post about suffering in Asian BLs and, more specifically, the lack of closing loops in narratives/relationships, which I have been mulling over since - Bad Buddy and HCTM's stories aren't over, we don't see the endings.

[limpfisted]

@hlfcorpse [ I NEED YOU LIKE A CHILD NEEDS A BLANKET, A NIGHT LIGHT, A GHOST STORY BY THE FIRE, A PICTURE BOOK WITH HEROES WHO LOOK JUST LIKE ME, AN IMAGINARY FIEND. / verse: seventeen. ]

Wyll Ravengard, banished son, the Pride of The Gate, a child prodigy, a genius with a blade and with the ladies and gentlemen of the court of proper ages in the ballroom, who scored high marks in all his tests but never quite made his Father proud.... enough of the time----has only ever learned two things in his life that have mattered even an iota in this blasted desert called "the real world."

One. That everything sucks, all the time, forever. It's just really hard. Even if Wyll wasn't half-blind---the world would still look too big, and home too far away. Cooking would be hard even if he knew how to grip the knife right, considering all his studies of law and poetry and history failed to give him anything but a fine palate, fine tastes, and burnt Jerkey and Cheese. And a blade? Forget it. He can barely defend himself with a proper weapon. Not that he hasn't tried fighting everything he can get his hands on.

(A new power courses through him like an electric current in a storm, just as shocking. Such a thrill, such a delight, so scary but so perfect, sculpting Heaven's blessings from Hell's damnation, he'd be dead without Mizora, running into battles testing out his new mettle like this, but he can't stop himself, and if he can't fight at all---he'd rather be dead.)

Two. Demons don't deserve to live. They're evil scum. Monsters, that exist to torment. If Mizora calls him a stinker one more time, he'll end her AND himself with her!

And yet. That is the source of his power. Those are the only people he can share this intimate, perfect, practical secret with.

Part of him knows that to get better and stop sucking at everything, he needs to practice more. He needs to stop relying on his new powers in fights, he needs to train, even at just basic life skills, like his Father always said, two hundred percent harder than he did yesterday, always better, always moving forward, never falling behind.

But another part of him is so lonely sometimes he catches himself trying to engage in conversation with Mizora, of all NOT-people. He's always been... apart from everyone. His Father kept him too busy to make friends, and then Wyll always felt... different, when he wasn't outright impressing people, like he just had more to prove, and more he had to say, to be... cared for.

But he's never felt like... like he doesn't deserve to be looked at, until now. Until his Father---

Needless to say, when you can't look at yourself in the mirror, its hard to talk to other travelers, and far easier to talk to the many demons you stumble across in your travels. (The bastards are crawling all over the place if you know where to look, and they all find Wyll's attempts to kill them "funny" despite the fact that Wyll is a very thick and muscular seventeen, and has already taken down many bandits, in addition to the original twenty-five cultists, where he SAVED Baldur's Gate, thank you very much!)

One such demon recommended this place, outside of Baldur's Gate, far enough away that Wyll felt.... not comfortable, but more comfortable, even looking halfways in its direction. A church, in which he is told he will find everything he needs.

The outside of it is a dusty charcoal black compared to the setting sun outside as he approaches. He's dealt with--or at least, dipped his blade in the arcane, now, but it still makes him scowl to look at it. Who put this demon's nest in such a pretty spot? How can darkness suck in all the light so easily? He doesn't want to go in. (He does. He wants to know who he is, now. He wants to know what this longing to go in means.)

Inside is just as dusty, and as dark. He resists the urge to cough, instead just sniffs and wipes the back of his hand across his nose. Is that a demons scent? Or just the dust of old books? Behind the all-too normal pews, past the statues and strange trinkets, there are bookcases.

...

Is that IT?

Wyll rolls his eyes and mutters curses, shaking his head, folding his arms, every bit the sullen teenager. He's been had. How can he study diligently the way his Father always taught him to, as knowledge is just as much power as strength, as the Good Duke always said----if there is nothing substantial to study? He doesn't even spot the demon he was supposed to look fo---

Oh. That must be him. There's an aura of... slime to him, unbefitting of a priest. He looks like he does sick things to puppies. If not for the darkness, Wyll swears he could see Mizora's reflection in his dark, shiny eyelids. It's not that he's ugly, far from it. But Wyll didn't think Mizora was ugly, either, and demons.... They're known for their seduction techniques. As if Wyll did not promise to his Mother with the full extent of his iron will that he would wait until marriage! He cannot be tempted! Do not try, demon!!!!!

(From an outsider's perspective, Wyll may appear to be standing there, seething, his breath getting heavier and heavier and his face getting meaner and meaner, even more haggard and tired and malnourished than he already looks, especially for a kid so young. But in his head? Wyll believes the battle has just begun. He's just waiting for his chance to strike.)

[nappainanotherdimension]

"Trick'r'treat! Or I'll slay ya!"

“Heh, someone already beat ya to it today!” This was the first time Nappa could smile and joke about this very annoying situation he was currently in. “I’m supposed to say only one but you can have three. I’d pass ‘em out but…” the ghostly Saiyan then passed his hand through the bowl as he did with Mariko earlier when she came over. “…can’t pick up anything.”

[multifandombitxh]

Midnight Massacre

Pairing: Ghost x Reader (tried to keep it gender neutral)

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort

Warnings: Depictions of violence/blood/death/k*lling, g*ns, knives, bullets, strong language, mentions of s*icide and PTSD

A/N: And I'd fuckin do it again. I'm playing MW2 and I swear to GOD this man has me in a whole chokehold. Lovin' it. I will not apologize. Enjoy lol

It had taken a few minutes for your heart rate to return to normal, the nightmare leaving you in a cold sweat and pumped full of adrenaline. The dreams were never the same, so you never knew what to expect when they reared their ugly heads. One night it could be slow torture from a faceless enemy, the next it could be fire, horrifying screams, and death.

No matter the context, the scenes haunted your sleep on random occasions and left you feeling weak and helpless by the time you woke up. Tonight's dream, however, was especially traumatizing, and it did a number on your perception of reality.

Once you were fully aware of your surroundings again and realized you were awake, you shook the images away and covered your eyes with your palms. Sweat dropped down your spine, leaving a cold trail. You all but ripped your t-shirt off, searched for a replacement in the dark, and settled on a tank top.

With shaking hands you left your designated sleeping area for the night, slipping on your black cargo pants and boots. Leaving behind all thoughts of blood, gore, and the sounds of your friends perishing, you made your way down the dark, dusty hallway.

You'd only joined 141 recently, but it had been long enough now that you weren't exactly considered new blood anymore. One of the more interesting men in the unit had caught your eye from day one, despite the fact that he had little interest in getting to know you on a personal level. In group conversations he rarely engaged you, but one on one was a different story. There had been plenty of nights where the others had gone to bed while the two of you played a little game to see who would cave and take first watch.

It was usually you.

Ghost had a fucking novel of shitty jokes; some crude, some cheesy, some straight up cruel. Every now and then he'd crack one that would have you accepting defeat and taking the first watch of the night. Granted, he always took the second one if you took the first, and vice versa. None of the others dared to complain about this strange ritual, since it left them each with a later watch.

Tonight, Ghost had caved in first, finding your story about summer camp as a teenager unbelievably boring. It did offend you in a way, but at the same time, you knew it would get him to give in quickly. A man can only hear so much about how to make a friendship bracelet in vivid detail, or how to do a proper French braid.

Because of this, it allowed you to get some sleep first, but that obviously didn't work out. You'd all found shelter in a warehouse that wasn't far from your destination, and had to stay the night since the plan had to take place during the day to work. As you traveled down the hall, using the wall to guide you in the darkness, you finally stumbled upon the main area of the warehouse.

A circle of chairs sat in the middle of the room where you'd all gathered earlier that night, where you claimed your victory over Ghost. He was still there in the dim yellow lighting, arms crossed tightly over his chest and his eyes trained forward. Most of his own gear was absent, the only thing covering his torso a thick black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You shuffled into the room, kicking the concrete floor to make your presence known.

"Your watch hasn't started yet," Ghost stated without turning to look at you.

"I'm aware," You replied, leaning against the hallway entrance.

He looked over his shoulder at you, black makeup smudged around his eyes as if he'd just been rubbing at them. "Come to relieve me early, then? Sweet of you."

"Sure," You said, throwing up your hands in defeat. "You caught me, boss."

"Don't get all soft on me now, Sledge," Ghost said, blowing air out of his nose.

The use of your call sign made you visibly cringe; you didn't even choose the damn thing. After running out of amo and breaking your only knife during a firefight, you made do with your surroundings and found a sledge hammer. Needless to say, the unit was shocked at the amount of damage you managed to inflict with the thing. Thus, your call sign was born, and from that moment forward, you were affectionately known as Sledge.

You hated it.

There was nothing worse than a daily reminder of the carnage you witnessed at your own hand.

Shaking off the memory, you made your way over to a table with weapons and amo scattered all about. Rolling your eyes, you carefully examined the guns to make sure they still had their safety on, and made sure every knife was sheathed. After organizing the mess a bit, you snagged a hunting knife and a pistol, tucking them away and looking for the proper ammunition.

"I know you're not actually here to take your watch," Ghost said, his voice dangerously close to your ear. "What's goin' on?"

"Nothing," You shrugged, "Concrete floors are hard on my shoulders. Makes it hard to sleep."

"Sure, sure," Ghost hummed, "Wanna tell me the real reason you're up, Sledge?"

"Quit calling me that, you know I hate it. And no, I'm not telling you."

"Shame. Was hoping you'd tell me Johnny's talkin' in his sleep again."

You threw him a half-hearted smile over your shoulder, now fully aware of just how close he truly was. "Maybe you should go check on him, then. He might be."

His eyes locked with yours and you felt your insides shrink. It was easy to feel small under his gaze, considering he was a brick house of a human being and looked like he ate bullets and nails for breakfast. The mask certainly didn't help, that was for sure. Feeling uneasy with the eye contact, you returned your attention to the table of weapons.

"Y/N, look at me," Ghost whispered.

Hearing him say your name was enough to make you shiver, his accent making it roll off of his tongue like silk. It was nice that he listened to your request to stop calling you by the nickname you despised, considering you'd normally be taunted for expressing your distain for it. Even still, you did your best to ignore him.

"Do you remember which amo we use for these?" You asked, hoping to change the subject and gesturing to your empty gun. "Can't remember to save my life."

"Don't try this with me. Won't work and you know it."

"I always get them mixed up."

"Y/N, look at me, that's an order."

With some reluctance, you turned on your heel, leaned back against the table, and looked up at your lieutenant. His arms were still crossed over his chest, and you couldn't help eyeing the tattoo you hadn't seen before on his forearm. How long had that been there? Realizing you still weren't looking at him, Ghost placed his index finger under your chin and raised your head to meet his gaze.

"If something's going on with you, I need to know," He explained, "If you're not okay, that's something we have to take into account."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," You muttered, shaking your head. "Is anyone in this unit actually okay? I mean, really. I'm pretty sure everyone gets nightmares every now and then, Ghost. I'm fine."

"So it's nightmares, then," He said with a nod, "Could'a just said that."

"Didn't feel relevant."

"Come sit down."

Groaning like a teenager about to be grounded, you followed him over to the circle of chairs, sitting down beside him and crossing your arms. He leaned forward on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him. You waited patiently to get the scolding of the century about 'paying attention to your mental health' and 'you know what happens when a soldier starts displaying signs of PTSD'.

But it never came.

Instead, an uncomfortable silence fell over the room. The only sound you could make out was the faintest rain drops that began splattering the old windows of the warehouse.

"Go on, tell us about it," Ghost said after a few moments.

"The nightmare?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're joking, right?"

He didn't respond.

With a deep breath, you turned your head to the side, focusing on the many different objects that dotted the floor before you began.

"It's always different," You sighed, "I'm used to them by now, I can shake them off just fine usually. But this one... I don't know. I woke up, but I was still dreaming. Everyone was here, just talking like normal. These soldiers came out of the shadows and stood behind everyone. One for each of you. They all had guns, and one by one, they just..."

Tears welled in your eyes at the images that flitted through your head, forcing you to shake them away. You rubbed the back of your neck anxiously, taking a small breath and willing away the pain. A large hand closed over your knee, startling you.

When you looked up at Ghost, he had turned fully in his seat to face you. His arm was outstretched as his gloved hand sat carefully on your knee. The gesture made you shift in your seat, and you unintentionally found yourself facing him as well. Something in your subconscious knew he was safe, despite your efforts to avoid this whole encounter.

"Tell me what they did," Ghost said, his tone soft like you'd never heard it before. "Go on."

"Do I really have to say it?" You asked in a weak voice.

"Trust me."

You drew in another shaky breath before continuing, "They executed everyone."

"Sounds pretty serious," Ghost said with a nod, "Then what?"

"I was trying to stop them, but I couldn't move," You recalled as you fought back tears again. "It was like I was stuck in quicksand. I was just... Frozen. All I could do was watch."

"What would you have done?" He asked, "If you could've moved, what would you do?"

Anger bubbled in the pit of your stomach, overtaking the sadness. You balled your fists and dug your nails in hard. "I would've killed them myself. I don't care how long it would take, I'd do it. I wanted to, I'd make them suffer."

"I know you would," Ghost said with a small laugh, "I've seen you take big groups out for less."

"But I didn't," You said, lowering your head.

Ghost stood from his chair to move in front of you, crouching down on the floor in the space between your legs. He had to crane his neck to look up at you, and when you avoided his gaze again, he gently took your chin in his hand and held you in place. With no other choice but to stare into his eyes, you gave in, your shoulders slumping.

"It wasn't real," He said slowly, "If it was, none of those soldiers would have made it out in one piece. But it wasn't real, and it didn't happen."

"That doesn't really make me feel any better," You said with a small, broken laugh.

"How can I make it better?" He asked, his voice just above a whisper. "Anything, just tell me."

"Why do you care so much?" You asked in return, puzzled by his question. It wasn't like him to act like this, and you wondered to yourself if this was some kind of prank. "It was just a dream."

Ghost released your chin and let his hand slide down to your arm, slowly trailing downward until he reached the palms of your hands. When his fingers began lacing between yours, heat flooded your body and you tensed. Sensing this, Ghost loosened his grip and used the pad of his thumb to stroke your knuckles.

"Like it or not, I do care about you," He explained, and you could swear he was smiling beneath his mask. "Nightmares are serious business. I've seen soldiers off themselves over nightmares more times than I can count. I don't want that to happen to you."

"I wouldn't do that," You scoffed, "I don't think I'm capable of that sort of thing, anyway."

"Keep it that way," Ghost said, his tone firm. "You even start thinkin' like that, you come straight to me. That's an order."

"You sure like dishing out orders," You joked, allowing yourself a small smile. "When are you gonna quit telling me what to do, huh?"

"When you start listening," He shot back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Definitely a smile under there, you were sure of it now. "Head back to bed, yeah? I'll take your watch."

"You don't have to do that, seriously-"

"I'm not asking, I'm telling," He cut you off, standing from his spot in front of you and pulling you up with him. "You've had more than enough excitement for one night."

Before you could further protest, Ghost did the unthinkable, pulling you in close by your wrist so you were flush against his chest. Your breath caught in your throat as he looked you over, his eyes trailing over your face, down your nose, and landing on your lips. A different hand snaked around your middle and you froze, his palm pressed flat against the center of your back. When it began sliding downward, you thought you were going to pass out.

For the first time that night, you were just fine with maintaining eye contact, waiting for him to do something, anything. His hand traveled lower and lower until it reached the hem of your pants, one of his fingers lacing through a belt loop.

"Make me a promise, yeah?" He asked in a deep, gruff voice.

You swallowed hard. "Depends on what it is."

Ghost leaned in close until he reached the shell of your ear, his hot breath barely grazing your skin through his mask. Your head was running marathons as you tried to comprehend what was happening, but for whatever reason, you didn't want it to stop. Using what little bravery you had, you dared to reach up and lay your hand over the left side of his chest. Even with the thick fabric in the way, it was easy to make out every detail of the muscle there. He tensed under your touch and held his own breath for a moment.

Ghost released your hand and raised it to his own face. You were sure what he was doing until you felt warm, chapped lips ghosting over the skin of your ear.

He pulled his mask up.

"Promise me you'll keep this between us, love," He murmured, his tone close to that of a purr. When he spoke, his lips made contact with your ear, and goosebumps raised on your skin.

"What if I don't?" You dared to ask, feeling bold.

He fell silent, humming once as the hand on your lower back abandoned its position. For a moment you thought you'd gone too far, and when he removed your knife from it's place on your hip, you took in a sharp breath. It clattered to the floor beside you, the protective case around the blade muffling the sound slightly. Next he took your still empty gun, placing it in his own holster and making a point to shove it in roughly.

"Guess I'll have to make it an order, then."

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

…so in the Zoroark twins AU. What’s the reunion like?

...

He's warm, which isn't unusual in and of itself, but the kind of warm is so rare as to be almost unfamiliar. Another person pressed against his side, seemingly dozing, still smiling faintly even in his sleep. He isn't warm—he runs cold, even—but the act of contact, of familiarity, it's... good. Soft.

It's almost, but not quite, enough to counterbalance the thing that keeps him from fully relaxing. He wonders if anyone else would notice. The guilt, his constant companion in Hisui, now eating him alive from the inside out, almost physically painful in its intensity. He wants to run from it but he's trapped, cornered, he should have known, sooner or later his time would be up. There would be consequences for what he's persisted in doing.

This face is all he has, and that's what hurts the most. Without it he is adrift, alone—but he cannot keep it. It is not his, it cannot be his. He should have given it up a long time ago but instead he lied, he acted, in a stunning show of disrespect for the clans and the man whose face and name he'd stolen—even the name. Even the name is not his, it belongs to the person that this stranger leaning against his side believes him to be.

He knew, of course, that this stranger wasn't human, either. Had, in fact, reacted initially as though he were another Zoroark—bared suddenly-sharp teeth and warned him to discard that illusion, because the least he could do for the man whose life he stole was ensure nobody else made a mockery of it. But he had been returned a blank stare, a slight tilt of the head, and a question of why? I am Emmet. It is my face. And he remembered—Zoroark in Hisui were not mimics, they were ghosts.

And this Emmet recognized Ingo’s face not as his own, but as someone else's. They look the-same-but-different, different in ways so subtle as to be almost invisible. They must have been family. Twins. He feels sick with hate.

He doesn't know how he hasn't noticed that he's in disguise, but—no, that's impossible. He... he must think he's a ghost, too. And how relieved he must feel—that they'd both suffered but at least they were together—

It hurt, hurt like an open wound—what a monster—and he poorly stifles a sob. It gets the attention of the one dozing, who suddenly sits up. Yellow eyes stare back at him—for one blink, and then they're grey again. Is he slipping, too–?

That is irrelevant, he cuts back at that reactive instinct, there's no point in keeping up the charade. He has to be honest. For once, finally. This ghost—this man who should be grieving—deserves the truth.

“There is,” his voice feels rusted over, unsteady, difficult to get moving, “something... I should tell you.”

He leans back the slightest bit, and Emmet reacts in kind, shuffling away to give him space. The loss of pressure, the sudden distance—it catches him off-guard, the hurt of its absence. He sits cross-legged, leaning in just enough to be attentive without being intimidating, head tilted and eyes piercingly alert. Ingo shivers, fear and anxiety about being caught—trained into him by Hisui—soaking into him alongside the guilt. But he forces himself to power through it.

“I- am not who you think I am.” He tries to look him in the eye but he can’t, his face drops until it’s buried in his hands. He fights in shaky breaths to compose himself, he has no right to be so emotional, this is all his own fault—now he really is slipping, the nails on his face digging in like talons. “I am not... human. I...”

“You are the black Zoroark.”

It’s not- he wasn’t expecting him to guess so fast, and yet the voice isn’t an accusation, either. It’s even and measured, like he’s confirming a fact instead of a guess, as self-assured as I am Emmet. His hands shake when he lifts his head slightly. “...You knew?”

“Of course.” Over his own hands, he sees his head tilt slightly. “That is how I found you.”

“What-?” he can’t even form a proper question, his mind reeling from that statement. That doesn’t make sense. 

“The Zoroark here are all Ghost and Normal. So...” he trails off, and then asks instead, “...did you think I didn’t know?” Ingo finally—actually—looks at him again, to see the corners of his mouth turn down slightly. His eyes are searching now. “...Ingo. Do you... remember me?”

He’s so thoroughly lost, now, that the answer comes almost unbidden, in a rush of unplanned words. Honesty is so much easier, now that he’s started. “There is nothing to remember. I am only a mimic, I had his face when I woke and I could not bring myself to discard it, even though I knew—it was theft, but your- twin, or whoever, I- no! No, I do not remember, I do not,” he’s fully sobbing now, despite himself, “even the original, even him. I am so, so sorry-”

“-stop. Stop.” Hands are gently pried away from his face and clasped together, bleeding edges of his illusion hidden from view. There’s a moment of silence, where the only sound is his own hiccuping breaths.

Then, “You are right. We are twins. You and I.” A thumb gently traces his knuckles. The voice has no overt emotion, but he can hear the softness in it. “Nobody else. Only you, always.”

“...what?” His own voice is almost a whisper.

“I was human. You were Zorua. And we are brothers. Both things can be true.”

“There was never... it was your face.” The realization comes together slowly. “You... gave me your face?”

“No.” It’s unexpected, but firm. “Gave would mean I lost anything. We shared. That is what good siblings do.”

Their hands shift so Emmet is cupping his. The black claws have vanished, replaced with clean nails. Ingo, speechless for once, lifts one hand to wipe his eyes with his sleeve—then he breaks and scoops Emmet into a hug, burying his face in his shoulder, tears coming anew. He doesn’t remember, but he knows, somewhere. Why it felt so right, to simply lean against him, why this is a relief instead of terrifying—

Emmet returns the hug, solid like steel, and maintaining his human form stops feeling like a fight.

[gardenerian]

it can't be the same gallagher and milkovich -

but then, who else could it be?

it's surely some combination of the gallaghers and milkoviches she remembers. phillip maybe, though she'd imagined him as a doctor or something by now. the little one, then, the one who was always lighting his toys on fire - but would he really protect anything for a living?

and the milkoviches. they'd kept her away from the milkoviches for the most part, and she knew them as shadows around the neighborhood. did one of them manage to get out?

anything's possible, of course. look at her.

ethel peers down at the scribbled reminder malik left, a yellow sticky note fixed to her mug of tea. meeting with gallagher-milkovich security at 2. see you then. - m

the kitchen is quiet. the kids have been dropped off at school by now, hurried out the door by malik while she finished her morning chores. ethel settles into her chair, brings the steaming mug of tea to her lips.

if it's them - they'll know, right? they'll know what happened.

they'd moved back to illinois before the pandemic, when malik's grandmother was so sick and he wanted to see her through it. to close a chapter, he'd said. to say a real goodbye.

so she packed up their little house and gathered up the kids. ethel had refused to live in chicago proper again. too many ghosts, too many words unsaid and lives unlived.

she'd begged malik not to move them back to the southside. ethel had faced down many demons over the years - leaving them behind hasn't been one of them. not yet.

he'd just kissed her face and stroked her hair. you're coming with me, he whispered into her hands as he held them to his lips, that's enough. and they started looking for houses the next morning.

their place is outside the city. for a while, ethel would drop malik off at the train so he could ride in for work and to see his grandmother. and she'd spend her days gardening, setting up the new house, seeing to the kids.

malik climbed into the car one evening with the world on his shoulders. grandmother was suffering - and though ethel prayed for a peaceful ease into death, god seemed to have another experience designed.

would you help? he asked, and pressed some seeds into her hands.

that's how it started.

they made oil from the cuttings malik got from a coworker, baked it into treats to ease grandmother's pain. ethel planted the seeds in a corner of the garden, eyes stinging as she remembered a bright room beneath a bar. another garden, another yard. another life.

before too long they were helping their neighbors and friends with their own pain. and when the pandemic hit, when people were so anxious and afraid, ethel felt called to help. she prayed over her plants, that they would bring peace and healing to those who turned to them.

they bought more land, built up a greenhouse. malik rents an office in the city where he can handle the business. ethel tends to stay home, running the planting and the harvesting - wondering what they would think if they could see her now.

helping the blind hadn't been his intention back then; ethel knows that now. but she knows he would. that's the kind of people they were.

she goes into the city today to meet with the security team malik found online. their life is changing so fast, this business that sprung up out of nowhere growing larger every day. now they need help.

ethel struggled with the morality of it for a while. suffering is divine after all. but she's learned that not all suffering is holy - sometimes pain is just pain. and maybe the holiness comes from easing the pain of others, from loosening its grip on the neck of your friends. of yourself.

maybe it's okay to heal. maybe it's okay to change. to seek a life free of pain, if possible.

she thinks of them, on the train. it had taken a while for ethel to seek them out, to let them know she's here - she's here and she's whole and she's making a life with her family.

but by the time she'd gathered the courage and found her way to knock on their front door, the house was gone. knocked down to its foundation, a developer's sign in the front yard.

and ethel turned around and went home.

malik offered to help look them up, find a new address or phone number. ethel said thank you, but no. she just continued to pray for them, pray for another time. life marched on.

and now a freckled face is looking at her curiously over malik's desk in the city. so it's ian, then. the quiet one, the one who flitted in and out of that house on the corner.

mickey milkovich sits next to him, explaining their services and pricing model. his tattooed hands wave wildly in front of his face as he speaks.

they wear matching rings.

ethel never knew these two. not really. she sat on those steps with debbie, carried liam around the yard, handed off a popsicle or five to carl. fiona was at their house a lot, eyeing her with the same curiosity she sees in ian right now.

so she's not surprised they don't know her. she smiles politely as they talk about their armored cars, their trusted staff, their long list of clients. she remembers ian shuffling around the neighborhood with phillip, sometimes sporting a black eye or a limp.

she remembers that store where these two often sat bickering while she picked up supplies for daycare. when ethel looks at them now, she can almost see those boys underneath it all.

ian keeps watching her, and she sees him file through his memories behind those narrowed green eyes.

malik stands when the pitch is over, shakes their hands. he lightly elbows ethel from her own memories and she laughs a little as she stands as well. ian straightens at the sound, grip tightening on her hand. he bites his lip, tilts his head.

he wants to ask.

but he doesn't want to seem rude, perhaps, so he just nods and follows mickey out the door after promising to be in touch.

ethel settles back into her seat. malik picks up his phone and scrolls through his email for a moment before looking back at her.

"you think he's gonna remember on his own?"

"you know who they are?"

"'course i do," malik chuckles. "you think i grew up where i did and don't know gallaghers or milkoviches?"

ethel blushes. of course he knows. he was here before she was. he's come home in a way she hasn't yet.

"i don't blame him," she sighs. "not sure why he would know me - "

she hears the huffing of breath before he appears in the doorway. ethel looks away from malik to find ian gallagher leaning in the entryway, hand over his chest.

"ethel?" he breathes. "kev and vee's ethel?"

kev and vee's ethel.

she could have been theirs. maybe she was, for a time. but she was always jonah's ethel first. clyde's ethel, malik's ethel.

now maybe ethel's own ethel at last.

but she thinks she would have liked being theirs, in another life. another world, a better world. where little girls can take their time growing up.

"that's me," she says, not wanting to correct him. she likes to be remembered as theirs.

"holy shit," he says, before clapping a hand over his mouth. "sorry, i forgot - "

ethel waves him off. they taught her to be less severe. and there is something holy here, he's right.

"do they know you're here?" he asks, making room for mickey who's now elbowing into the office.

"no," ethel answers, shoulders falling. "i don't - i didn't know where they went."

"fuckin' kentucky," mickey spits. "'bout a year ago."

"louisville," ian supplies. "but they've been back to visit a lot already. holy shit - sorry - we have to call them!"

ethel sinks back into her seat. malik's hand comes to rest on her shoulder, and she can feel the concern in his gaze. this is all happening so fast. can it just happen - so suddenly, like that?

maybe it can.

"please," she grins. "call them."

-

tamika and jonah complain about wearing their sunday clothes on a friday night, but ethel bribes them with extra dessert.

it's a special night.

she'd spent the day making the house sparkle, setting out food - their favorites, bringing in greenery and flowers. she wants them to know.

she wants them to know what they did for her.

his shadow moves across the floor as they appear in the screen door, hovering on the front porch. faces pressed against the mesh, peering inside with barely veiled excitement. fear. grief. joy.

ethel wipes her hands on her apron and moves to let them into the glow of the house. malik appears by her side, ushering them inside with handshakes and welcomes. two little girls wander in after them.

little sisters, in another life.

she's surrounded by them then, two strong arms lifting her up and holding her tight, two elegant hands rubbing at her arms, holding her face.

they smile brightly through their tears, drinking her in and reaching out like they can't help but touch her. like they need to be sure she's real. she bites her lip when she realizes she's reaching back.

"i'm sorry," she whispers as she leads them to the armchairs by the fire. "i'm just so sorry," she says again as she holds out a plate of homemade breads and cheese.

out of the corner of her eye, ethel sees the twins move closer to tamika and jonah, who offer up a plate of cookies in welcome. malik herds them over to the fire, where they can sit a play games together.

kevin tears off a hunk of bread and shoves it in his mouth, nearly choking as he eats and cries. "what're you sorry for?" he garbles through his chewing.

veronica rolls her eyes. "what he means is: we understand. we missed you, but we understand."

ethel puts the plate aside and holds out her hands to them.

"i prayed for you," she says. it's the most honest thing she can think to say right now. even when she was hurting and healing and mourning a childhood she hadn't known she missed, they lived in her prayers.

tears spill over; veronica reaches out and wipes them away.

"we prayed for you," she says. "never stopped."

ethel knew that, in the back of her mind. they kind of people they are. but it warms her soul to hear it.

"now," veronica says, tossing her hair behind her shoulder, "tell us everything."