#A Haunt of Normalcy AU

[jenuinely-speaking]

A HAUNT OF NORMALCY MASTER POST

Warning

This series is under the genre Horror/Thriller/Suspense. There are 6 stories in total planned, four stories for Season 1 and two stories for Season 2, and each one contains different genre of horror. With each introduction/summary, there will be tw tags. This series is not for the faint of heart (trust me, I've learned this the hard way by presenting my wips to friends, who have graciously helped me with figuring out the tw). If you wish to proceed, please do so with caution.

If you're the type that loves/enjoys horror, especially the paranormal kind, have fun jumping into the screaming pools.

"How would the TMNTs react to an official, terrifying haunting?"

There is a lot of spiritual stuff that happens in their story, in any iteration. Comics. Movies. Series. Every single one has some type of spiritual element to it. Now, I'm still re-reading a lot of the comics (especially between the original Mirage and IDW), but I don't recall ever seeing the TMNTs being involved with a terrifying haunting. Like, The Haunting in Connecticut or Talk to Me type of haunting.

With that thought, I realized that all of those different hauntings happened within an everyday, normal life. When you very much least expect it. And 9/10 times, it barrels into something chaotic and near uncontrollable.

As one of my friends placed it, "It's like TMNT meshed with Mystery Incorporated." And honestly, I never forgot that apt description to this series. The only difference is that, here, the monsters are real.

As I continued writing and plotting, this fun series of TMNT horror adventures became thick with plot that combined every single story into one giant mass, larger than I initially planned.

Each story now holds a thematic frame of horror; a nod and homage to the genres, as it were, while also providing subplot that ties into each other until the very end.

Now, let me be honest with you on something: Horror is something I usually shy away from. I rarely read it, and I am uncomfortable by the movies (though I do watch some), because they are so intense on my nerves, my imagination makes it seem like it's real. Thats just how my brain works. But with this series? Having been continuously working on it and going at my own pace? I've discovered that I love writing horror and suspense.

Who'd have figured? Certainly not me, that's for sure lol

Again, TWs will be before the following summaries. Grammar mistakes are likely to be present (still in format stage). All stories have a HE (happy ending), unless stated otherwise in the TW-- it's just a real hike up a mountain to get to the happy endings, and sometimes it takes two stories tied into one to get to them.

Links will be provided as the stories are posted and updated on A03.

Universe: Amalgamation of own design (even have a full history backstory, might post later on) Setting: New York City, New York 2012 (boys start at 28-29 yrs) Season: Starts Early Spring - March

CRIMSON MARKS

TW/Tags: Poltergeist Horror, intense haunting, intense possession, child harm, parental fear, homelessness, helplessness, unnatural/metaphysical danger, pain-filled exorcism, if you're a parent please read with caution (my friends that are parents told me they had to hold their kids after reading/discussing this story)

TIME DURATION: 7 NIGHTS During a patrol late one night, Raph comes across a small family of mother and son in a park, Callista and Gabriel Meza. Both look too clean to be homeless, yet very tired and very scared. Going against their family's code, he shows himself to the pair and showcases he means no harm and only wishes to help. Through slow conversing, he finds the pair are being plagued by a terrible haunting that has turned physical and rendered them temporarily homeless. With his brothers' involvement, Raph is determined to help the Meza family reclaim their home and sense of safety. Time is not on their side when the seriousness and all-too-real danger of the situation is laid out in less than a blink; and with the prospects of the Hamato Clan being introduced to even more humans due to the weight of the situation, and his baby brother becoming a possible haunted target, Raph begins questioning himself whether or not he made the right decision on being led by his heart, instead of by his family's code.

ULTRAVIOLET SILLHOUETTES

TW/Tags: Paranormal Horror, build-up haunting, psychological horror, possession, forced isolation, internal battle, exorcism pt 1, ancestral haunting, intense ghost-hunting, tech haunting, exhaustion meter skyrockets, the calm before the storm (the storm is the next story), semi-cliff hanger ending

TIME DURATION: 2.5 MONTHS Following the events of Crimson Marks, Donnie had kept in contact with HONe, the investigative team that worked with them to eliminate the Meza haunting, and even became a valued member of their team by updating and building up their tech. After he finishes his latest haunt hunt tech, a scanner of his own design that picks up the particle wave energy being used by the specters, he and Mikey take it out on its first test run in a delipidated building. Good news: It works. Bad News: It works. The brothers are attacked by an intense haunting taking place in the building, and although they escaped uninjured, they agreed to never test in abandoned buildings again...at least alone. For their part, Leo and Raph agree, especially after watching the evidence video Donnie managed to capture. As Donatello works to complete his latest masterpiece, and one that could make HONe the best paranormal investigators in New York State, the brothers go on test runs together--only to find out too little, too late that they may have brought something home with them.

AZURE CLARITY

TW/Tags: Paranormal Horror, psychological horror, historical thriller, historical prejudice, intense possession, control possession, identity crises, exorcism pt 2, major character near-deaths, blood and injury, somber ending

TIME DURATION: 3 MONTHS Directly after Ultraviolet Silhouette, Leo is adamant the family gets to the bottom of their family history upon learning their discoveries in the haunted apartments HONe called them in to help investigate. Even Master Splinter was both shocked and intrigued at finding their family history in America was older than originally expected. Finding the original settlement in up-state New York where Hamato Yoshi's older relatives had come from, the brothers and their sensei travel to the long-forgotten ghost town and find it to be thoroughly, terrifyingly haunted; both by an avenging spirit and a terrible event that quite literally shut the town down. This time, it's far more personal; not only are their very lives in danger by something that is near-impossible to fight, but their own family honor and self-identities lay in jeopardy.

TANGERINE SUNSETS

TW/Tags: Psychological horror, blood and Injury, major injuries, fighting (not the fun kind), intense stalking, psychological abuse, kidnapping, minor character deaths, sacrificial summoning, struggles in relationships, internal struggle on limitations, mental self-harm, self-isolation patterns, Michelangelo tries so hard to remain a sunshine--but even the sun has to accept overcast and stormy days

TIME DURATION: 6 MONTHS A few weeks after the final ceremonies to ease the past that render the future livable, Mikey was the one that had been the most shaken by discovering the grueling past of his family history. He tries not to show the others how negatively it had affected him, but some days--some nights are harder than most. Especially with his growing spiritual talents. As he's trying to find his new normal once more, Mikey stumbles upon a woman, Alise Beau, or rather she stumbled upon him. She's a cryptozoologist photographer--something Michelangelo had never even thought existed--and found an instant friend in her; his spirit feeling calm and centered for the first time in a long while. He managed to successfully talk his way into joining her current job, photographing the same area surrounding his ancestral ghost-town, if only to escort her when she's alone as most of her shots were commissioned to be done at night. During their growing friendship and adventures, Mikey is reminded that the real-world dangers aren't mysterious monsters, or even the hunting of the unknown. But, in fact, other humans with mysterious and unknown intentions.

PATINA SOULS

TW/Tags: Body horror, psychological horror, full body possession, intense exorcism, minor character deaths, major character death (temporary), eco-destruction, A Whole New World of Trauma(TM), the slowest of burns (literally and figuratively), kinda-sorta zombie warning? eh it's eldritch horror bs

TIME DURATION: 1 YEAR [Description in the works - dealing with an accidently woken nature-encrusted Eldritch Horror hell-bent on finishing a long-forgotten mission that could bring about something far worse than the end of times.]

KERATIN HEARTS

TW/Tags: Past abuse, past manipulative abuse, predatory stalking, self-harm, fighting (not the fun kind), intense masking, intense breaking of masking, struggle in relationships, double-sided healing, identity crises, kidnapping (x2), living with hauntings, the spirit that haunts and taunts

TIME DURATION: 1 YEAR [Description in the works - dealing with a person that's inadvertently been in the turtles' lives for the past 1.5 year who brings in a whole new slew of adventures which forces healing abound]

[eetherealgoddess]

can you one with mikey where he is deeply in love with reader but she is oblivious and one night his dark impulses take control of him and he fucks he in her sleep??? love your content btww

thank you!! hope this turned out the way you wanted!! <3

ꨄTemptationꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Mikey Au

❦You didn’t know how tempting you were to those dark eyes❦

Sano Manjiro x Reader

Not fully proofread!

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR & AO3 UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Temptation

The moonlight gleams through the cracked curtains, shining over the bed as a figure lies underneath the white comforter. You slumber, snug and warm as you lie on your stomach, one leg lifted as well as both of your arms though with bent elbows. Your other leg is planted straight down as your cheek meets the pillow. Light snoring echoed throughout the room as well as steady breathy. You were oblivious to the eyes gazing over your limp frame. He’s kneeled on the floor as his head lies on top of the arms that are crossed on the mattress in front of your face. His blonde strands hovering over his face, disheveled from his lack of care considering his sleepless nights.

Ever since he found a way to break into your room despite you still living at home, he hasn’t been able to keep himself away. He likes to visit you at night. It helps with easing the dark thoughts he succumbs to when he tries to fall asleep. His past haunts him, entrapping his mind with nothing but dark whispers of various impulses. The intrusive thoughts sneak up on him as a snake would before snapping the venom in their prey, trailed by the shadows of darkness looming over his back and reminding him that all he is meant to experience is suffering.

Ironically, sneaking into your room at night gives him a sense of normality. He can’t help but to live in the moment once you’re in the picture. A sane person wouldn’t think twice of you, having accidentally bumped into one another which resulted in you apologizing before running off. It didn’t make sense why he decided to follow you the rest of the day or command one of his gang members to search for more information about you. It doesn’t make sense why there isn’t a day he goes without thinking of you.

Maybe it was the sense of normalcy or distraction from his inner world. Maybe it was the qualities you had as a person that he found interesting after looking into you. The fact is that he is mesmerized by you. It’s been months since you first met, the accidental shove forever leaving a ghostly tingling sensation on his arm. He sits up for a moment, resting his elbows against the bed as both of his hands tangle through his hair, holding up his head as he eyes you with a half lidded gaze.

After a moment he stood up before slowly pulling the cover back, deciding to see more of you to get his fill. He gazed at your body that only consisted of a t-shirt and shorts. He loved to see the fabric of your bottoms wrapped tightly around your curves which is why his favorite nights are when you have them on.

He figured out that your sleeping habits vary. Sometimes he’d get there and you were in the middle of changing, scrolling through your phone, or… sometimes even catching you in the middle of a session with your sex toy. The tree next to your window and the space in your walk-in closet as well as the placement of your bed from across made those specific nights a lot easier to observe.

He uses a hand to caress your back gently before slightly lifting your shirt to reveal the skin on your lower back. His palm rubbed along the crease in which your derrière and back meet, squeezing your side before continuing his strokes, staring at your face cautiously. He bit his lip as he squeezed you once more, firmly as he watched your nose scrunch. He released your skin as he felt a tightness form in his pants.

It wasn’t his first time gaining an erection simply from gazing or touching you. In fact, there have been times he had rubbed his tense cock in your closet as you were watching porn, both of you orgasming together as he edged himself until you were ready for release. He’s used your clothes as towels and stole them. He’s also jerked off sitting right in front of you as you sleep on the bed, imagining all the different ways he can have his way with you.

The way your legs tense when the toy hits that spot that sends you into convulsion, your moans filling the air as well as the curses as you grind out your orgasm. Sometimes you’ll even repeat your sessions back to back, in search of the relief he wants to provide for you. He palmed his bulge as he reminisced those favorable moments. He looks down and gazes at his own hard on, his hair hovering over his face with his lips slightly parted as a red hue forms on his cheeks.

“Shit.” He whispered, feeling the overwhelming urge to climb on top of you. He just wanted to take a look at your wet pussy again. Leaning over to where he uses a hand to slide the leg nearest to open to gain a better viewpoint of your covered vagina. The tight shorts caused an imprint to outline the frame of your center. He glanced at you before gently connecting his fingers with your pussy, rubbing over the slit. He watched you as his middle finger moved to where your clit is hidden under the shorts, applying a still pressure to test the waters. Your hips twitched as you slightly readjusted but your eyelids stayed shut.

His fingers slid until he reached in between your ass cheeks, grazing over your covered anus before removing his hand all together. His torso bends over, crawling until he climbs over your legs. His hands connect with your shorts before he slowly pulls them down, revealing your naked bottom half as he tossed them to the side. He scoots to a better position over your legs and cupped both of your butt cheeks, squeezing and using his thumbs to caress the skin before spreading your labia with his fingers still planted on your ass.

He glanced at you to see your sleeping figure once more before he released you and shoved a hand into his pants. He lowers the lining of his underwear before pulling his cock from his pants. Deciding to ease some of the tension, he positions himself closer to your ass, using a hand to spread a cheek before pressing his cock in a downward position to where he could feel his head against your warm pussy.

He released a quiet grunt before lowering his torso on yours, basically hugging you as he eased his arms under yours, pressing his hips against you as he held it there. He thought he would have enough self control to not go all the way in since he just needed to feel you. It felt so good to feel your body against his, soft and warm. As time went on it was beginning to feel a little too good. He pressed down his hips before pulling back and repeating the same motion slowly in an attempt to not wake you up. He pants as the feeling becomes too hard to handle.

Deciding to just use the head of his cock, he licks his hand before lathering up his girth and using his fingers to position himself to your already wet vagina. He pushes forward slowly, your labia popping open wider as his tip stretches your hole. He accidentally released a moan as his head dropped, arms slightly shaking as they balanced himself over your figure.

“Oh fuck.” He hissed as he pushed in just a smidge more of a distance than before, stopping himself before he continued. It already feels like your pussy is sucking him in, the walls tightening the part of him already inside of you.

“So warm.” He groaned as he sat up more, breathing heavily with his lips apart as his head fell back. You slightly squirm against him as you attempt to reposition yourself, your leg that was bent moving down to where your feet are parallel. You wince as you take a deep breath before the slumber takes over once more.

He’s had to wait so long for this. He was having a hard time thinking rationally as all he wanted to do was shove his cock inside of you as deep as possible before forcing you to take all his cum. His hands reach the skin of your back under the shirt. His hips twitch back before he pushes back in, only his tip immersed in your walls. He can feel your pussy releasing more juice from the stimulation. Everything felt so hot.

He couldn’t take it anymore, lowering his upper body as he repositioned one of his arms under you and the other hand covering your mouth, lifting your head slightly. Your eyes finally flutter open into a squint, only just coming back to reality as you feel a heavy weight above you as well as a pressure from below.

“Forgive me, Y/n.” Your eyes widen at the low whisper before the hand tightens around your mouth and someone leaves a kiss on the back of your head before you feel a sharp pain in your core, causing a muffled grunt to leave your mouth as Mikey’s hips lock against yours in a swift motion.

He moaned when his hips smacked against your ass. You whimper at the pain as you attempt to push against the bed in an attempt to throw him off of you. You failed miserably, not even being able to move from your position because of his immense strength overpowering you from atop. You couldn’t even turn your head to see who the culprit is forcing themselves upon you. Your eyebrows furrowed as you grunt loud from another hard impact from his thick cock.

“G-get off of me!” You attempt to scream but his hand only muffled your speech. Both of your bodies rock as he gains rhythm, his hair flailing as he grinds against you.

“Shhh.” He nibbles on your ear as he makes an attempt to quiet his own moans, not wanting to risk your parents walking in though if it happened, he wouldn’t have a problem with ridding himself of the inconvenience of their presence.

“M’ gonna find it and make you feel so fucking good, Y/n.” He says in your ear, forcing his fast strokes in deeper as he searches for the spot that has you quivering when he watches. Your nails impale the sheets as your grip tightens, the pain having resided once he found the spot, a moan escaping your lips.

“There it is.” He smirks before pressing his head against yours and closing his eyes. He continuously aimed to kiss your cervix as his head dropped to your neck, his lips connecting with the skin before he thrusts harder, rutting against you as he humps your backside. His cock is suffocated by the warm gummy walls inside of you, your juice lathering him as a natural lube as you reflexively push your ass against him, meeting his thrusts as your nipples harden against the bed.

“Th-this isn’t right!” You try to speak once more, struggling to push yourself off the bed as he adds more weight to your form, cock rubbing along your inner lining as your g-spot is assaulted. “I don’t even know you!”

“The only thing…” he breathes, “…that matters is my lo…” He pants as his eyebrows furrow before the smacking of his hips against your body becomes louder as he brings you both closer to your orgasms, his tip beating hard against your g-spot. You release a loud grunt followed by a moan as your hips move against him desperately.

“Ah fuck, baby this feels so good.” He hissed before his lips fell apart. Lowering his head, he rests it against your shoulder as he fucks into you with firm yet fast strokes. You bite your lip as your eyes shut tight, your hips bucking as you release a desperate moan, a wave of pleasure engulfing your abdomen as you orgasm on the stranger’s thick cock.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He whispers before his grip on your face and shoulder tighten, his hips rocking as he thrusts out his orgasm. You both pant as you catch your breath, his cock still inside of you before he slowly pulls his hips back causing a grunt to leave you both. You feel him kiss your shoulder and neck as your eyes widen in horror at the realization of your circumstances as he releases your mouth.

“W-who are you?! Y-you j-just…” You try to turn around to get a look of him but he only pressed your head against the pillow.

“When we get to know each other better, I’ll explain. For now, just know that you’re my wifey, okay?” He smiled, ignoring the look of confusion and fear that appeared on your expression.

“I-I don’t even know you! HE-!” He covers your mouth once more and leaned to your ear.

“I don’t want to kill your parents, Y/n. So don’t make me, okay? I’d like to meet your family properly.” Tears stream down your face as he tells you to close your eyes. You comply, shutting them tight as you feel his weight shift before completely disappearing.

“See ya next time.”

tbh i liked the request but idk if i liked how i wrote it

[yukurie]

So I had an idea about haunts and ghost territories. Ghosts have haunts and are fairly territorial over them. Danny’s haunt is Amity Park obviously but it extends to more than that: every square inch of the town and every resident that lives in it whether they currently live it in or were born there and moved elsewhere are his and he is very protective, it’s his nature after all, his very obsession is to protect.

Normally multiple ghosts haunting a location is normal, there is a hierarchy and internal logic to how a ghost goes about joining a location to haunt however: when a new ghost is formed or finds a location that calls to them to be their haunt and it’s already haunted the new ghost must find the ghost with the original claim to the location and request to co-haunt it. Usually this is accepted and allowed with a few exceptions of greedy ghosts.

Danny isn’t fully aware of all this however, his living side has been blocking out certain instincts of his ghost half in a mental block he’s unconsciously made to continue having a sense of “normalcy” in his living half of his life. One day a particularly rude and aggressive ghost come through the portal and states that they will take this haunt as their own, Danny as usual excuses himself from the class though those few looking at him (Tucker, Sam, maybe Dash) notice he looked particularly angry (what was that crunch? Why does the corner of his desk look cracked?). As he fights the ghost onlookers notice Phantom is particularly aggressive while fighting this ghost: there’s no quips, every time he talks to the ghost he seems enraged, and he seems to be doing as much as he can to hurt the ghost instead of capturing him as usual. After the fight is over and he disappears (to release the ghost back i to the infinite realms) instead of being gone till another ghost appears (Danny never returned to class), Phantom can be seen floating above one of the tallest buildings for hours observing the town quietly.

Ghosts are ageless, once they pass a small impassable mental barrier is created to separate them from their mortal age to protect their mind from the passage of time, now that more of hi instincts as ghost are no longer being blocked by his living half he is starting to see everyone around him as what they are: children (they will pass on eventually and he’ll be here to guide them gently through it).

Depending on if this is a no one knows au or if Tucker and Sam know it changes from here. If they don’t know: they notice Danny seems to quiet drastically from here, his eyes seem both duller and almost older, he seems to watch everyone almost like an old man would watch a child taking their first steps before snapping back to his normal self. If they do know well they go looking for him and when they find him he’s draped along a balcony of the tallest building in the town in his ghost form watching the town quietly, when they try to question why he didn’t come back and why they heard he was so violent with this ghost he answers vaguely and says something along the lines of “He tried to take whats mine”.

Basically my idea is that some random rude ghost claims they intend to steal his haunt and that breaks down the mental block his living side has created to keep him balanced, now his mind is flickering back and forth between the 14 year old boy who happens to be half dead and the practically immortal ghost who happens to be half alive and who practically reigns over the concept of protection. It also releases just how truly protective he is over his town and everyone connected to it.

Heck if you wanted to you could potentially extend this to dpxdc by making it so that since he practically reigns over the concept of protecting people that everyone who would fall under the titles of “hero, vigilante, or antihero” (basically anyone who does what he does for Amity) and focuses on saving people fall under his banner. A hero saves someone somehow despite being sure they shouldn’t have been able to run that fast or be that strong or stay standing after the damage they took? Danny subconsciously grants them that additional little help they needed to save that person. Maybe batman could notice that occasionally in extremely dire circumstances heroes at seemingly random are able to do things not in their limits that can’t be explained via adrenaline: maybe flash manages to hold up something he isn’t nearly strong enough to even lift an inch, maybe Batman manages to run at a speed just barely under super-speed but definitely over what he knows he’s capable of to save a child from being shot in the head, etc etc

[witchofthesouls]

Bayverse squandered their "Earth is Unicron" subplot and so many characters.

It would have been so perfect to delve into the really freaky and disturbing lore that humans created across the world...

And found out it was real.

Not just King Arthur and Merlin, but the faint remains of Atlantis, the echoes of mad laughter from a revelry in ancient forests, the fox messengers of Inari traveling everywhere, strange and terrible shapes twisting beneath the ocean waves or off the coast of the Diego Garcia base, ghost towns filled with decrepit homes and buildings with the odd sense between hope and despair as they wait, national statues or ancient sculptures that are actually once living people and beings but transformed into marble and rock and sleeping until they feel the brush of the Matrix or the Allspark, wide and empty stretches of road with no one else and GPS glitches along with time (minutes that go on forever, every so slowly, painfully) as they pass the same canyon formation or homemade sign over and over and over-

I live and love the Other aus too much to give them up, so-

Give me a Mikaela Banes who has become a Dragon herself with the blessings by a Primordial (the Great Shadow, Carnage Incarnate, Unmaker's Mirror) that devoured worlds and remade them as she's the one that offered herself as tribute upon their altar.

Give me a Sam Witwicky who has seen the universe in all of its terrible and wicked glory, beastly and divine in the transcendent music that the Allspark weaves in its own song in the grand orchestra -he has seen, he has heard, and he cannot help but remember snippets beneath the breeze that rustles the trees and the soft patter of rain upon his bedroom window and haunts all his dreams and every waking moment because, despite his vocal adamance, he can never return to normalcy.

Give me Judy Taylor that tries to outrun the monsters in her family's shadows and the ghosts that howl for vengeance and protection in her childhood home by eloping with a Ron Witwicky with a similar madness in his own bloodline.

Give me a William Lennox whose luck is too uncanny, too fortuitous, especially in hindsight, as he feels the very signs his own grandmother would foretell as she hangs trinkets in the branches and leaves sweets on the porch.

("Long ago, Man made peace with Magic.")

[aster-oid]

To the stranger I knew too well

Summary: When your recurrent dreams about a puppet become out of hand, a reality check feels like the only way to get back to normalcy. Fate proves you wrong.

Pairing: Wanderer & gn!reader (post Irminsul), the relationship is heavily implied to be platonic

Content warnings: Reader is gender neutral, mentions of blood and murders but I don't go into details, slight angst, Wanderer is bad with feelings, platonic content

Word count: 7.2k | Soulmate AU

Comments: A special thank to my beta @ladyfocalors for always brainrotting with me about Genshin characters. We'll platonify the Genshin soulmate AU one work at the time /lh

It took you years to understand that your frequent lucid dreams about an Inazuman electricity-wielder leader were actually the memories of your soulmate.

To your parents' defense, every normal individual would have dismissed the idea. While your soulmate wearing an extravagant hat wasn’t impossible, your tales about a place shrouded in darkness and an Electro-user without a Vision sounded like a child's fantasy. There was no such thing in Teyvat.

You quickly got the reputation of an imaginative kid. Adults liked to ask you about your dreams.

"What a smart child you are!", they cooed once you finished recalling your visions. "You could write a storybook!"

Your younger self would shoot them the dirtiest glare they could muster. Unfortunately, adding that the protagonist was a puppet made hundreds of years ago was not the convincing argument you thought it was. To the layperson, your visions were nonsensical dreams.

But you knew what you saw. It felt real. Terribly, shockingly real. Most often that not, you woke up from these flashes with the taste of iron in your mouth, static filling your sight, your muscles locked into place. You were trapped in your own unresponsive body. Even your breath was stuck in your throat. But the worst part of your awakenings was the sticky feeling on your hands. No matter how many times you scrubbed, it lingered on your skin. You didn't know what it was at that time, just that it made you feel gross and that it would sometimes reappear if you washed your hands hard enough.

You learnt what blood was before you knew how to spell the color red. 

When one is repeatedly told that they're wrong, they will come to believe it. You were no exception. As the years passed by, you pushed those fantasies in the back of your mind. The adults in your life must have been right. You were just a strange kid with gruesome dreams, that was all.

Despite knowing that they were figments of your vivid imagination, the sights of snow-covered plains and bloody massacres haunted you well into adulthood. They had grown more complex. Details you didn’t notice as a child seemed obvious now that you had more experience. You could also recall conversations better. That’s how you learnt the name of the body you inhabited. Well, it was more correct to say you learnt multiple names for them. Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche, the Balladeer... It was like you could never make up your mind.

The puppet you temporarily inhabited was as elusive as the wind: no fixed name to call them and no face to match. They fled mirrors when they saw one, preventing you from seeing their appearance. The only thing you knew about them was their title: number Sixth of the Fatui Harbinger. A seat that was left vacant for centuries according to every Fatuus you asked.

Your constant daydreaming was annoying but manageable until you started having visions about Kunikuzushi taking over Sumeru. You saw them getting experimented on to become one with a robot, wincing in pain at the hands of a masked doctor, rambling about their birth-given right to access godhood, taunting a blonde traveler; a chain of events that could only make sense in a dream. The problem was that your reverie was affecting your daily life. You couldn’t go through a day without getting assailed by memories that weren’t yours. You had to stop halfway through any task, discussing became hard and sleep rarely came to you.

There was little you could do as you didn’t know what had worsened your visions. You were hoping it would go away by itself.

That was until a particularly haunting dream. As usual, you were but a spectator seeing through the Balladeer’s eyes. You saw a hand -their hand- reach for a chess piece, leaning forward as much as they could. Your blood went cold. They were about to fall over the edge of the platform! Your gaze darted everywhere. There was nothing on the distant ground that would break their fall. For the first time in your life, you realized that they could die. Scaramouche, the one you had observed for decades, could die.

You were the only one to realize how far they were leaning. They only had eyes for the violet pawn in front of them, begging and begging with a shaky voice. It had never sounded so frail, so raw with hurt and panic.

"Please, anything but the Gnosis!" 

It’s not worth it! you tried to scream. Stop! You didn't know why this Gnosis was so important to them but it was nothing dying for. Alas, no matter how hard you tried to move your mouth, the body refused to answer to you. You were nothing but a witness of a tragic scene, a powerless ghost with a bleeding heart. Your throat was thick with emotions you were not allowed to express.

Your dream ended in a snap, quite literally. A tearing sound erupted from behind you before you were sent falling down, pain flaring in your back. You bit down a scream as the world turned to blurry shades of blue and fluttering black bangs. The increasing speed made your eyes water and your body burn. You clenched your teeth. The fall was inevitable. Maybe it made you a coward but you couldn't bear to see it. You didn’t want to see Kunikuzushi die. Muttering an apology to the stranger in your dreams, you squeezed your teary eyes shut. 

The last thing you heard was a wet crushing sound, a mix between eggshells broken under the palm of your hand and a fruit being squashed. Your body jolted in your bed and you gagged, fighting the urge to throw up. You had never felt this sick. Not even when you dreamt of unfair massacres.

You sank to the floor, furiously wiping away the tears beading in the corner of your eyes. You couldn't do it anymore. You had to confront your dreaming problem. There was only one solution: if your brain was so adamant on obsessing over an imaginary character, you had to show it the harsh reality, to remind yourself that Kabukimono never existed.

Your trip to Sumeru was the most spontaneous project you ever planned. You were strolling through the busy streets of Sumeru city the very next day with barely enough money to get back to your nation. You had packed the bare minimum in your suitcase to carry it easily, meaning you wouldn’t be able to stay for more than just a few days.

That was, if you found a room for the night. You had no time to check what the usual prices were in the capital before leaving. Now that you were scouring the streets with your meager funds, unable to find a hotel within your budget, you were bitterly regretting your lack of foresight. You sighed. You supposed that the saying was right. Slow and steady wins the race.

As if it had felt your determination dwindling, the crushing sound echoed in your mind in response. You bit your lip, bile rising in your throat. You hadn't been able to forget about your last dream. It looped in your head like a broken record. Even if impulsively leaving your country was one of your worst ideas ever, the quicker you settled your daydream problem the sooner you'd be back to your normal life. 

Your weary steps lead you to an indoor bazaar. The smell of fried food filled your nostrils, making your stomach growl. You winced. The small homemade sandwich you had earlier couldn't compete with the appeal of street food. Unfortunately you needed to save your funds for a room. You let your gaze wander in the crowded marketplace, trying to distract yourself from the appetizing smell. Colorful stalls were full of fresh fruits, potted flowers and intricate trinkets. If you stood on your toes, you could even see a small theater representation in the farthest part of the bazaar. It was a lively place that perfectly encapsulated Sumeru’s charm.

You were about to turn back when your eyes stopped on a blue silhouette near a candy stand. You didn't know how you missed them earlier. In the brown and green crowd, their traditional clothing and their ornamented Inazuman hat stuck out like a sore thumb. They were in deep discussion with the merchant. Turquoise fabric trailed behind them, floating in the wind.

Without a second thought, you cut through the crowd, never leaving the stranger from your sight. Your heart leaped in your chest when they left the small stall. 

"Hey, you with the hat! Stop!" you yelled. To your dismay, the Inazuman did not even slow down. They must have been too far to hear you. Breaking into a sprint, you called again. "Hat guy!" 

You breached the distance in a few seconds. Just as you were about to grab their shoulder, they turned around. A cold hand snatched your wrist, making you wince. When you looked at its owner, you were greeted with a deep scowl and narrowed indigo eyes. 

"Don't." The man’s low voice warned you, his tone full of unspoken threats. You swallowed uncomfortably as your confidence melted away. He managed to be intimidating in spite petite stature and youthful appearance.

As he glared daggers at you, you were hit by a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You pressed your lips together, studying his messy black mullet and his glowing Anemo Vision. The word popped up in your head. Familiar. The stranger felt familiar.

Wiping the feeling of déjà-vu from your mind, you retreated your hand. "Sorry, I was just trying to get your attention." 

"Well, now you have it," he huffed. Annoyance was written on his face. He crossed his arms. "What do you want?" 

A good question, but not one you had an answer to. Running after the man was a spur of the moment decision.

Self-awareness striked you like a thunderbolt. Why were you even doing this? Your goal was to cure your daydreaming, not to throw yourself headfirst into the rabbit hole nor to annoy a stranger with the tales of an imaginary character.

He clicked his tongue. "Hurry. I don't have all day." 

You huffed. It was true that you were taking too much time to gather your thoughts but he didn’t have to be rude about it. 

"I'm looking for someone,” you said tentatively. It was the closest you could get from the truth without annoying him. Considering his foul mood, the stranger would have walked away if you told him you were looking for the lack of existence of Kunikuzushi, the Sixth Harbinger, the person who tried to become an Archon, someone that only existed in your mind.

The man didn't answer, encouraging you to continue with a movement on the head. His black bangs flew in the light breeze. Now that you had a clearer view of his face, the man seemed more bored than irritated. He wanted the conversation to be over with but he still had the patience to hear you out. This realization gave you the courage you needed to talk again. 

"Their clothes are quite similar to yours, but they're red and black. They also have a hat. A huge one." You opened your arms in emphasis.

He scrunched his brows together, looking at you like you were an idiot. "Right. Because the length of their hat is the most important detail you could give me," he deadpanned. 

You fight the urge to sigh. "I wasn't done. I don't know much about them, but they're linked to the Fatui." The stranger's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was back to glaring at you, his face closed. Unsettled by this sudden tension, you quickly added. "Probably. I'm still not sure about that." There was no Sixth Fatui Harbinger, after all. Your brain had made it up. 

"Of course." His voice was drier than earlier. What little interest he had in your discussion had melted at the mention of the Fatui. You scrunched your brows. You swore you could read another emotion than ire in his eyes, even if you didn’t know what. "Anything else I should know about that... Friend of yours?"

You racked your brain for more details. There was a lot to say about the person in your dream. Their lack of heart, their coup attempt in Sumeru, their bloody killings, the experimentations they underwent... Nothing you could talk about in public without looking crazy, in sum. The only thing you could still mention was... 

"Their name is Scaramouche."

The man went rigid. "What did you say?" he gawked, his eyes wide with shock.

"Scaramouche. I think that's their name?" Truthfully, they were given so many names that it probably wasn't their real one. But it was the one that came up most in your dreams. 

As if it caught onto the tense atmosphere, the wind abruptly stopped blowing. You barely noticed it, focused on the horror shining in the man's eyes. He couldn't believe what you had just said. His piercing eyes analyzed every inch of you with a newfound distrust. 

“Nobody should be able to-” He interrupted himself with a gasp. Recognition flashed across his face. "Wait. You...!"

His face went from surprise to disgust in the blink of an eye. You had barely the time to react before he pulled his hat down over his head, his scowl peeking from behind the rim.

"Of course fate would string something like this..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Has it ever made anything easy for me?"

You watched as crossed his arms, lifting his head to glare at you as if you had purposely wronged him. You tried to appease him by apologizing. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Despite your question, you knew you had done nothing worth this cold attitude. You didn’t know why he was overreacting, why he was looking at you like dirt under his soles.  It’s as if he was personally offended by your description of the Balladeer. You blinked as pieces fell into place. An Inazuman with a strange hat and dark hair, just like the one you were looking for. Could it be…?

"Is that you? Are you Scaram—" 

The man turned around before you could finish your sentence, the blue fabric tied to his hat smacking you in the face. You yelped in pain.

"Don’t use this name." You couldn't see what kind of expression he was making but his flat tone told you enough.

You were standing in front of the protagonist of your dreams.

Reality shattered around you. There were only two reasons for your dreams to be visions of the past. You either were a seer —which was unlikely considering you had no elemental affinity— or you were using your soulmate link. Realization sank in. You had a soulmate. Everything finally clicked together: why you had Scaramouche's memories, why he recognized you, why you never stopped having those dreams… It was because the universe had deemed you a perfect fit.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. You were not an anomaly without a soulmate, like you were led to believe. You just didn't pay attention to the signs.

"Wait a minute," you gasped. No matter how happy you were about your discovery, it came a lot of terrible implications. "Does it mean that everything is real? The Fatui, the taking over Sumeru part, everything ?" 

Kunikuzushi immediately clammed up. Not even bothering to look at you, he said without a trace of emotion. "This conversation is over."

Strong wind currents flared all around you with him acting as the epicenter of the small storm he invoked. You stared at him with wide eyes. He was getting away! 

"Please!"

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged hard, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The man gave you the dirtiest glare from above his shoulder as the miniature hurricane intensified. But you didn't let him go. You sank your nails deeper into his arm.

"Listen to me!” you said through gritted teeth. “I'm not gonna pretend I know everything about you because that's not true. I only know glimpses of you. Parts of your past that don't make any sense." 

You closed your eyes as the memories flooded your mind. The Gnosis, the laboratory, the crushing sound as he fell down... You didn't understand what those events meant to him. What kind of story they told. It was like you were in front of an incomplete puzzle where all edge pieces went missing. It was impossible to get the big picture no matter how many combinations you tried.

That didn’t mean the little bits of memories you had taught you nothing about him.

"You were hurt. That much is certain."

Your words only rekindled the fire of his ire. He bared his teeth at you. “Huh?! Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” He stabbed your chest with his finger, forcing you to take a step back. “Seeing glimpses of my past doesn’t give you the right to assume things about me, you worm.”

"But it’s not an assumption. You lived a very long and lonely life. A bloody one too.” You briefly wondered if contrary to you, he had grown accustomed to seeing his hands covered in crimson. You let out a shaky exhale. “But you cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago."

You had the experience to back yourself up. You still weren't sure what the Fatui thing was all about but if you could barely believe it after seeing his memories firsthand, no one else could.

"See, you’re just assuming things again out of pity," Scaramouche snapped. He tore himself from your grasp, sneering. "Guess what? I don't need you to feel sorry about me."

You shook your head. "I wasn't about to."

You were never going to forget the feeling of blood on your hands, the crackling of electricity as you saw someone charred alive, the coolness of a cadaver against your skin. You couldn't bring yourself to feel sorry for this man. It wasn't what someone like him sought. 

Pity was for those forced to live under the ruling of unfairness, not able to object to its cruel laws. Forgiveness was for those that were mothered by this tyrant and dedicated their life to preach its teachings. For now, the Balladeer deserved none of them.

When you opened your eyes, Scaramouche had tipped his hat down, obscuring his expression. His grip on his crossed arms was so tight you thought he was going to break his fingers. 

"You don't understand. You can't understand."

His voice was lower than earlier, almost like a growl. 

It wasn't enough to scare you.

"You're right," you admitted. "I cannot understand you. But I really want to." 

Maybe it was because you knew him on a deeper level than a stranger, but something had changed. You were starting to notice it. The hurt he masked behind a veil of fury. Until his words, you thought he was just an eternally angry man, bitter at the world and at his fate. Now, you wondered if he was just someone who lived through too much. Someone who was ready to beg and kill himself for a glimpse of a better future.

He snorted, disbelief written across his face. “A human like you, understanding someone like me? Don’t make me laugh.” He leaned towards you. You fought the urge to take a step back, withholding his stare with all of the courage you could summon. His mouth contorted into a twisted smile. “You’ve seen what I am capable of. Not only are you fundamentally unable to relate to a fraction of my existence, you’re also unable to withstand it. Understanding me will only bring you trouble.”

“You already do.” Scaramouche didn't utter a word, turning his back to you. You didn't let it get to you, instead squeezing your hand against your chest. "I spent my life stuck with visions I couldn't control. Seeing your memories at random moments robbed me from precious moments with the people I love. From enjoying a normal life, one where I don’t have to fear falling asleep."

Your hands were shaking. Whether from anger or sorrow, you didn’t know. Scaramouche was the one assuming things. You may only be a human, one similar to thousands that have come before you, but you knew how it felt to be misunderstood. How it felt not to belong. Nobody had believed you for decades, nor understood why you were so uncomfortable when it came to sleeping. Even your friends couldn’t wrap their heads about your constant worry of getting lost in the daydreaming. You might as well have been from a different species.

You took a deep exhale. Your anger faded away as quickly as it came. "I feel close to you, no matter how strange it sounds. You've always been a small part of me.” Determination seeped through your tone. “So I won't be able to move on as long as I don't know what's going on with my soulmate."

Soulmate. The word rolled strangely on your tongue. It was the first time you were saying it out loud.

Scaramouche gagged at your word choice. "I'm not looking for a lover." Disgust laced his voice. Seems like you were not the only one who felt weird about the whole situation. 

You shook his concern with a wave of the hand. "Me neither. I'm looking for an explanation. A timeline in a chronological order, if possible." 

Your attempt at a joke fell flat as silence fell between the two of us. Your face shifted into a frown. Had you been too insistent? 

"It's alright if you find the situation strange," you said, trying to save the conversation. "I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that you saw glimpses of my life. This is quite embarrassing...."

You didn't have the most exciting life but there were private moments you wanted nobody to see. Especially not your soulmate. 

He shot you an uninterested look, examining the dirt beneath his nails. "I could not care less about your mundane life."

You blinked. You didn't expect him to get interested in your life as much as you were in his, but was that supposed to be comforting? Unsure how to respond, your face contorted into a polite smile.

None of you said a word after that. You didn't dare move either. Weariness taking over you, you watched as the back of his hair fluttered in the breeze, joining the hypnotizing dance of the blue ribbons. The sound of animated conversations and the ringing of distant bells filled the otherwise tense silence.

You were about to leave when Scaramouche let out the heaviest sigh known to mankind. He finally turned to you, uttering a single word. 

"Wanderer."

Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "Come again?" 

He rolled his eyes but repeated it anyway. "Wanderer. That’s my name. Not Scaramouche or whatever name you heard in my memories." 

You felt your entire face lit up. You could recognize an olive branch when you saw one. "I won't call you anything else, I promise!"

He sighed at your sudden excitement, shaking his head. You were starting to recognize when he was truly irritated and when he was acting annoyed by habit. This time, the look in his eyes didn't match his bored pout. It was not soft by any means, but he did not glare daggers at you anymore.

"I still don’t think someone like you can handle the tale of centuries of existence.” He clicked his tongue. “That being said, I suppose it would be entertaining to see you try. Come to the entrance of Sumeru city in two hours."

Your eyes widened. You thought that you wouldn’t get more than his name, and now he gave you the opportunity to explain his life ? You had half the mind to pinch yourself awake.

"Don't be late Wanderer!" 

He scoffed, readjusting the position of his ginormous hat. “If I were, you'd scream my name in the streets of Sumeru until you get ahold of me. No thanks."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Oh, really?" A smug smirk took place on his lips. He cleared his throat before taking a high-pitched voice. " 'Hey, you with the hat, stop right there ! I really want to talk to you! Stop, I say !' "

You gasped in shock. "So you actually heard me! Do you not stop when someone calls you?"

"I do. I just don't typically talk to pipsqueaks."

His grin deepened at seeing your offended expression. He even let out a short laugh. You playfully punched the cheeky bastard on the shoulder, not putting much force in the blow. 

Wanderer didn't budge. He instead grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from him. His eyebrows were pinched together in irritation. "Don’t think you can punch me and get out unscathed, kid."

Despite his words, his grasp on you was light, as if he was careful not to hurt you. It was easy to slip from his hold. He was entertaining you, you realized. Considering how harsh he had been when you first had tried to touch him, a light scold was nothing. 

Mimicking a fighting stance, you started shifting your weight from left to right.

"You're the one who's gonna bite the dust! I can knock out someone with a single blow!" You punched the air to demonstrate, a smile blooming on your face. "I can take anyone in a fight!" 

Wanderer pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated by your playful attitude. "Celestia above, not another Childe..."

You pouted at his words. "Are you calling me a child again? I'll let you know that I'm a fully-fledged adult!" You may not be as old as the immortal puppet but you were no kid by human standards. You were only teasing Wanderer because you needed something light after your heavy talk. He couldn’t base his whole perception of you on a speech stemming from your sleep-deprived self…

He clicked his tongue in his mouth before looking at you directly in the eyes. "You talk big for someone I've seen fall in the stairs several times."

Horror washed over you. Every little embarrassing moment you lived flooded your mind. The fact that Wanderer had seen some of them sent warmth pooling in your cheeks. 

"You said you didn't care about my life!" you said, absolutely mortified. 

"It doesn't mean watching you was not mildly entertaining. Why would I focus on boring Fatui politics talk when I could be the witness to the mess of your teenage years?” Your expression was decomposing by the second, to his delight. "I especially liked it when—"

You cut him off with a nervous laugh. "Alright, alright, I get it. Aren't you busy?" 

His gaze fell into a small pouch at his sides. "I do, actually. Buer must be looking for me."

"Buer? Who's that?" You didn't remember hearing this name in his memories.

"The Dendro Archon," he said like it was the most obvious thing on Teyvat. 

"...Right. Of course.”

Maybe you were a bit too optimistic about his ability to open up to you.

Wanderer couldn't believe himself. Three betrayals should have been enough to teach him that closeness only brought pain. Whether because of misunderstandings, lies or the unpredictable and unescapable scythe of Death, the ending was always the same: he was fated to end up hurt. Alone. Cursing himself for loving too much.

He snorted. He knew all of that and yet here he was, wrapping his job up before his meeting with you. How pathetic.

Part of him was not surprised about this new twist of events. Fate liked to throw him in the most ironic situations. He was currently going on errands for Buer, the same Archon he had tried to supplant her months ago and who took him prisoner. Randomly meeting his soulmate in the middle of the streets was not the most unexpected thing to have happened to him. Far from it. At that point, he was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier.

When Wanderer entered the sanctuary of Surasthana, the Archon was sitting on her swing, humming to herself. The melancholic tune didn’t sound familiar but the lyrics in old Sumerian sang the tale of a love long gone. If he rolled his eyes at the song choice, he was polite enough to wait until the end of the song before clearing his throat.

Buer perked up, finally noticing him. She jumped from the swing and greeted him with a small wave.

"Hat guy!" He cocked an eyebrow at the oh so creative sobriquet, making her giggle. "I’m glad to see you. I was starting to think that you had forgotten about me."

"As if my memory would get faulty. I was held up by someone." Holding his hat to pin it into place, he sat on the lush grass. Reunions with Buer always took a while. He might as well make himself comfortable. 

Familiar curious green eyes landed on him. "Was it a friend from the Akademiya?"

He rolled his eyes. "I had never seen them before."

He had expected this flow of questions. Buer was very invested in his relationships with other people– well, rather his lack of. She had made him participate in social events like the Interdarshan championship to socialize. She even enrolled him in the Akademiya. Her argument was that it would help him understand humanity better, as well as himself. 

The results were arguably mixed. Wanderer admittedly tolerated people a bit better than before. They were predictable creatures but they could be entertaining. Sometimes. On the other hand, he had not grown close to anyone since he started attending classes. Sure, some students followed him around, gushing about the mysterious “hat guy” and throwing a birthday party for him, but he would not call them friends. They were classmates at most. It was for the best: it didn’t matter if Buer claimed he was progressing regarding socialization, talking to him was an experience he wished on no one.

She didn’t seem to agree with him. Excitement and pride shone in her eyes. "Every stranger is a friend in potentiality. That is what makes new meetings so exciting: you might be talking to your new favorite person in Teyvat," she beamed, taking place near him. 

"If you say so." 

Friendship was a human concept. Something he could neither fully understand or get. Melodramatic speeches and lengthy explanations meant nothing to him. That is why Wanderer didn’t try to counter her argument. There was no point in talking about something he knew nothing about.

What he did know was that Buer was wrong. You were no stranger to him.

His gaze fell to his hands. The first time he had seen your memories, Scaramouche had thought he was defective. He had never been able to dream until then. His creator didn’t see the interest in allowing him to do so. The only reason he knew what dreams were was because Niwa liked to recount his when they worked together in the forge. 

One second he was lying down in the laboratory of the Fatui, the other he was in a small bed. Piles of toys were scattered around him, decorating what seemed to be a child’s bedroom. Why on Teyvat was he here? Scaramouche tried to move his arm but it did not move an inch. He cursed under his breath. For some reason, his body refused to listen to him. If it was Il Dottore’s scheme, the man was dead.

Without a warning, his head turned. He was greeted by the reflection of a small child in the mirror of the wardrobe. You.

His mind had been pure madness when he had come back to his senses. He had the time to zap five machines before the Doctor arrived, complaining that his research was being destroyed. The Tsaritsa, the stars, fate itself... He had cursed everything he could think of for giving him a soulmate. There was no other reason behind his sudden ability to “dream”. Fate had decided to intertwine your destinies together. The thought only made him more angry.

He couldn't be mad at the child you were, though. You were barely five. No matter how much of an unfeeling person he was, Scaramouche was not about to hold the situation against someone as young as you. A small part of him, one he had tried to bury for centuries, had even ached to hold your chubby hands in his when he had seen you reach for your reflection.

With the impossibility of breaking a soulmate bond, the Fatui Harbinger had been forced to watch you as you grew. He learnt about your favorite color, the school subject you liked best, the names of your childhood friends, the color of your bedroom, all the details of your ordinary life. He was a spectator to mundane moments, to victories and horrific failures alike.

You had transformed from a kid with shining eyes to a determined adult before his eyes.

If Buer was right and that all friends started as strangers, it meant that you would never be able to grow close to him. You already knew him.

Wanderer plucked a few strands of grass, watching how they fell to the ground. No, hoping for you two to be friends was wishful thinking. You had seen the atrocities he had done as a Fatui Harbinger. Once he filled the gap in your knowledge, you would not want anything to do with him. His erasure from existence didn’t excuse the actions of his past life.

He would not blame you. He deserved your hate. At the end of the day you were another name on the endless list of his victims. Because of your soulmate link, you had lived your entire life plagued by visions you didn't understand, othered because of things out of your control. You were the proof that Wanderer brought suffering just by existing. That he wasn't a fundamentally good person, like the one Buer and Traveler insisted he was. You had every right to loathe him.

That was why he accepted your offer. If he explained everything to you, if he confirmed that every "dream" of yours was true, you would move on. You would forgive Fate for giving you such an unloving person as a soulmate. Maybe you would even want to settle down with someone else... At the end of the day, you'd be free from the chain of destiny. So would he.

The world would let him do a good thing, for a change. 

"While it's true that talking it out will appease both of your minds, you shouldn't only see them as a way to atone for the sins of your past life," Buer intervened. 

Wanderer gave her an unimpressed look, throwing away the rest of the grass strands. "One day, you will have to answer for all of those breaches of privacy before the General Mahamatra."

"Talking about your thoughts with someone else can help you sort them out and gain new insight. I felt like you could benefit from it."

Her growing smile told him that she didn't feel sorry for reading his mind without his consent. He huffed. She was lucky he had grown accustomed to this habit of hers.

She hummed as she stepped in front of him. "Agreeing to a meeting to ease your guilty conscience is not a bad thing in itself. The problem is that you’re assuming that they can only hate you."

“What other reaction could they have?” The answer appeared in his mind before he finished his sentence. “Pity?” Pronouncing the word made his insides hurl. Wanderer would rather feel your wrath than your pity. The former didn’t feel as disgusting as the other;

Buer shook her head. “That’s not it either. It’s alright if you don’t yet understand Wanderer, you will see in due time.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He preferred it when she used complex metaphors. At least he had the opportunity to understand what was going on in her mind, contrary to when she used vague words of wisdom like a drowsy prophet.

"If I can give you one more piece of advice, you should give this relationship a chance." Seeing his scowl of disgust, she explained herself. "I'm not telling you to pursue a romance with them. Just don't assume that tonight is the only time you meet. Keep your mind and your heart open."

Despite her smile, she had a serious look in her eyes. It was the face of wisdom in all of its assured glory. Wanderer closed his eyes. It was easy for him to forget she was not a young child, like the one he took care of all those centuries ago. 

"There is a reason why they're your soulmate," Buer said. "Don't you want to discover why?" 

"Someone like them has nothing in common with me." 

Your memories told the tale of a simple life. In an ideal world, a normal person like you wouldn't have been paired up with him. How it happened in this one was a mystery. If he was inclined to pity others, Wanderer would feel bad for you. Being his soulmate only brought you experiences that you couldn’t talk about to anyone.

“You cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago.” Their hands shook as they lifted their head to meet his gaze. He stilled. He had expected to read loneliness and fire in their eyes. He only found the glow of loneliness. It was the same he had seen in your reflection all those years ago.

Wanderer hid his face behind his hand. He supposed he was wrong. He could see a few ressemblances between you and him. That didn’t necessarily mean you would become friends.

"Don't expect too much from this meeting. I only plan on retelling my story, not on learning more about them."

Gentle hands covered his, pulling them away from his face before lightly squeezing them.

“You don’t need to. You already know them better than anyone else.” Buer's voice was as soft as her expression.

He opened his mouth but no snarky counter-argument came to his mind. From what little insight Wanderer had gained on friendship over the course of his life, sharing experiences with a potential friend wasn’t enough. You also had to learn about the other person's personality, their taste, the little things they did… Such a process was too much work for a relationship that would eventually decay. But the man already knew you, more intimately than any person ever would.

If to be friends was to learn about someone, he had become yours a long time ago.

Wanderer fought the urge to shield his face behind his hat. It would be as good as admitting to Buer her words had struck a chord. No way he would embarrass himself like that.

“You're not going to give up, are you?" he sighed.

“While I do hope you will form a bond with them, I will not hold it against you if it doesn’t happen.” She took some time to think, trying to come up with a convincing imagery. “Fate is a tricky concept. It steers you in a specific direction but it cannot force you to follow it. No matter what, you can always make your own way.”

He let the words sink in as he laid down on the cool grass. From the Sanctuary, he could hear the entire city’s hustle and bustle. The sound of the streets mixed with the chirping of the birds and the rustle of the wind through the branches.

He felt Buer sitting next to him. Her voice interrupted his quiet reverie, sounding cheekier than usual.

"Don't I deserve something in return for my good advice?"

Her eyes were focused on the small pouch hanging at his side.  He had forgotten about it, their conversation had distracted him. Wanderer shook his head in defeat. The Archon didn’t need to use her mind-reading powers to know about the actions of her subjects. 

“If you want to be paid for giving lectures, you should think about becoming a teacher at the Akademiya.”

“I would deprive someone from the joy of educating young minds.”

His lips curled into a grin. “Right. Poor them.”

Feeling her gaze on him, he relented. He unclipped the package from his belt and gave it to her, not bothering to sit back up. Buer tried to open it carefully. It was so full that in spite of her efforts, morsels of candied Ajilenakh nuts spilled on the ground.

Wanderer frowned at the sight of the mess. Something churned inside him. If he had known it would be wasted, he wouldn’t have bought so much food.

“Be more careful,” he chastised her. “It’s expensive.”

Buer shot him a perplexed look. He scoffed in response, averting his gaze. 

"I didn't buy them. The merchant gave free samples to bystanders and he couldn't take no for an answer."

Another white lie from him. He had noticed that Buer didn't have much candy left and since he had to go to the Bazaar anyway, he had decided to buy some. He watched as she inspected a piece of candy, rolling it between her fingers. He didn't get why she was head over heels for those disgustingly sweet nuts but he had to keep her in good spirits. Otherwise, she might decide to lock him back in his cell. That and seeing her smile so much sent warmth running in his chest. 

Her eyes crinkled, amused. "A free sample? How nice," she said, popping one of the delicacies in her mouth. He supposed there was no fooling the Archon of Knowledge. She pointed at him. "Your friend hasn't had the opportunity to try food from Sumeru, have they? You could bring them to Lambad’s and keep some of the Ajilenakh nuts to snack on."

“We have other things to do than distract ourselves with culinary tourism.”

“It’s not a distraction! See it as a bonding experience that will allow you to grow closer.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed. “As if I needed something like this to become their friend.”

He stopped after his own sentence. He blinked, not believing what he had just said.

Wanderer didn't know how he ended up in this situation. Truly. He was never one to let Fate decide for him. He defied it at each opportunity, fighting with all he had. This shouldn't have been any different. He was a traveler, an outcast, an outsider. He had no use for a soulmate– a lover. Especially not a human one, one that would be gone in a blink of his immortal life. 

He had no use for a lover, but he supposed that if he had to befriend a single person in the world, it may as well be you.

If you liked this work, please reblog and leave a comment or an ask!

[p-taryn-dactyl]

way down we go: the aftermath (i)

a/n: hi!! I love this AU and im so happy that y'all liked it!! i know i said that there wouldn't really be a long fic continuation but i think this AU has some real potential and so im back lmao, it's been a while

word count: 1.9k

warning(s): agatha is a serial killer - psychological manipulation (kind of) - 👀 🌶️ - i have no real clue how police and stuff works this is so fiction - rushed ending im sorry - this might be bad but hey! i wrote something (oh and, first time writing anything remotely spicy on this blog so please be kind)

pairing(s): serial killer!Agatha Harkness x forensic scientist!reader

way down we go & way down we go ii

The trial came and went, a passing memory in your mind, pushed away so you wouldn't see her eyes boring into your dreams. 

It didn't work. 

Every night since you sat as a witness against Agatha, blue eyes followed you to sleep, haunting you with their coldness. Every night you woke up in a cold sweat, a phantom knife held to your throat. 

This night wasn't different as you shot out of bed with a gasp, a sheen of sweat covering your skin. Checking the time, you allowed yourself a bit of gratitude at the amount of sleep you got this night. 

Deciding to get into work early to examine bone samples of a cold case that you had reopened, you stretched and walked to your bathroom to get ready. It was a numbing experience, Agatha's humming no longer filling the air to sooth your mind. Soon, you found yourself in your car on the road. As you pulled into the parking garage of the building, a feeling akin to dread pooled in your stomach. Never before did the cold, dark atmosphere of the garage haunt you, follow you, as it did right then. You parked, in your regular spot, a sense of normalcy that did little to calm your nerves. 

Agatha had claimed insanity, a response to the abuse and PTSD given to her by her own mother, a claim that had kept her off of death row. You would never admit to anyone that you were relieved, relieved that the woman you loved for so long wouldn’t meet her end in a dark room strapped to an inhumane device. However, unless you made the decision to visit, Agatha would spend the rest of her days in a federal prison. 

When you got out of your car, you had the feeling of being watched, a feeling you knew all too well. But when you looked around, no one was there. However, a fluttering noise caught your attention, drawing you to the concrete pillar next to your spot. A piece of paper, duck taped, fluttered in the small gusts of wind. You tore it off, opening the folded paper and promptly dropping it onto the ground below. 

You knew that handwriting. 

Before the note could be taken away with the wind, you crouched on the ground, picking up the paper and leaning against the pillar as you read. 

You won’t find anything with the bones, they’re old and dry: useless. Go back to where they were found, let’s see what you discover there. See you soon, my darling. 

~ A

It felt like years could pass and you were stuck in place. Millions of questions ran through your mind as your hands gripped the letter in a vice like grip. 

How did she know what you were doing?

How did she know about the bones?

How did she send this letter?

How, how, how?

No answers entered your mind, you could think of no way, no reason, that Agatha could’ve accomplished this. But curiosity prevailed and you stood up, making your way back into the driver's seat. 

This cold case has been the bane of your existence for far too long. Only bits of bones were found, a shallow grave that was old when discovered. No one had ever found the skull, let alone enough for a full skeleton. It was like the second the bones were discovered the case ran cold. Even if it was your wi- even if it was Agatha bringing to light new possible discoveries, you would take it. Solving this case could get you back on your feet, as you had been hiding in your lab in the months of Agatha’s trial. You entered the address of the crime scene, a long abandoned park and walking path thirty minutes away, into your GPS and drove away. 

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

The air was almost still with anticipation as you walked the path. The bits of bones had been found only a few hundred feet away and you felt a pull towards the spot. But as you got closer, you saw a stick standing straight up in the ground, marking the exact location of the shallow grave. On it was another piece of paper, with words that sent you falling to your knees, digging in the soft dirt with your hands, 

Here lies Evanora Harkness, first to die, the one with no regret. 

Dirt clung to your nails, roots stung against your skin as you clawed the ground away, making it past the spot where the initial grave ended. But as you kept going, you came across smaller bones. A body of a long decomposed rabbit lay in front of you, something to throw search dogs off their scent. You kept digging. You dug until your arms burnt with the strain, until your arms were covered in a thin layer of the earth. You dug until you found it. 

The skull. 

Its position in the ground told you how the body had been buried. Methodically, of course, but as if Evanora was standing up in the ground, arms stretched to the sky. The finger bones were what you had collected years previous. 

As you held the skull in your hands, you felt an indent on the jaw. A cut from her throat, sloppy with the hands of someone first committing murder. This really was Agatha’s first victim. But why had she led you here, how did she lead you here? One more body equaled another life sentence, no chance of ever seeing daylight again. 

Your phone started ringing, the horrible service on the walking path letting a stray call through. You answered, but Darcy’s voice barely made it over the static. 

“Turn on the news!” Was all you could hear before the call fell through. 

The panic in your colleagues and friend’s voice made you stand with haste, putting the skull back into the ground and frantically pushing the dirt back into the hole. You grabbed the stick, breaking it and throwing it off the trail as you crumbled up the note, stuffing it in your back pocket. 

There was a gas station almost right outside the park. You rushed in, your mind going a thousand miles per hour. Why would Darcy want you to turn on the news? You had your answer almost the second you crossed the threshold. A group of people stood in front of the cashier, who had a small TV hanging above their head. The news was playing, a somber looking reporter standing in front of a landscape covered with tape and police cars. 

“Earlier this week, a mass confusion occurred outside Salem Penitentiary. Law enforcement said that, at the time, they didn’t know how bad the damage was. But now, as reports flood in, they have no choice but to release what really happened. A prison break. Some two hundred…” 

Her voice trailed off in your mind, muffled by your shock. 

The notes, the feeling of being watched, the cold case. 

Agatha had escaped. 

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

The drive back home was loud. You blasted music, yelled at others on the road, honked at people to get out of your way. When you pulled into your driveway, it was like a wave of deja vu crashed over you. The car went silent as you turned it off, your eyes never leaving the shadow in the window. Slowly, you got out of the car, your heart practically beating out of your chest. You opened the front door, the silent aura of your home expectant as you walked further into your house. In the living room, it was like history repeating itself. Except this time, your wife held no wine and had no knife. She wore clothes from the closet you couldn’t bear to clean out, looked like she had recently taken a shower - something you were suddenly very aware you needed, but her eyes stayed the same. Cold and blue, boring into you. You steeled yourself, not letting your eyes fall from hers as you approached her. Agatha just watched until you were a foot in front of her, she uncrossed her legs and spread her arms out like she wanted a hug. You hated how fast you folded, rushing to straddle her lap and wrap your arms around her. Burying your face into her neck, you felt tears build up in your eyes. For a moment, you would let yourself pretend. Pretend that your wife wasn’t a serial killer, pretend that she hadn’t been in prison for months, pretend that it was all a bad dream and she was consoling you. 

“Oh how I missed you, darling,” her voice sent chills down your spine. It held overwhelming affection, but she spoke as if detached. It was then you realized the last time she had seen you was when you sat the witness stand, giving the evidence to put her away for lifetimes. You leaned back, letting your arms rest on her shoulders as you stared at her. Her eyes examined you, running over the bags under your eyes, the dirt layering the skin on your arms. Seeing the concern in her eyes made something in your mind crumble. 

Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, right? And honestly, her victims had no one to miss them so-

You internally shook your head at yourself. No, you couldn’t think like that, you couldn’t-

Your train of thought was interrupted by Agatha’s hands cupping your face. You brought up your hands to cover hers, tears now streaming down your face. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you choked out, noticing how something in Agatha’s eyes softened at your words, “I thought I was doing the right thing, I didn’t want-”

She cut you off with a light kiss, which deepened as her grip on your face grew tighter. Soon, your lips were crashing against hers with a ferocity you had missed. Craved. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around you as she stood. Never once breaking the kiss. She brought you to the spot you stood all those months ago, pressing you against the wall as she kissed down your neck, sucking lightly at your collarbone. 

“Agatha-”

“Did you miss me?” She cut you off with a bite to your shoulder, pushing your sleeve down your arm with strength that almost tore the seams. You let out a breathy gasp, surprised. 

“I,” you swallowed, about to admit something out loud that you had only thought for months, “I did, I do, I miss you so much.” The tears came back, flooding your eyes and choking your words. Agatha looked up, slowly letting you down so you could stand as she put one arm by your head. 

“I’m right here, I don’t plan on leaving you alone for a long time.” 

The smile she gave you was shark like, all teeth. You were her prey and you fell right into her trap. Her free hand trailed down your body, coming to pause over the buttons on your pants. She circled the metal, tapping it as she spoke. 

“Now, after our last conversation, I don’t think you believe me when I say I missed you,” some part of you shuddered with guilt, she was right, you didn’t believe her fully, “And I can’t have that. Why don’t I show you how much I missed you?” 

You gasped as she unbuttoned your pants, trailing her fingers down to the place that had been abandoned since Agatha went behind bars. She crashed her lips into yours again, licking the seam of your lips, begging to be let in. You parted your lips, allowing your wife to consume you. As her fingers pushed your underwear to the side, you wrapped your arms around Agatha’s neck tighter, raising one leg to hook around her hip. 

Oh this was a bad idea.

a/n: hehe, hopfully this was ok?? my writing slump has been EVIL and im just now crawling out of it

[bronze-and-silver-keys]

i was telling my sister about the ghost au and she said "i think it would be cool if everyone alive can see the ghosts of the people who were executed because they're the ones who voted for them and sent them to their deaths" and i think you mightve said at one point that the "killer" is a more literal thing but. thoughts on that

I actually had the loopholes of the ghost au on my mind since this post and there are definitely cool things I can do with it, SO I will be answering a lot of the questions brought up by that previous post because I think it would be sick as fuck and add to the uneasy atmosphere of the killing games themselves

Spoilers for THH, SDR2, and NDRV3 below

Can Makoto see Chihiro? (In one of the FTEs he reccomends training with Mondo)

I would imagine Makoto is kind of haunted by all of the people that died in the killing game, including Junko, both figuratively and literally. He'll catch glimpses of their ghostly forms out of the corner of his eye, in the bathroom mirror, in the shadows.

I want to see this boy driven insane by the constant reminder of all the people he couldn't help or felt so responsible for dying. I want more of that scene in DR3 where Makoto volunteers to watch the killing game video and sees everyone that died.

I love Makoto, but I love subjecting him to endless despair even more.

Can Aoi see Sakura?

Can Hiro/Syo see Sakura (because they think they killed her)

Similar to Makoto, Aoi sees Sakura everywhere as a ghostly figure that's not completely there. She'll see her at the end of a hall, turning a corner, and shout her name and bolt after her, only to find it empty as she breaks down from the guilt of not being able to stop her and essentially handing Sakura her own death.

For Hiro it'd be similar, because he believes in ghosts (as shown by his insistence in the 5th trial that Kyoko was a ghost), but he'd be more jumpy.

Genocider Syo wouldn't be as prone to seeing her ghost, but Toko would be the same as Hiro. Seeing her everywhere and being terrified to sleep at night.

Can Nagito see Twogami?

During the first investigation and trial, I think he would be able to see Twogami's silhouette when it hangs around Teruteru and passes silent judgment. I like to think he'd at least feel some guilt over it. Yes, he set this all up to start the killing game, but Twogami did this to protect him. He gave his life for him. How could that person who pulled you back from the fate you created with your own hands, only to fall victim to it himself, just fade away entirely?

After Teruteru’s execution, the sightings of Twogami became less frequent, until they disappeared altogether. Until he died, of course.

Can Sonia see Hiyokos ghost because she told her to go to the music venue to tie her kimono?

The guilt of that would definitely chase her, and only build more after Gundham's death (the betrayal and the thought that she could've stopped him [she couldn't. His fate was inevitable]) and the fifth trial (she knew the bombs were fake, and this piece of information eventually helped condemn Chiaki to her fate).

I would argue she felt partially responsible for Mahiru and Peko's deaths as well. It was her enthusiasm over Sparkling Justice that gave Peko the idea of her cover to be voted as the blackened, and just inspired a large part of the murder overall.

She loves to talk about her interests, but refrains from speaking about them, just in case someone used that information for a murder. She would see Hiyoko in mirrors constantly. Every interaction she had with the Devas hurt more than the last. Nagito and Chiaki are always just out of view.

I never thought about how haunted Sonia would be by just trying to help keep everyone safe, and have some kind of normalcy by making friends and talking about her interests. Huh.

Can Maki see Ryoma (<- Because they swapped Motive Videos and that gave Ryoma less will to live)

Ryoma would hang out a lot in his lab after he died, thinking about his life, what went wrong, why no one was left for him outside of the academy.

The night after the trial, Maki stops by his lab, posture stiff and shifting from one foot to the other, and start apologizing to the empty air. After Kokichi revealed her true talent, she doesn't want to be seen as just a killer. She feels guilty about giving him the motive video, even if she didn't know what was on it. She apologizes for killing him before Kirumi dealt the final blow.

Ryoma suddenly appears before her while she's finally starting to tear up and her throat is closing. There he is in front of her, clear as day, reassuring her that it wasn't her fault. He would've found out one way or another. He should've been stronger, he should've fought for the others inside of the academy and made an effort to be closer to them. He shouldve made them his reason to live. He just wasn't strong enough.

He tells her to live. Even if you have no one out there, live. Live for yourself. Live for the friends you will make in the future. Live for the days when the sun is shining while rain pours down on everything. Live for the trill a cat makes when disturbed by pets during a nap in the sun. Live for all the color in the world, for the music, for the intoxicating scent of sweets and fresh bread. Live, damn it.

Can Himiko see Tenko? (<- Himiko was supposed to die at the seance)

Sometimes, when she can't sleep, Himiko will sit up in bed, and see Tenko's familiar outline sitting in the chair by her bed, watching over her. Every time, she breaks down into a mess of tears and repetitious apologies.

Can Maki see Kokichi? (<- we still don't know if the poison killed Kokichi before the press)

Teehee I'm already writing a fic about this with canon divergence (it's in my pinned post, if you haven't read it please do I'm working on a new chapter) BUT if we stay with canon, with Kaito being the Blackened:

Maki would never see but always hear both of them. She would hear them bickering just out of sight nearby constantly. Both of them would greet her in the morning, wish her a good night. She would be sure she was going insane from the guilt.

If she hadn't intervened and fired the crossbow, maybe she wouldn't have had to go through the heartache that was the entire 5th trial.

Can Himiko see Kaito (<- Gave him the crossbow/weapon to fight Kokichi with.)

This is an instance where i don't think she would have as strong a reason to feel responsible for his death. I believe she would see it more that she did what she could to help him, but have no real power in the whole situation. That doesn't mean she doesn't miss the hell out of him. He was the last remnant of Tenko she really had. They acted so similar.

[e-dragonic]

BEING MOBIAN AU

Based loosely on Being Human

What do you get when you get an anxious Werewolf, a repenting Vampire, and a naive Ghost in a house together?

A semidisfunctional family!

Barrett was the first. Around 100-ish years ago, he was a great Echidna Warrior of his Tribe, who protected a powerful mystical artifact. During the tail end of a War against another Tribe, he ran into Clutch and his flock of Werebeast hunters. They were passing by, picking off stragglers from the War when they met. Despite being outnumbered, Barrett fought back as he saw one of them drain one of his fellow Tribesmen dry. Clutch took him up on his declaration and though the fight was a bit sided, Clutch liked his ferocity. So when Barrett lay on the ground defeated he gave him a proposal, join him and his flock or they would kill him and destroy his Tribe. Under the threat, Barrett had no choice but to accept and let Clutch turn him, eventually giving him the nickname of 'Knuckles' for the Sliver Knucks he would soon wield.

He tried to hold onto his Warrior spirit, but it wasn't long before he became like them, bloodthirsty and ruthless till he met a witch, another Echidna named Tikal, who brought back some of his morality and honor, as feelings came back to a heart he thought long since dead.

But it wasn't long before they were found out and Clutch killed Tikal for her blood. When he found out, Barrett started on his path of redemption. He ran far from his Sire and his group, feasting on the blood of animals instead of Mobians to sate his Thirst.

Eventually, he got a job and began to set his roots down in the small town of Emerald Valley, once he found out that a close friend of his, Rouge was the 'Head' of the Town. He found a house in the suburbs, hoping to try and regain normalcy...until he found out he wasn't alone...

A ghost, a two-tailed fox by the name of Miles, or Tails, haunted the house. He didn't know how long he had been dead or how he died. In fact, he didn't even know he was dead until Barrett explained what Miles was now and what he was.

It wasn't long before a friendship formed between Barrett and Miles.

One day, when a curious Tails tagged along with Barrett to see how he hunted, they stumbled across Nicholas, a newly bitten Werebeast, just waking up after a rough Moon. It wasn't long before he noticed them and quickly ran before anyone could say a word. Barrett was prepared to go in the other direction but Miles decided to follow after the strange Werebeast despite Barrett calling after him.

Miles soon finds Nicholas' campsite where he quickly packs up his stuff because if there's one Vampire, there's more nearby and he had already had a very bad experience with them. Miles was quick to explain how Barrett is different but Nicholas is skeptical.

It takes a lot of convincing from Miles to get Barrett on board with inviting Nicholas to live with them and it takes a lot of convincing from both of them to get Nicholas to accept their invitation, stating that he deserves to live and feel normal just as much as the two of them. Nicholas soon gets a job where Barrett works and the three of them just try to Be Mobian.

...

Yeah, this is my new fixation now. I'm so sorry to those who were looking at Growing Pain. It'll still come... in time but for now, you guys get this!

Sorry for the Watermarks, you can never be too safe nowadays.

Trust me when I say it's worth it. Those in the THOAM server have seen the drawings and even short stories I've written for this and you guys will too!

Will there be an Ao3 fic of this? Yes, there will be! It'll take a while for me to start it due to IRL stuff but it'll be done. I'll even start by putting up the two short stories I have now. Mostly of Nic but I do want to do shorts of Barrett and Miles eventually.

This even comes with a relationship chart for your viewing pleasure!

It'll be filled out with pictures in time and will be updated along with the Fic!

Know that this is still kinda? in the works? so don't be surprised by any changes.

My ask box is always open for asks about my characters or AUs!

[yilingpatriarchscvnt]

Lost affection

Alhaitham x reader

Angst with fluff

Alhaitham's unwavering dedication to his career has led him to neglect the emotional needs of his partner. As the chasm between them widens, they grapple with the pain of their fading connection, haunted by guilt and regret.

Neglecting, guilt, angst, fluff, regret.

Kinda of modern au!

In the dimly lit room, Alhaitham was hunched over his desk, surrounded by a chaotic mess of papers and the soft glow of his laptop screen. He'd been at it for hours, days even, neglecting everything and everyone, including you.

You watched him from the doorway, your heart heavy with a mix of concern and frustration. The once vibrant spark in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by an exhausted, distant gaze. It was as if he had disappeared into the world of work, leaving you to stand on the periphery, forgotten.

"Alhaitham," you whispered, your voice barely reaching him. No response. You took a step closer, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You've been working non-stop. Please, take a break. I miss you."

He finally turned to look at you, and for a moment, you saw the guilt and fatigue etched in his expression. "I can't, not now," he mumbled, his voice strained. "I have so much to do, and I can't afford to stop."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized that he was drowning in his responsibilities, and there was no room for you in his world anymore. The neglect had become a painful reality, a silent chasm between the two of you.

You retreated quietly, closing the door behind you. The weight of his absence settled on your shoulders, and you wondered if there was a way to break through the walls of his relentless work and bring back the Alhaitham you once knew.

Days turned into weeks, and the chasm between you and Alhaitham continued to grow. He was consumed by his work, barely acknowledging your presence. The moments you once shared, the laughter, the intimate conversations – all of it seemed like distant memories.

One evening, you decided to make a simple dinner, hoping it might bring some normalcy back into your relationship. As the aroma of the meal wafted through the house, you set the table with care, your heart heavy with anticipation. Alhaitham had been working late into the night for weeks, and you longed for a shared moment, a connection that went beyond fleeting glances.

When he finally appeared at the doorway, you could see the exhaustion etched on his face, but there was something else – a hint of sadness in his eyes. He glanced at the table, surprise flickering across his features.

"What's all this?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

You gave a small smile, trying to hide the hurt. "Just a dinner for two. I thought we could take a break from work and have a quiet evening together."

Alhaitham hesitated, torn between his mountain of tasks and the desire to reconnect with you. In that moment, he made a choice that would shape the future of your relationship. With a sigh, he put his work aside and joined you at the table.

As you shared the meal, the two of you talked about everything but work. You reminisced about the adventures you'd had together, the dreams you'd once shared, and the love that had brought you together. Alhaitham's walls remained high, and he barely opened up about his feelings.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, realizing that perhaps the distance between you had become insurmountable. The dinner offered a temporary respite, but the underlying problems still loomed large. You missed the warmth of his presence and the connection you once shared, but it seemed like he was slipping further away, buried under the weight of his work.

The dinner ended in an awkward silence, the unspoken pain hanging heavily in the air. Afterward, Alhaitham retreated back to his workspace, his laptop screen once again casting a cold, bluish glow on his tired face.

You watched him for a moment, your heart heavy with a sense of despair. It was clear that the gulf between you had become too wide, and your attempts to bridge the divide were met with resistance. You couldn't help but wonder if your relationship was slipping away, as Alhaitham remained entrapped in his never-ending cycle of work.

Nights turned into a relentless pattern. You went to bed alone, while Alhaitham continued to toil away in solitude. It seemed like he had lost sight of everything beyond his professional obligations. Your loneliness was palpable, and the weight of his neglect felt like a physical burden.

One evening, as you sat in the dimly lit living room, the cold silence pressing in on you, you realized that something had to change. You couldn't continue like this, with your relationship crumbling and your own needs constantly ignored.

You mustered the courage to confront Alhaitham, who looked up from his work, his eyes carrying the same distant look they had for weeks. "We can't go on like this," you whispered, your voice shaking.

Alhaitham's gaze met yours, but his response was distant, his voice flat. "I have no choice. The work is never-ending, and I can't afford to stop. Please stop being a nuisance."

As you stood there, a sense of hopelessness washed over you. The neglect had taken its toll, and it seemed like there was no way to salvage what was left of your relationship. The distance between you both had become an unbridgeable chasm, and the sadness in your heart was immeasurable.

As the heavy words hung in the air, you saw something change in Alhaitham's eyes. A flicker of recognition, a hint of guilt, perhaps even a touch of regret. He seemed to realize the depth of the pain he was causing you, and it weighed on his conscience.

"I know I've been neglecting you," he finally admitted, his voice heavy with remorse. "I never wanted it to be like this, but the pressure at work has been overwhelming."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt a glimmer of hope, a tiny crack in the wall he had built around himself. "Alhaitham, I miss us. I miss the connection we used to have."

He sighed, rubbing his temples as if the weight of the world rested there. "I miss it too, but I'm trapped in this never-ending cycle, and I don't know how to break free."

You reached out and touched his hand, a silent plea for him to see the pain you were in. "We can find a way together. I don't want to lose what we have."

Alhaitham's eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and vulnerability. "I'm so sorry for neglecting you. Let's try to find a way to make things right."

It was a small step, but it was a step nonetheless. The guilt he felt was a sign that he recognized the damage he had caused, and perhaps, with effort and understanding, you both could work to rebuild what was broken. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but it was a start in the direction of healing and restoring the love you once shared.

[cienie-isengardu]

Mortal Kombat 1 Behind the Scenes AU: Lin Kuei Life - when duty calls, p. 3

Author's note: though Bi-Han is the heir to the Lin Kuei Grandmaster title, he takes an active part in defending the Earthrealm and is sent on mission whenever the situation demands the best. Which is why Kuai Liang is so stressed, because in such case he should be there to protect his brother but he was left behind on film set, so he could have fun/normalcy/time with Harumi he wanted. Thus he is consumed by guilt, because in Lin Kuei life, one never be sure if your family and friends will come back alive from mission. Thankfully, Tomas is there to calm him down, a bit at least.

[Earlier posts, from #1 to #52] [Shao learns about Paid Leave (p. 2)] [Johnny’s complaint] [The problems with Smoke’s powers] [Dark Sub-Zero] [Say ‘cheese’!] [Haunted mansion] [Sektor & Cyrax - Scenography (4)] [Shang Tsung’s commentary] [Just one more take! + bonus] [Bi-Han, NO! - Cat on film set] [Bi-Han, NO! - Purrfected] [Bi-Han, Sektor & Cyrax - Scenography (5)] [Bi-Han, NO! - Madam Bo’s “help” during filming scene] [Dark Sub-Zero, p.2] [Saibot’s hug] [I SAID I’M SORRY!] [Shang Tsung and Kuai Liang for once agreeing on something] [Reassurance] [Ketchup & Mustard, p. 1] [The Dating Issues] [Ketchup & Mustard, p. 2] [Cyrax’s brother] [Gathering the actors] [“LIN KUEI”] [Bi-Han's complaint] [This is what we cryomancers call a fun!] [Lin Kuei Life - when duty calls, p. 1] [Lin Kuei Life - when duty calls, p. 2]

[jenuinely-speaking]

Haven't been able to write at all the past two weeks and it seems even Spotify is on my side tonight 🙌🏽

It's time to get this first monster chapter done and possibly post some previews and back story for this AU. Been working on it for almost a year and it's been sizzling in the slow cooker 🤌🏽

Sneak peak tag of story one of the collection in the tags

[d4rk-x-w0lf-17]

@starlightshadowsworld

god your 'makoto befriends the 77th class' au forever haunts me cuz of all the potential pain it can cause

we both know that hajime would suffer the most cuz he has to spend the entire killing game with fuzzy memories of someone important to him but he doesn't remember who they are. he keeps grasping at them cuz while vague at best, they give him a sense of normalcy. it helps dull the pain after each trial

......but then the memory start to become more and more clear and the very real realization that this important person was left behind and he doesn't even know if they're alive

[jasontoddiefor]

Heyyyyy roses & champagne anon here! First your answer made me feral with all the juicy brain gremlins it spawned and then you wrote that little fic and I now I’m even more insane but like all I can picture is Leewon going “fuck this shit I’m out” at like age 11, running away, accidentally running into Caesar who’s already starting to get the feelings of “hippity hoppity I want you to be my property” weird little friendship starting to form.

And then years later Leewon in full on teenage rebellion bad decision making is like “what if I lost my virginity to this dude I sometimes hang out with that my dad can not stand? Wouldn’t that be fun?” and uh accidentally turns Caesar’s budding obsession with him over the years into full blown levels of “I am planning our wedding, it’s going to be in the summer because you get cold and then you will never ever leave me.” as Leewon is like damn the dirty talk in this fwb relationship hits hard

And then Leewon finally achieves his dream of fucking off back to Korea for college and does that without hesitation and then stays even longer for law school because he likes pretending he’s normal, he likes pretending his life is normal, (he’s a lawyer and his ass is lying, he could never truly be content with normalcy) and he only goes back because he wants to say a proper goodbye, after he graduates from law school

And uh proceeds to cheerfully greet the man whose heart he unintentionally shattered and now haunted like a ghost for seven years like nothing ever happened. Oops?

Also in regards for Vladimir I feel they got a weird resentment codependency going on there but also I can’t help but feel in a world that they grew up together they’d kind of be bickering gossiping friends at their core so it’s like “I hate the roles we have been forced into because one another, sometimes I think I even hate you, but you’re are still a core of my world and I don’t know how to exist without you because of this, anyway you will not believe with this one lady did at a party-“ kind of vibe going on. He’s pissed and hurt and resentful when Leewon goes back to Korea and he spends years soothing his and everyone else’s hurt and Leewon comes back and he’s angry for like 5 minutes before breaking and filling him on the latest gossip. Because I think they deserve to have a messy, complicated relationship that’s also overrun by the need to be a bitch and discuss drama because there is literally no other option in the mafia compound.

If you’ve got any more thoughts on this au I would love to hear them so badly!!

Anon you’re back!!!

Aaah thank you so much for your long ask, this absolutely made my evening (literally, I’m stuck in bed bc my back is killing me and am using my bluetooth keyboard to write this reply lying down hahaha)

Let’s start on the family side: time to reveal the fact that this AU also exists to like at least 30% because I wanted younger sibling Vladimir takes. That man already behaves like a spoiled younger brother in canon, he’d be terrible here. I do think their dynamic would be exactly as you said. Vladimir gets adopted to be Leewon’s companion, his right hand, raised to be loyal and trustworthy - his one and only friend after nearly a year of living in Russia. It fucks up their dynamic because they’re raised with clear expectations but at the same tie, the only way Leewon treats him is as a younger brother? Because that is the notion that makes the most sense to him at that age. When he realizes what Vladimir’s purpose is, he very much resents it? They have a bit of a falling out because to Vladimir, his older brother suddenly started distancing himself with no explanation as to why. And like, when he realizes the reason, he doesn’t really think it’s bad because he owns the Lomonosov his life anyway? Of course he’d die for his older brother. He loves him and that’s his job.

Anyway. Vladimir thinks Dimitri ain’t shit. He would never treat his boss like that and scheme. He’s built different (loyal like a most beloved dog). Leewon staying in Korea for his studies kind of helps Vladimir gain some perspective and insight into everything because nothing makes you reflect more than your codependent better half not being within reaching distance. But at the end of the day, he still doesn’t entirely mind. He stops pushing the boundary when Leewon enforces it (opposed to his behavior as a kid) but that’s about it. They are two very gossipy siblings.

To Leewon’s life!!! Anon I am !!! At how your ideas match mine. For the simpler things - Leewon absolutely puts his foot down about studying in Korea. It’s probably the biggest fight he and Mikhail ever have. I’m thinking maybe to the point it’s the first and only time Mikhail genuinely hurts Leewon in his anger? Like, Leewon has been hit before by his father, during training, but only seldom bc Mikhail frankly speaking has Issues and was not cut out for teaching his son violence himself. But yeah, they fight, there’s injury, and hmm. Not entirely sure if Leewon just stays in his room or moves to another property in the city until his flight to Korea, with Vladimir acting as an unwilling go between father and son because he ALSO thinks this is a shit idea, but if he says so then Leewon won’t talk to him anymore either (and then he wouldn’t talk to anyone, and it’s Vladimir’s job to advise his brother, but he’s supposed to be on his side even more.)

Anyway, Leewon leaves to study and I imagine he only comes home during the holidays which are incredibly tense the first year, but get better after. I don’t think Leewon quite has the concept of I could leave this life. He’s angry and frustrated, but not to the point where he can picture a life where he’s not the family heir? I think he mostly wants to run this business differently and that most of his frustration comes from his father raising him as this sheltered princess in the tower. His best friend is his little brother who his father adopted so he would have someone to talk to. That’s deeply fucked up, especially because he spent his first nine years just attending normal school and playing with the neighborhood kids. Even more, with his mother sick and dying early, Leewon at nine is fairly used to doing things independently, and now suddenly needing an adult to go with him everywhere, if he’s allowed out of the house at all, is horrible.

Now on to our hot mess, the red flag fuck himself.

I was also 200% thinking “oh yeah they absolutely fucked when Leewon was like 15”. To Caesar this is absolutely a game at that point, some matter of pride to get the enemy’s heir in his bed (or just. Beneath him. Imma be honest, I think Leewon ran away, got drunk at a bar and they fucked in a bathroom stall under dubious consent). Drunk teenagers with too much power and too many daddy issues. Leewon got “I’m doing sth that isn’t safe my father would freak about this” out of it.

Anyway, I do think Caesar would be amused at first, and then grow into his - as you put it so aptly it made me wheeze - “hippity hoppity I want you to be my property”. The 11 year old mouthing off against his kidnappers with little strength to back it up was entertaining (Caesar was honestly just there because it seemed easier to just let himself be taken to get to the guy whose head he needs to bash in than wait around) especially because he didn’t hold back. And then it’s a game, deflowering him, taking more and more pieces, not quite like collecting fountain pens or art, more the desire to consume entirely. Till death does them part, yes? Predictably, does not react well to Leewon’s “wow why is my bad decisions fuckbuddy so intense about me?” Behavior and being left out of Leewon’s plans.

My guy has just been assuming that them being fwb means they won’t try to constantly kill each other when they’re All Grown Up and in charge of their father’s businesses. I think this Leewon would very much enjoy the illusion of normalcy, matching Caesar’s freak in the way he reacts when it is interrupted. But I think that also means he’s rather peculiar about upholding the status quo to a degree.

Meanwhile Dimitri has been under the assumption Caesar has been running a long con trying to gobble up Lomonosov via making its heir his boytoy.

Well this got long but I hope you enjoyed my thoughts!!! Feel free to dm me any time, I’d love to hear more of your ideas!

[dat-town]

haunting

never seen circus masterpost

Characters: Yunho & female reader

Setting & genre: magical realism au, ghost au

Summary: Yunho was the centre of your universe. He made you so happy and you wished you could do the same but his eyes were always so, so sad.

Warnings: general creepiness of an eerie circus, ambiguous ending, mentions of blood, injuries, car accident, self-conscious MC, implied past death

Words: 1.4k

i guess i will tag you in all of these @restlessmaknae 

You remembered the day you had met Yunho and fallen in love with his dimpled smile almost immediately. He was the typical boy next door with his easygoing and kind personality, it was impossible not to love him. But somehow it had been you whose seatmate he had become on the first day of university and then all other days too during your shared Economics lectures.

You and him had been inseparable ever since.

You had spent a meaningful majority of your early twenties with him by your side. Study sessions in the library had turned into café dates and then cuddling on the couch in front of Netflix. Weekend trips to the beach, dissing terrible job interviews, murmuring I love yous into his warm skin under the blazing sun and him kissing every one of your fingers until you couldn’t feel the unforgiving cold of January.

You loved him more than anything.

Especially after the accident. He was the only one who still looked at you the same way.

It had been awful. You remembered the yelling, the honking and a blinding light. Then the pain had come and everything had gone dark. When you had opened your eyes, it had been Yunho you had seen first. His temple had been bloodied, glass shard cuts all across his lovely cheek. He could barely open his eyes and his head had been wrapped in white gauze.

You had cried yourself to sleep because you had known it had been your fault. You had been the one who had insisted on visiting the circus even in the pouring rain. Looking back you couldn’t understand why it had been so important to go on that particular Sunday. There would have been other days and other circuses. There was no other Yunho. No circus was worth that much.

Yunho had recovered but after that you had promised yourself you wouldn’t let him get hurt ever again. But something must have been broken between the two of you after the accident because his eyes had become so, so sad. He still looked at you lovingly, like you were the most precious thing and for those moments you felt seen and beautiful even if other people looked away when they saw you. Nobody else mattered, not when you had Yunho. You just didn’t get why he felt so far even when he was brushing your hair behind your ear.

“Are you happy?” The boy asked, cautious, and you blinked at him in confusion.

“Of course, I am. I have you,” you smiled at him but Yunho looked like he was made of glass, crackling at your words.

When your boyfriend proposed a weekend getaway, you were more than happy being on board with the idea. You hadn’t really been going out since what had happened. You needed it to feel some normalcy again.

“Where are we going?” You asked curiously while you were walking through a forest during the golden hour. You liked surprises and Yunho was always the best with date nights as he was a much better planner than you were but you had always been curious by nature.

“You will see,” he said with a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He sounded tired but that must have been because he worked those extra hours over the week.

He didn’t let go of your hand even when you reached the edge of the forest path and you saw a circus right in the middle of the meadow in all its shiny gilded glory.

You flinched at the laugh of clowns and the eerie music, phantom pain throbbing in your skull. Your steps halted and you took a shaky breath.

“Yunho…” You whispered, feeling uneasy.

“It’s okay,” Yunho reassured you in his soft voice, letting you nuzzle closer. “I’m here.”

You tried to find excitement and awe in the wonderful spectacles all around but deep down you had a bad feeling. Maybe it was because of what had happened and your brain subconsciously associated circuses with inevitable tragedies but you could almost feel yourself spiral into panic. You didn’t quite feel okay in your body. It was almost like you were watching yourself from the outside.

You jumped in surprise when a black cat ran across the road right in front of you and heck, you weren’t superstitious but did it mean that you would be unlucky? Maybe you should have left.

But Yunho seemed determined to stay and he was clearly looking for something, so you told yourself to be patient. It must have been the surprise. What could it be, you wondered, a fortune teller or a palm reader?

The tent of a ghost whisperer wasn’t what you expected even though it felt awfully familiar. Have you been there before?

You turned to Yunho, the question burning on the tip of your tongue, but he was looking at the girl behind the candle lit desk, hovering over a bone coloured board with letters scattered over it. You vaguely remembered that tool from horror stories as something used to communicate with the dead. An Ouija board.

The young girl in old fashioned clothes behind the desk looked up at the two of you and hummed knowingly. There was something unnerving about it as she looked at you.

“I knew you would be back. Most people are,” she said, melancholy ringing in her voice and you furrowed your brows in confusion. She wasn’t sure whether she talked to you or your boyfriend.

“She… she is just a shell of herself. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore,” Yunho spoke up hoarsely.

“I told you there was always a price to play,” the girl reminded him but the entire scene had you going a little crazy because you couldn’t understand anything.

“What’s going on, Yunho? Who is she? Why are you talking like you are breaking up with me?”

Yunho turned to you, his usually warm nougat eyes devastatingly sad and then he walked you to the full body mirror on one side of the tent.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered and there were already tears pricking your eyes because what could have been so terrible about your looks that made him call you a shell?

Then you saw it.

There was Yunho, tall and handsome, perfect if only a little pale and his smile you loved so much was lost on him. And you? You were nowhere. In the mirror there he stood alone, no sign of your reflection. You reached out to touch the furniture with shaky hands and looked down at your skin, half-transparent in this new glow.

“Am I dead?” Your voice hitched, panic coursing through you.

“Your soul is trapped in a limbo between this world and the beyond,” the stranger girl explained patiently. “He’s the one keeping you here.”

So you did die. Now that you thought about it, you couldn’t tell when was the last time you interacted with somebody else other than Yunho. Or when you last spent time alone. Or when you ate or went to the bathroom. All you could remember was being with Yunho, everything else was just a blur. As if he was the reason why you even existed, the Sun of your universe.

You felt like crying but you couldn’t. Ghosts didn’t have tears. You must have imagined every tear and every touch since the accident and it only made the loss cut deeper.

Yunho was crying though, crystal-like tears were running down his cheeks and when you reached up, you could feel the warmth on his skin against your own cold nothingness.

“I love you so much that I brought you back,” the boy whispered and you could feel your heart break for him even if you didn’t have one anymore. You never wanted to see Yunho suffer, not like this, not because of you. “But it’s not the life you deserve. You should move on. Find peace.”

The thought of him saying goodbye, of losing him scared you.

“No. I don’t want that. I’ll be staying with you, Yunho. Please, don’t do this,” you begged because you wanted to stay by his side, you didn’t want to be alone. The two of you were supposed to be together forever.

But it was too late. The boy was already taking off the couple bracelet you both had and the ghost whisperer took it from him, letting it fall into flames, smoke going up dark and quick.

Your scream cut through the night, extinguishing every lit candle and by the time the sun came up, you were once again faded.

But Yunho swore he could catch sight of you in mirrors from time to time.

[monvante]

persona non grata ╱ navigation

per·​so·​na non gra·​ta: unwelcome or unwanted. not popular or accepted by others.

pairing: myg x f!reader

genre: suspense / noir / detective au

rating: mature | 18+

estimated word count: 3-5k per chapter

content warings: crime, missing person investigation, themes of violence and murder, corrupt police officers, depictions of dementia, substance abuse & addiction, breakup, minor character death(s);

NO TAGLIST AVAILABLE.

chapter navigation.

chapter i. goodbye kanan. chapter ii. ground & grave.

drabbles.

n/a

extras.

frequently asked.

feedback.

moodboard.

playlist.

updates.

The insides of your stomach are twisting and turning as you rush inside, uninvited and breathless, waiting for him to acknowledge you behind his incessant typing and the meaningless emails he reads everyday. 

Yoongi seems as still and lifeless as ever, which somehow comes as a comfort to you. 

“Days off are supposed to make you look better, not worse. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He types as fast as he comes up with witty remarks. 

“That’s because I have!” You spit back, fists closed tightly around the newspaper in your hands.

He quirks up one brow, enough for you to know you’ve got his attention.

“Here,” you toss it onto his desk. “Read it.”

November 27th, 1991. Case solved: Thanksgiving kidnappings linked to man apprehended by police.

“That’s Adam Bowen. He got arrested a night after Kanan went missing,” you huff, catching your breath. “They never considered him a suspect because… the timelines didn’t add up, apparently.” 

Yoongi looks up at you from the large frame of his glasses.

“And?”

“Police always suspected he worked with his brother… but they never found enough evidence to prove it. They never even fucking found said brother, the guy disappeared out of thin air and Bowen never told them anything. Not a word.”

He leans back, stretching his arms. His gaze diverts away from you or the paper altogether and he’s staring into space, seemingly at a loss for words.

“They got one brother, huh? Looks like it was enough for them to settle it,” Yoongi clicks his tongue. “Sloppy as all hell.”

In your heart, there’s some feeble hope, but most of it has been filled with despair and a fierce jealousy towards anyone who still maintained a sense of normalcy. Your last seven years have been haunted by nightmares, tainted by the faces of all the missing person reports hanging on your walls.

“We got a second half of the story to figure out.”

monvante © 2021 - 2024. all rights reserved. do not copy, edit or redistribute my work.

[the-ghost-of-jason-todd]

Give the Ghost Inside Me One Last Fighting Chance (Chapter 1)

Clegan!Ghost AU. 3.9k words.

Summary:

Maj. John Clarence Egan's plane goes down over Germany. He does not make it out. As a dead man, he has one last report to make to the brass—and maybe some unfinished business to figure out, too. ...It's a good thing Ginger, a high ranking officer of the Spirit Corps and a brilliant medium to boot, knows her way around such things.

(AKA what my brain produced after posing the question of what would happen if Masters of the Air met Ghost Talkers. Would recommend both, tbh.)

Anyway, THANK YOU TO SKY_GUY13 FOR A LOVELY BETA READ. CLICK THE READ MORE LINK TO READ OR FIND ON AO3!

“Well, hello there, doll.  You sure are a sight for sore eyes.”

Seated across the circle from the ghost, chilled fingers gripping the hands to either side of her, Ginger Stuyvesant feels her brow try to twitch.

The words are not meant for her.  They might have been, once upon a time—similar sentiments used to come her way with rather alarming frequency from the mouths of the soldiers she works with.  In years long passed, she fielded her fair share of men ogling her red hair, eyeing the cut of her uniform and expressing their desire to see if she matched down below. 

The comments are less, now, as she’s grown in both age and rank, but the instinctual internal grimace is the same whether the stares are focused at her or at her young psychic protégés. 

She keeps her face serene, expression gentle, despite this.  It’s not her place to protest, to protect, though by god does she want to.  She’s not here to take reports, after all.  She would fulfill that duty in an instant if she deemed it necessary, but for the most part, her rank ensures that she has no direct contact with the dead.  She’s simply here to oversee the newest flock of mediums at the Catterick Garrison Spirit Corps installation—to make sure they can handle the incredible strain of the haunting job they’ve now found themselves performing, day in and day out.

She has to be sure they can handle it.  The pain, the grief, the exhaustion.  Ginger has survived a world war before; she may be pushing sixty-five, but she still knows the toll it will take before it’s through.

Making sure to keep the circle unbroken and the current medium, Nancy, anchored, Ginger waits to see what the girl will do with a man such as this.  They’ve all been trained, extensively, on what to expect—but there’s always a gap between training and reality.  A difference between reading it on the page and feeling it, frigid and infinite, as a ghost stands before you, clinging to some oft-fallible scrap of normalcy as the icy grip of their final moments waits to freeze you through.

Thankfully, Nancy takes the flirtation in stride.  “Your name and rank, soldier,” she says, firm.  Unyielding.  Strong.

The ghost, far from put off, grins a cheeky, crooked sort of grin.  He’s got dark curls that peek out from beneath an airman’s helmet, perched askew on his head, his goggles pulled up and his eyes twinkling.  Far from relaxing Ginger, she finds that the boyish good looks only set her more on edge. 

It’s always the lively ones, she thinks, in the confines of her own mind.  In her long years of service, Ginger has seen a great many ghosts—some barely husks, frail and wispy even as they pushed to give their final report.  Others, who repeated themselves, over and over and over, their memories jumping and looping as if there were pieces missing, connections cut.  Some struggled to stay aware of their surroundings, caught fast in the memory of pain and death and grief.

And some… some remained so human that it was as if they’d just stepped momentarily from their bodies, painfully present and all too aware, too stubborn to do anything but cling, even without conscious choice, to a life that had abandoned them. 

Ginger has theories about why one soul might feel more there than another.  She’s never voiced them, kept them quite to herself, but well… it’s hard not to notice certain things. 

…Things like how it’s always the ones who lived like they already had one foot in the grave that hold their shape the longest.

This one… suffice to say that it’s not hard to tell that charm isn’t the whole picture when it comes to this pilot.  Because he is a pilot, Ginger would bet a hefty sum of her paycheck on it—the confidence of a pilot is unmatched.  But here, with this one… there’s something sharper hiding in his psyche, lurking with deadened eyes just under the surface.  A hunger, a desperation, that feels like it could drown them all if he were only to let go. 

He’s still smiling as he says to Nancy, “Maj. John Clarence Egan, 100th Bombardment Group, ID #O-399510.  But you, darling—you can call me Bucky.”

“Major Egan,” Nancy begins, keeping her voice calm and professional.  She’s good, steady—her body has been breathing, slow and even, ever since her shift began two hours ago.  She’s going to go far, Ginger can tell—though maybe not particularly quickly, considering that the Major interrupts her before she can even ask him to report.

“You’ve got an interesting sense of decor, here,” he says, almost conversationally.  “No windows… not what I would have picked, I’ll be honest.  What is this place, anyway?  I’ve never seen anything like it.”  His eyes lift from Nancy’s spirit, gaze taking a pointed gander around the vast, brick walls of the room, the various circles of mediums and anchors, the immense crowds of ghosts waiting patiently for their turn to report.

Nancy frowns, hesitates, but only for a moment.  “That’s classified, Major Egan.  Now, if you would—“

The ghost hums, abruptly turning and walking to the edge of the circle of anchors holding Nancy to her body.  He peers down into the face of an older man, waving a hand in front of his nose.  The man—Mr. Reynolds, who volunteered for service despite his bad hip and who was summarily sent to the Spirit Corps instead—twitches, his breath fogging in the air.  He can’t see the ghost, hardly a touch of the psychic in him, but even he can feel the unearthly chill of the dead man mere inches away.

Sharper now, Nancy raises her voice.  “Major.”

Egan glances back, raising his hands as if in surrender.  “No harm meant.  Just a bit strange, is all.  But you’re used to… whatever this is, clearly.”

“If you could keep your attention on me, please, Major Egan.  We have many more soldiers to speak with today.”

“I see how it is.  No, don’t fret—shouldn’t be too hard to keep my eyes on that pretty face, if I do say so myself,” Egan drawls.  “I’m all yours, darling.”

True to his word, he turns away from Mr. Reynolds, sauntering back toward Nancy’s spirit.  Once there, however, he leans in close, lowering his voice to whisper in Nancy’s ear, his fingertips reaching out to brush the back of her spirit’s hand in a very forward and quite inappropriate manner. 

With a pinch to her lips, Nancy shoots a quick glance Ginger’s way, her spirit’s eyes narrowed furtively.  Ginger gets the distinct sense that she’s wary of underperforming in front of a senior officer—but also that she’s not really sure what to do with a ghost who seems so keen on monopolizing her time in such a way.  When the man speaks again, she presses her lips into a thin line.  She seems to be growing more and more flustered by the moment.

Ginger huffs slightly, keeping herself from heaving a full on sigh but only just.  Thanks to the nature of the psychic circle, she can hear the Major’s voice as if he’s speaking at a normal, conversational volume, and she can’t help but feel a little wearier for the overtness of the flirtations. 

Decades, now, of psychic work for the government, and it has never stopped being tiresome to have men act like a pretty woman is there for nothing but to be easy on the eyes.

Nancy, struggling to keep her voice neutral, glances again at Ginger.  Her body’s chest hitches, uncertainty disrupting the rhythm of her breath for a moment as she fails to keep herself from flushing.  “I—it’s—you shouldn’t just say such things—“

“That is quite enough, Major Egan,” Ginger announces, sitting up slightly in her seat.  She hasn’t slipped from her skin just yet, still anchoring Nancy, but at a quick nod of Ginger’s head, Nancy steps back.  In moments, they’ve switched roles, Nancy sinking back into her body as Ginger rises from her own, her spirit standing straight and tall while her body goes boneless and limp behind her.  She stares up at the pilot, hardly intimidated by his height, her astute gaze cutting from behind the spectacles she’s taken to wearing. 

Her eyes are not what they used to be, but she can see well enough to acknowledge the salute he gives her upon inspection of the stars and bars on her uniform.  “Yes, ma’am.  O’course, ma’am,” he says, eyes wide. 

Ginger purses her lips, unimpressed.  He’d look the picture of a contrite, apologetic young boy… if not for the sharpness she can still see in him, the edge of a deep, unbearable tension, only growing harder and more pointed under the surface of his soul.  His smile, when it reappears, slips through the innocence as soundless as a shark-fin through water, and could be likened to that of a demon, painted on the ceiling of a chapel—beautiful but impish, the spark of danger clear as can be. 

With the raise of a brow, Ginger clicks her tongue, sparing a moment or two to really examine the airman standing—mostly—at attention before her.  To pry apart his emotions, his desires—to taste the very essence of his spirit as it waits for its final release, stripped bare of every concern and concession of flesh and bone.  When the body falls away and there is no more pain… no hunger, no thirst… when the rush of adrenaline becomes but a memory lost… that is when the truth of men becomes the clearest, crystalline in its clarity.  Death is the greatest codebreaker, an enigma machine for the very complexity of everything that makes a human human—there is no man who can hide from a truth as powerful as his own soul.

Maj. John Clarence Egan, hardly an exception to the rule, simply tilts his head as he watches her assessing him.  The moment stretches, the eternal susurrations of so many of the dead crowded around them growing thin as the world beyond their circle seems to wait, holding its collective breath. 

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Egan asks at last.  The silence presses, pushing in from all sides.  His voice hardly makes a dent in it, cushioned and folded in as soon as the words leave his lips.  A touch of humor dances at the corner of his mouth, paper-thin but enough, barely, to shroud the depths that sit at the core of him—a great abyss of longing, desire as deep and savage as a black hole.  He’s angry, in beats… sad, at turns… sharp emotions that dance within him in flashes, like the light of flares.  They’re gone as fast as they burn, bright and furious and hardly there at all.

But that longing, oh god… it could swallow Ginger with hardly a sound.  It wants to.  Aching and black as tar, it mirrors something in her own chest, a dark hole that she’s tried time and time again to fill, shoving wonder and love in past the jagged edges in the hopes that someday, one day, it won’t hurt quite so much. 

She wants to give in.  The pull of defeat, always with her, is unrelenting in the face of the desolate ache in Egan’s soul.  She’s lived so long, pushed so hard—surely by now she could let go.  Just… stop, slough off the last remaining tether to her body, release the weight of being alive.  For a moment.  For an instant, a sliver, of peace. 

Ginger intentionally breathes in, her body inhaling at her back.  Then, brushing all that to the side, she clears her throat and commands, “report.”

He does.  Like a switch has been flipped, he straightens into full military posture and starts to rattle off the details of his final flight, working through the last five minutes from top to bottom.  Ginger was right, he was a pilot—the command pilot of a B-17, to be exact, which was flying East on a precision bombing mission to take out a Nazi oil plant.  It seems his plane, named M'lle Zig Zig, was in formation on a trajectory over Strasbourg when targeted projectiles took out two engines of the next fortress over, which lost control with catastrophic results.

He’s good with words, the scene painted across Ginger’s mind as vivid as it would be if she’d seen it herself.  The moment the flak ceased, the disquieting stillness before the assault began.  The void of utter absence… and then an explosion, a vast, sky-shattering wave, of everything all at once.  Nazi fighters coming in from all sides, rockets shrieking past, the sound of heavy machine-gun fire punctuated by the crew calling out positions and screaming status updates. 

He recalls the moment of impact with unerring precision.  How they saw Bar Fly listing heavily to the left and took evasive measures to escape its path.  Hands on the yoke, pulling left with all the strength adrenaline could provide—pushing the rudder and aileron to their limits—tucking the left wing down into a roll.  How they put every ounce of their training into action—and how, despite every attempt to just get out of the way, John Egan knew without a shadow of a doubt that there was no escaping this.  They were fast, but they simply weren’t fast enough. 

The two forts collided over the Rhine at oh-nine-two-seven, nine twenty-seven in the morning.  The last thing Egan recalls is the grating screech of crumpling metal, and then…

He raises his hands, palms up in the universal gesture of ‘well, what can you do?’.  “FUBAR,” he says, his entire body rocking back with a shrug.  “With emphasis on the F and the U.  I’ve seen a lot of forts go down, but that collision… fucked up is the only way to describe it.”

Ginger nods, not unkindly, as her body finishes repeating his words for the stenographer.  “Thank you for giving us this information.  It helps more than you know,” she says, the sincerity softening her voice from the sharp command of a ranking officer to the gentle cadence of the young woman she once was, so long ago.  For a moment, a breath, she feels impossibly small.  A single grain of sand, perhaps—batted back and forth by the tide, the ebb and flow of war, and grief, and more ghosts than she could ever count, let alone speak to, sweeping her feet out from under her.

Before her, Major Egan nods in turn, his hands falling back to his sides.  Despite the precision of his report, the explicit attention to each and every bloody detail, he’s still present in a way most ghosts aren’t.  It’s an odd thing to witness, Ginger finds—like discovering a spot of air that’s solid to the touch, something that should not, could not be.  He feels too vibrant to be dead—but still far too gone to be alive, the chill of death radiating out from his chest and winding deep into Ginger’s bones. 

She swallows, trying to slip back into the familiarity of command.  Before she can ask for his last message, however, he’s speaking again, his voice low and a little awed.

“…Still can’t believe I punched my ticket,” he says, his eyes rising toward the ceiling of the bunker as if he can trace the trajectory of his final flight across the gray tiles.  “I knew it was coming, but I… shit, I really thought I’d make it out.  Thought I’d be one of those cockroach motherfuckers, you know?  Those ones who should have kicked it a long time ago but keep coming back, even long after they’ve pissed away the last of their warm welcome.  None of the good guys ever make it—should have meant I’d live forever.”

He’s quiet for a moment, fingers tapping on the hem of his sheepskin jacket.  “Last thing I saw before it all went to hell,” he says, and his eyes are like distant stars, burning cold and white as he stares off across a scene she cannot see, “was Alice from Dallas dropping her bomb-load on the target.  No Engine Cleven, showing everybody up like always…”

Black.  Deep and unyielding, a wave of inescapable tarry ink.  Ginger blinks, her vision blotted out by the depths of emotion the name dredges up from Egan’s soul.  She wants to gasp, wants to cry—wants to scream at the weight of the abyss of longing that’s pushing up inside of him, the way his soul seems to reach out with a thousand grasping fingers in search of stability.  It moves as if it expects something to be there to steady it—some wall, some dam, that it knows will contain it no matter how wild the storm.  A tsunami, so used to finding something unmovable to push against that it nearly floods the entire world.

It only lasts a moment.  A fraction of a second, the length of one heart-beat.  Then, with a crash and a mournful cry, the water recedes, folded back inside a man resigned to the fact that he’s going to hold himself together, has to hold himself together, by the skin of his teeth and the very edge of his sanity, if that’s what it takes.  A breath, a sigh… a long, choking moment to swallow the blackness back down into his chest, and just like that Egan turns, his eyes flicking back to Ginger as if nothing of note had happened.  Nothing out of the ordinary, not a single questionable thing—just the unstoppable force of a longing that could sink ships, glimpsed between his teeth.  No big deal.

“…He got out, right?  He made it through?” he asks, his voice carefully light and evasively calm.  The depths, once again, have been covered, a gravitational well with the flimsy of white parachute cloth pulled over top.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Ginger admits, still reeling from the onslaught.  “Would you like me to see if I can get a message to him?”

Major Egan nods, the muscles of his jaw twitching once, twice.  “Yeah.  Could you?” he asks.  His hand, strong and sure from months and years at the yoke of a bomber, scrubs over the thin mustache on his lip.  It’s a human gesture, a remnant of life—a rote motion shaped by the exhaustion that is naught but a memory now, soul deep in a ghost who still can’t quite relax.  “…Hope he made it out of that hellhole.  Goddamn do I hope.  He always was the best of us—I’ll never forgive the bastard if he got himself grounded same as me.”

Ginger dips her chin, her eyes closing for a moment.  That feeling… she knows it all too well.  Distantly, through the tether to her body, she feels a tug at her hand, a signal to wrap this up.  She’s spent too long with this soldier already, the throng of waiting ghosts only growing deeper and wider and more numerous by the minute… but she can’t help but feel the ache in her chest, the darkness within her echoing that inside Major Egan.

“Tell me,” she says.  Her chest rises, falls… rises, falls.  Her breaths are deep and steady.  “Tell me what you want to say to him, and I’ll make sure it gets through.”

Those eyes, both dead and alive, light and shadowed, clever and distant, bore into her for a long, long moment.  Then Major Egan tilts his head, grinning that roguish grin as if he hasn’t a care in the world.  “That’s easy—you can tell Gale Cleven that he outta loosen up at least once in his life.  Try a sport or two, play some pool, maybe.  Now that I’m gone he’s gonna have to actually look for entertainment, so he might as well give it a go—tell him he should live like me for a day just to see what the fuss was about.”

The words are aloof, almost brash—but underneath, where his emotions can’t hide their truth, Ginger finds an old worry that is smooth and worn from use.  He cares deeply for this Gale Cleven—so much so that his fondness has grown almost backward, warped around and twisted over itself into a ruthless desire for more more more more. 

It’s this, she realizes, that colors his soul’s hunger.  His longing, his desire—he loves a man at a depth that feels like it could drown him, that should have killed him over and over and over again, long before the Bar Fly or the mission or the entire goddamned war. 

…And yet.  Instead of releasing the black depths of that love, unleashing them in a brackish, torrential flood of a final message that would only drag them both under… he’s chosen to leave behind nothing but a reminder, however humorous, to live.  To breathe.  To buck up and keep going.

It’s oddly sweet.  Contradictory, sure, but what is a human if not a contradiction of themself? 

Smiling softly, Ginger rests her spectral hand on Major Egan’s shoulder, palm flat against the cool sheepskin.  “I’ll let him know,” she says.  Then: “You can rest now, Major Egan.  You’ve done your part.  Thank you for your service.”

“Is this where I walk into the light?” he asks.  His lips twitch, perhaps up or perhaps down.  His eyes sweep the room, a wary scrutiny.  Ginger waits, watching him—she takes note of the slight hesitation in his stance, the nervous flex of his fingers, expecting him to go at any moment.  Any second now, his eyes will alight on that distant place that even she cannot see.  He’ll cross over into the beyond with the same confidence that he had while blatantly flirting with her young medium, she knows he will.  But as the seconds tick by…

…and nothing happens…

…Ginger slowly begins to frown.

“…You’re still here, Major,” she says, after a full thirty seconds of not so much as a twitch toward the light. 

“Looks like it,” he says back.  He hums, rolling his neck as if he’d like to crack it.  He frowns as his ghostly form simply bends, joints unhindered by the tension of life.  “Does that happen a lot?”

“Very rarely,” Ginger admits.  “When someone has unfinished business, their spirit may find itself tethered to the earth, unable to move on.  I’ve only encountered it a few times, to be quite honest.”

Major Egan raises a brow.  “Unfinished business?  Am I meant to know what that is?”

Her mouth thinning into a flat line, Ginger pivots until she can see the massive clock hung on the far wall, its large, black hands ticking away.  “It’s different for everyone, Major.  Very personal, as I’m sure you can imagine.”  She sighs, straightening her ghostly blouse, calculations panning across her mind’s eye.  At last, she says, “…Our shift won’t be over for another three hours.  I can help you figure out how to pass on, but it’ll have to wait until our relief arrives.”

For a moment, all is silent.  Then, teeth glinting in that almost wolfish grin, Major Egan turns on a heel, taking one, two, three short strides.  He raises his arms above his head, stretching them languidly… and flops decisively onto the floor at the very center of the circle. 

“Well, then,” he says, and winks up at Ginger.   “Guess I’m stuck with you for a while longer, doll.”

And with that, he folds his hands behind his head and shuts his eyes, as if he intends to doze off right there under their feet, not a care in the world.