#Dusk Scruffings

[daleespringdraw]

I made a Monkey Wrench OC/Persona!

Meet Dusk W. Scruffings! She’s a traveling artist who specializes in finger painting as well as graffiti :) She is also homeless bc she’s not good at selling art lol.

Also—

YOU SHOULD WATCH MONKEY WRENCH NOW!!!

Episode 4 is coming out TOMORROW!!! You can watch the series on YouTube!

[emeraldembers]

Fic: Your World Against Mine (JayVik, R)

Title: Your World Against Mine

Fandom: Arcane

Pairing: Jayce/Viktor

Summary: Viktor is outside time, outside space, but not alone.

Author’s Notes: I'd like to thank Arcane for pulling me out of what was damned near a two year dry spell. I owe it my life, not entirely jokingly. Btw this is second person and experimental as hell because if you're gonna come back from ficlessness, why not come back weird.

Comments loved and encouraged!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60852262

"Viktor?" he asks, "Are you still there?"

Panic, dark falling -

- he reaches out with a hand, or something like one. You take it, wrap yourself around it, draw him close. His panic fades.

Words are difficult, here. You thought they would need air, or ink, or thought-forms.

You feel - envy. He figured out words before you did. You think in images, colours, symbols.

You take a circle, twist it, recreate infinity. Always.

You rest more than he does. He can't stop being. Flickers, like - like a candle.

It's apt. Your light-bringer. Sunshine boy.

He laughs; sound, again, in a vacuum.

"You never called me that."

You find another symbol for him. It requires a hand, and five fingers. The third, in particular.

"What should I call you? Moon boy?"

To stand in the dark, reflecting his light.

"I didn't mean that."

Guilt. On his part, and on yours.

"Viktor," he says, and you feel what the word means to him. You flinch, shrink; you were never that beautiful.

"Viktor," he repeats, sinking into you and showing you -

Feeling seen. Drunk laughter. Being pushed to safety, at the end of all things. Your hair - black, grey, white; long, short, soft as silk; softer. Neat and clean. Scruffed up after sleep. Sticking to your face -

You laugh, remembering how that voiceless sound goes. He's hot, bright, excited. He isn't finished; he'll never be finished. He tastes like your salt.

You show him a loop - his one-track mind.

He sticks a finger through it. You laugh again. He hooks more fingers into you, tugs you into him, onto him. You remember wet. You remember need.

You need to rest.

You don't.

You have eternity. You have time. You just have to reinvent it, first.

"Can we stay here?" he asks.

You want to say yes. You could say yes.

His fire burns down low, down to embers, soft and ashy. Warm milk and old, worn blankets on a rainy day. He's persuasive. Always was, given time to think.

You rest.

You rest.

It's dark. You lean into him, drawing from his light, illuminating your colours. You make something simple; a staircase, extending upwards forever. Golden, at first, then other hues join, spreading out like an oil slick as the steps climb ever on.

You always liked the concept of 'up'. You climbed what you could, once. He lifted you, when you failed. Let you see further.

He's quiet, watching you work. Peaceful.

He touches your face - recreates it from memory. Did you have that mole before?

"You did," he touches another, above your lip. You know this one well, like the one under your eye, which you hated. He remembers their colour wrong.

Irritation, affection. Your upper lip is soft, the fine hair above it downy.

"I always thought I'd kill for that mole," he says.

'Kill'. You turn to steel at the word, cold and featureless. He stays with you regardless, finds a way to hold you, defies the rules. Steel can be warmed, but it can't feel warmth.

You feel him anyway. You can't stop.

Steel gives way to flesh, to bruises, to tears. The stairs shatter.

Panic, dark, falling.

He falls with you, catches you, spreads wings he never had. Breaks the rules to protect you, again. You can't fly without air.

"You can't fall, either."

He's wrong, you think. You don't know. Your memory should be perfect now, but it isn't. You are human. You will never not be human. You're unsure if you ever told him what you want to say.

He waits. You don't use symbols this time.

"I'm scared, Jayce."

He lifts you. Dances with you. Works from dusk till dawn with you. Talks until you fall asleep. Carries you home. Runs away with you. Stays with you.

Chooses you over safety at the end of all things.

He loves you. Takes a circle. Twists it.

Always.

[heirbane]

He wondered if he would see blood on his companion's teeth.

(He wondered what it meant for him to almost wish for it.)

Estinien tasted like mint and ash, small and overwhelming all together. Had they both not just exited from the Rads-at-Han eatery, he would never have believed the man to have had a sweet tooth.

Then again, he doubted few didn't indulge in their yogurt drinks after a too-spicy curry. Gaius had shrugged off the offering from their server, content to enjoy the numbing heat from his meal... and to save his wallet the loss of coin.

Estinien had no such qualms. He made slow, lazy work of his drink, boots crossed under the table, pinning Gauis' own in place under his heel.

It was easy to sup upon another's coin, the man mused - the dreadwyrm had found Estinien's weak points. How the man ate as he did and still scaled the heavens was beyond him.

When they finally rose, the moon was peeking beyond the horizon. The sun still shone alight, the sky torn between dusk and day.

"You to walk me to my quarters, Varlineau?"

"Should it please you," Estinien goaded. "Has the Legatus fallen so far, to require an escort just to roam the city? Must I be stationed at your door as well?"

"Should it please you," Gaius echoed dully. "I'm quite certain the Satrap would miss his nightly company - pray give him my apologies next you share his quarters."

"We're to share quarters now?"

Gaius let out a snort. It was neither a denial nor a confirmation, the words hanging heavy in the damp, humid sunset. Gaius needed no companion to walk him to the visitor's quarters: they were not far, nor a complicated trek.

But he enjoyed scruffing the boy regardless, as if he were little more than a competitor for someone's affections - as if they were neck-and-neck for the throne.

They had both shunned their motherland. There was no throne to claim, no title to uphold, but yet they bore their teeth and nipped anyway, a game neither quite knew how to end.

Not that they would. The chase was part of the fun for the wolf, and he assumed the same for the wyrm slayer. He had ample time and chances to leave had he wished.

"How much? A man my age needn't buy a whole evening."

The guffaw that rose from Estinien's throat had the corners of Gaius' eyes crinkle. His lips quirked, his own breathy laugh following behind.

He knew the pup understood their game. He didn't flinch nor tense as Gaius crowded him, allowing himself to be cornered between a column and a tiled wall with the ease of someone who knew every escape.

Gaius tangled the man's locks in his fist. For just a minute, it reminded him of home, snow half-melted against his gloves: but snow was a quiet, submissive thing, easily trampled underfoot.

Easily overwhelming when one didn't heed the warning signs.

Dragonbone silver bore unto wolfish gold. Estinien's lip curled, teeth sharp and warning, one beast encouraging another.

When they met, it was all teeth, a snarling display of their insistence to overrule the other. Gaius's stubble was sharp against Estinien's chin: his tongue was scorching hot, delving into his mouth and pulling away just before he could snap his teeth down.

They only withdrew when air became a requirement. The sound of Estinien exhaling seemed to nearly echo, as if he were more wyrm than man, and when Gaius spied blood on his lip, something stirred.

And then Estinien wiped his mouth. The blood smeared and disappeared, showing no bite nor split lip.

The blood belonged to Gaius.

"The night," Gaius said thinly, "should you allow it."

@drachenlance / @dragonlancer

[ask-steven-stevenson]

dusk has him scruffed! KISS.

[[KISS.]]

[im not addingtags bc om. Too fucking tired.

[mauserfrau]

Bordertober - Time For Two, Part 1

Tyreen’s view of waking up at Dr. Black’s.  Contains medical/injury material, Tyreen being gross and some vaguely hinted at Troyreen.  Note that Part 2 is shaping up to be more obvious about this.  Probably nothing graphic, since I’m planning to recut all of the Dr. Black shorts into a single story.  Oh, and I put her H/C post at the bottom.

Waking up at Dr. Black’s had been embarrassing more than anything else.  She’d had no idea where she was the first few times she came around.  There were now two holes in her torso and two in her right arms.  She couldn’t do anything for herself. Ugh-- that part was the worst.  Troy gave her a bath with fucking people wipes.  She got sacks full of doped up skag pups and chickens for food.  She did not get to toilet herself.  Nope, stuck in bed except for leg stretches twice a day, no complaints, ring the bell if you need anything. 

And then that woman, leaning over her, poking her with clamps and sounds because she couldn’t use her hands.  Well, it took the fever rolling off of her for Tyreen to take notice of it, but Dr. Black seems to keep all of her dexterity in those fingers of hers.  The rest of her had some mild form of dyskinesia, probably an old injury pretty far down her spine.  It happened to make her look like easy prey, but Tyreen figurds not devouring the person who procured her pain meds might work out better in the long run.

Meds meaning she slept a lot.  Actually, Tyreen wasn’t sure that she’d ever slept so much in her whole life.  She spent most of the days under for a few restless hours at dawn or dusk spent ticking over a third-hand ECHO and feeling her guts lurch at random as the moon smirked down the operating theater skylight.  She made it to the bottom of a music swapping forum she’d been eyeing and listened to old school synth jazz while reading Vonnegut or something called “Pirate AU Fanfiction” which she didn’t realize was derivative until she found the one starring Arthur Gordon Pym of all characters.

So it wasn’t like she was bored.  Hell, the weird thrum of her body knitting back together could have kept her occupied.

The stillness in her bones though ached worse than her bullet wound.

Tyreen sighed.  She ran her hand down her torso to the sore, bruised place trailing off from her entry wound.  She pressed ever so lightly until her belly twinged and her toes curled.

This didn’t so much remind her of the fact she was going to be wearing a lovely S&S Munitions bullet for the rest of her life.  It reminded her of that other itch she couldn’t scratch, the one that was going to take talking instead of prowling to fix.

~*~

Dr. Black at least took hints.  Tyreen bitched at her about being woken up closer to noon than not exactly once.  Next time? Dawn hadn’t even cracked

She got her vitals taken and her bandages changed.  The IV came out and that was the only blood that leaked out of her that day.  Her wrappings still got all sticky and rheumy, but they weren’t brown anymore in that way that kind of made her want to suck on them.

So, a lot of next times later, it finally happened: “Well, you’re healing up nicely if I do say so myself.  What do you want to do first?”

Weird.  Tyreen never asked Troy what he wanted to do when he started improving after a spell or a fall.  She squinted at Dr. Black.  “Is that a trick question?”

“Well, I don’t recommend BASE jumping for obvious reasons, but no?” Not that Dr. Black sounded sure of this.

“I need my hair washed.  That dry shampoo made it all sandy and shit.  Then I wanna go outside and, you know.”

“I’m out of chickens, sorry.”

Tyreen rolled her eyes.  She’d actually meant piss on a fence post and scope out the best vantages for ambushes, but she was getting hungry too, so of course the woman had to mention.  “Whatever.  Hair first.”

“Well, your brother and me already figured out how to do that since you’re still not cleared to shower because germ transfer.  Get ready.”

The two of them maneuvered her onto one of the rolling stools and pushed her into the kitchen rather than any of the bathrooms-- for a woman living alone, Dr. Black had at least three according to her hallway.

Tyreen’s impression of the kitchen was what it smelled of some unfamiliar grassy-brown spice and eggs.  Most food didn’t tempt her anymore, but there was something about the whiff of a runny yolk that got her tongue to stir.  Anyway, the stainless steel sink had been scrubbed out and Tyreen knew where this was going.  She groaned.

She’d been all of four the last time anybody washed her hair for her, let alone in a sink.  Sink salons were for babies.

Troy’s hand rested on her shoulder.  “It’s just for a couple of times.  What else have I been doing for you? And did the world end, Ty?”

“Fine.  I want two washes and extra gooey stuff.” She meant conditioner, but she flicked her tongue over her lips pronouncing it gooey stuff like a drunk her.

Troy blinked way too hard, but he nodded and finished wheeling her over.

So much for innuendo getting her anyplace today.  He was probably stuck in his own head for a change.  Contemplating caring for her.  Like it was… like it was that big of a deal after all the trash that had happened.   

Just like when they worked on her, Dr. Black handed over the equipment and he used it, though this time, easy on the instructions.  

Troy bundled her up in a towel, wet her and worked the first round of shampoo in slow, scratching over the residue on her scalp and using the dish sprayer to double rinse.  The whole time he leaned over her, face tight with concentration.  He wouldn’t look her in the eyes and Tyreen couldn’t say she wanted him too, not even when he went for the wet/dry trimmer and neatened up her unintentional undercut.

“You want anymore off?” he asked the window and not her.

“Just get the really messed up part in the back.”

“OK, turn.”

The hum of the trimmer felt kind of nice on her damp skin; that and the way he combed his fingers over her fuzz after, even though the next spritz got her free of snibbles, would have without his intervention.

For the conditioner, he let that set and combed her out, streaking the remains of her bangs down her forehead, then rubbing them away from her eyebrows when they got too close.   

Tyreen sighed up at him.

Since she caught his eyes, he did manage something resembling a smile and his fingers dragged against her for the last round of rinsing.

With him and her both patted dry, she finally got hoisted back to a sitting position, her hair dropping once more down her cheeks before she reached up, scruffing it out and sneezing by some coincidence.

Dr. Black stifled a laugh.

Dr. Black

Dr. Black was a small, fat woman with a crooked jaw and a crooked smile and a penchant for wearing hoop skirts with no panties underneath. 

-Says her full name is Calvin Decker Black

-Has at least one ex-husband and is possibly using his name???

-Probably not a doctor, but close enough

-Good at working with what she has; absolute kludge queen

--Has an affection for out-of-date equipment, but can run almost any test off of her ECHO.  Somehow.  Don’t ask. ---Speaking of which, carries the Twin’s genomes around on hers and has heavily notated them.  Heaven forbid that got into the wrong hands.

---Recognizable ECHO device with a formal Delft print

--Sometimes uses medical equipment for secondary purposes, i.e. pointing with a sound, employing that nice steel vomit tray as a casserole

-Cheerful, enthusiastic, curious, bit of a spazz, insensible to gore.

--It’s possible to get her and Mouthpiece going at the same time.  Mind your eardrums.  

-Loves food.  Pretty good cook.  Rather more fond of food other people have prepared.

-No, she doesn’t eat her patients! Any human flesh stored in her fridge is from other people, you silly.

--Yeah, I can’t in good conscience recommend her ‘famous breakfast scramble’.

-What’s she doing in the CoV? She’s the person who walked Troy through patching up Tyreen after Satellite.  They couldn’t leave her running around after that.  Apparently joined their caravan without complaint and has been riding around with them ever since.  

-Has been known to dress up and give sermons or go out in the field for negotiations.  

--Ugh.  Torture takes so long.  Don’t make her do that.  We could have steak instead.  

-Is mostly still around for Troy mending purposes nowadays.

[mister-lucky-bunny]

Sympathy For The Ghosts

Long story short, I really liked @sparvely‘s OC, Moon, so I decided to write a fiction with him and my own Scooby Doo OC, the Detective! Let me know what y’all think (and let me know of any accidental errors I may have made, I wrote this all in one sitting like a dumdum). Enjoy!

Sympathy For The Ghosts

"Ugh... why couldn't it have been a warmer night..? I'm freezing," grumbled the voice of one shivering Moon Caddy Pérez. Currently, the sun was starting to make it's descent above the mountains, the sky starting to phase between a bright, dark orange to a dark, subtle violet. The growing dusk certainly wouldn't help with the coolness of the air, but at the very least, there was no threat of rain that night. So there was one upside.

Moon himself was carrying nothing more than a flashlight, which he had just turned on. As the night started to seep it's way in, the forest that the short paranormal detective found himself walking in was starting to grow darker and darker. Thankfully, there was a visible path to follow, so anyone who wanted to walk down it could easily find their way back. Of course, no one ever did. Who would, after all? An off-the-road path heading into a wooded area filled with who knows what? Most people would pass on that opportunity.

But not Moon. No sir, not tonight. With the rumors spreading around town of ghost sightings, he made sure to keep an ear out for any more stories, or perhaps a lead. Some would say that he took to these sorts of events like a few other paranormal detectives, who had quite the infamous reputation around town.

For tonight, however, he was by himself, carefully treading below errant tree branches and stepping over roots, huddling into his arms a little to help stay warm. Normally, to hear about ghost sightings, one would venture out to the local cemetery. After all, why wouldn't a large area filled with the dead bodies contain ghosts? However, Moon knew that whatever was happening around town wasn't occurring because of the cemetery. He had been by there quite a few times before, and had never once had an encounter with the paranormal. So where should he look? From various stories around town, the sightings took place around the side of roads, usually coming from people who liked to jog early in the mornings, or those who drove around at night.

A little research on Moon's part revealed that there was once an abandoned graveyard, all the way back in the 1800s, that used to be located on abandoned property. Age and nature took a hold of the old house that resided there and destroyed leaving, letting it rot away into nothing. Soon, the forest grew over the entire area, leaving it forgotten for years.

The ground became a lot more uneven as Moon found himself heading up a small hill of sorts, dead leaves littering the ground, crunching beneath his footfalls. The path started to fade away, the trees thinning out a little more. As he abandoned the pathway, he tried not to remember that one movie about three kids being lost in the forest and continued on.

He made sure not to wander too far away, otherwise he'd become lost, and with night approaching, that was the last thing he wanted. As Moon flashed his light around, he tried to look for any semblance of a flat surface area. Fortunately for him, he found that just, not too far away from where he strayed off. While there were trees growing, they weren't nearly as tall as the others he had encountered, and were quite thin, showing that they were no more than mere saplings.

With dead leaves scattered all about the place, he remained cautious, not wanting to trip over any rocks. Speaking of which, as he continued to shine his flashlight around, he found cracked stones sticking up out of the ground. With how they looked, they were far too big to be natural. Moon gently bent down in front of one, letting his fingers gently feel along the jagged edges. As his fingertips rubbed across the surface, he realized that there were markings on them. However, they were horribly scratched, almost as if an animal had gotten to them.

The air was growing colder and colder, making Moon shiver a bit more. What made him freeze up, however, was the sound of dead leaves shifting around, crunching gently beneath... something. The footfalls were uneven, and almost sounded like they were moving closer. 'Ghosts can't make noise like that...' Moon thought to himself, quickly standing up and flashing his light towards the source. He almost wished he did see a ghost, as the sight before him was very unexpected, causing him to gasp out.

Moon's light shone across a man's face. Despite his large smile, he didn't look too welcoming. He sported two, tired, yet wide-lidded eyes, heavy shadows underneath them. His hair was a deep dark brown, which he had lazily styled to hang to the side. His face was scruffed with dark facial hair as well. The man wore a large, purple hoodie, which he kept his hands buried in, along with dark blue jeans and black sneakers. The boy realized that the man was limping somewhat as he moved closer, unfazed by the sudden bright light in his eyes, which remained unblinking.

"Who are you?" Moon questioned quickly and sharply, showing that he was not a fan of being scared, especially by some stranger he's never even met before. Add in the scenario of a dark forest, and it was downright creepy.

The odd stranger's smile cracked even further, if that was even possible, and let out a slight, dark chuckle. "Caught ya by surprise, huh?" He asked back, stopping in place and lifting up one of his hands, waving it some. The man's voice was deep, yet very gruff, with a distinct Southern accent. "My bad. I have that effect on people sometimes," He joked, chuckling once more. Since Moon had his light on the man, he could easily see that the skin on his hand was... incredibly scarred. Moon remained on guard though, even as he shoved his hand back into his hoodie pouch.

"Yeah, you did," Moon huffed out, his voice softening up a little bit, lowering his light somewhat. "Still, that doesn't answer my earlier question."

"Hm," The man began slowly, flipping his hair a bit. "Just a traveler. Heard about Crystal Cove's... reputation, and it piqued my curiosity." As the strange, tall man continued on, Moon tried not to be freaked out by how he didn't seem to need to blink. "Most just call me the Detective. As well as some other... impolite names, but I doubt you'd want to use them," He finished, giving another small laugh at his own joke.

Disregarding the fact that he never gave an actual name, Moon sighed and fixed his own hair somewhat. "I'm Moon. I don't suppose you're here for the same reason I am, huh?" He asked, hoping that was the case. While it wouldn't have been nice to classify this man as a serial killer... he almost fit the part.

"Might be," He replied nonchalantly, shrugging. Despite the fact that Moon let out another unamused huff and put a hand on his hip, the Detective continued on. "Heard this place has some history. This area in particular."

"Yeah, that's right," Moon answered, feeling slightly more comfortable enough with the Detective to move forward a little. "A graveyard used to be around here before it was grown over. I'm thinking it may have something to do with the recent ghost sightings around town."

"I've heard those stories as well," the Detective responded, his smile still nice and big. "Only been here a few days, and that's all I've heard. Have ya seen anything yet?" He asked Moon, tilting his head somewhat.

He shook his head in response. "Nah, not yet. Hopefully it's not just a group of troublemakers trying to pull a prank or something."

"I highly doubt it," The detective said, shaking his head. "If two people have a similar story, it's a coincidence. If three, it's concerning. Four, you've got a mystery to solve," He said, his smile flashing even more widely.

"Heh, almost sounds like something Fred would say..." Moon chuckled, seeing the man's smile quickly turn back into a grin, which looked a lot more subtle than his previous expressions. When the Detective said nothing, the young hippie clarified. "Oh, uh, Fred Jones? Of Mystery Incorporated? Surely you must've heard of them. They're, like, kind of a big deal around here."

The man said nothing for a few more seconds, instead taking a hand out to scratch his chin, as if thinking. His grin widened a little more, the man looking off to the side. "...sounds familiar. Will have to look into 'em."

It was hard to tell if he was actually telling the truth in this regard or not, but something else caught Moon's attention before he could press on about the current topic. A shadowy silhouette, dimly illuminated by a white light was moving slowly from behind a tree, almost as if it were peering out from behind it. The moment he blinked, however, it had drifted away. This didn't stop the hippie from gasping out and saying aloud, "I saw one..! It was just there, looking at us..!"

The Detective whipped his head around to where Moon might've been talking about, his expression looking marginally more excited. His voice still sounded as deep and almost monotone as before, however. "Probably curious," He answered.

Moon shivered a bit more, the air becoming oddly colder, the night sky growing even darker at this point. However, the wind had not picked up in the slightest. "I don't think that was the only one around here," Moon stated.

"Definitely not," the man said, pointing a finger in Moon's direction. "This place used to be a graveyard of sorts, right? Can ya tell me who it was for?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

At this, Moon did his best to regather the information he could. "Uh, let's see... there was a house connected to the property... a farm, of sorts. Big family, I believe."

"What else?" The Detective encouraged, quite interested in what else he had to say. From the looks of it, he too was familiar with the story.

Moon continued on. "Well, they made a name for themselves, and were not liked by competition so..." The hippie let out a gasp, realizing why so many ghosts were seen. This gave the Detective the opportunity to finish his sentence.

"They burnt their barn down," He replied grimly. It was hard to tell if he was still smiling or not, but the man was looking elsewhere, making the shadow on his face look more intimidating.

"That's... awful!" He gasped, trying his best to not become over emotional. It was difficult though, his voice already showing how he felt. "But... why would they go through the trouble of burying them in a graveyard..?"

"They didn't," The Detective replied again, his voice sounding even more grim.

The weight of his words hung in the air for awhile as Moon took that statement in. Once the barn was burnt down, their bodies were left to perish with it. As the hippie thought about this horrific event, the Detective spoke up once more.

"...I think they're here to see us themselves," He stated simply. Slowly, Moon lifted his head, looking directly across to the Detective. His eyes were scanning around quickly, darting from one place to the other in a rapid manner. "Look around. Slowly. Carefully," He warned quietly, his voice a harsh whisper.

Moon's eyes scanned around, slowly adjusting to the night sky. More silhouettes were starting to circle around the pair of investigators, slowly floating into a ring of sorts. While their shapes were vaguely humanoid at best, their heights often varied. As he turned his head around to see even more ghostly apparitions start to appear, he noticed quite a few short ones. They made a motion as if to hold onto a taller ghost's hand.

The two humans said nothing as they all stopped, forming a tight circle around them. The ghosts stopped moving, instead turning their heads to the small group that had wandered onto their old property. For awhile, no one did anything, both Moon and the Detective trying to figure out what to do. Then, the hippie's own eyes widened in realization, letting out a small 'oh!'.

The Detective, as well as the circle of spirits, watched as he got to his knees and gently pulled up the old, jagged stone from earlier. He situated it into the ground, making sure it was more upright at this point. He pulled together a few smaller stones around it, making it look more decorative and professional. It didn't take long for the Detective to know what Moon was doing, as he had finished up by making a small cross out of sticks, tying it together with the stems of dead leaves. A little memorial.

One of the taller figures slowly floated towards the memorial, looking towards it. It would get to it's knees(?) and get into a position that made it look like it was praying. Soon, all of the other spirits would do the same, bowing their heads and following along. At this point, however, Moon had no real idea of what to do. Sure, he had properly memorialized them, but what next?

Thankfully, the Detective had an idea. He gently limped towards the kneeling spirit, letting a scarred hand hover over the shoulder. Then, he began to recite a prayer in Latin. "Pater caram habeant animarum ire nocuit regni posuit animam requiescere..." He recited deeply, his voice sounding oddly... calming.

Sure enough, with small, yet audible, gasps, the spirits began to fade away, slowly lifting into the sky. The one kneeling would the the last to go, being lifted up above as it was still praying. Soon, only Moon and the Detective were alone.

The two remained silent for a little bit longer before the Detective began to walk past Moon, heading back towards the path. "...I believe they're put to rest now," He stated simply, his grin as wide as it ever was.

"You know Latin?" Moon asked, turning his body to keep an eye on the man.

"Yup. When you read as much sacred works as I do, you get a tongue for it," He chuckled, continuing on.

Moon hurried to his side, deciding it was time for him to head back as well. "Thanks for helping," He responded, looking his way. "It's awful to know that they had to... well, die in such a bad way. But knowing that ghosts can't leave our world until they're put to rest. Or, in some cases, finish some sort of motive they had when they were alive."

"Yup, pretty much," The Detective replied with a slight nod. "Thankfully it was simple, this time. Some spirits are harder to get rid of than others. Hell, some of 'em can't even leave our world, even after death."

"Phantoms, right?" The hippie reaffirmed, gaining a nod from the taller, lankier man.

"Seems like you know a lot about this kinda thing," The Detective said, raising an eyebrow in Moon's direction.

"Yeah..! Ghosts are neat. I think that's probably the first time I've ever seen that many all at once," Moon replied. After a few seconds of walking, Moon spoke up. "...so, are you gonna tell me your actual name yet?"

A few more seconds of faux thinking later, the Detective flashed a big smile to him. "Nah." Moon rolled his eyes again, giving a wry smile in return.

"Figured as much."

[calmoxidization-a]

iimperium || Villain AU

@iimperium

Arms stretched far over his head and a groan came from the man’s parched throat as his muscles strained slightly. Masaru had been working on a project all day, not an easy one either as the client had asked for very particular details to have special attention done to.

He looked out of the window, noticing that it was dusk and time to head out from the studio. Gathering his keys and other essentials he took the long walk down to the run down bar in the less inhabited area of the city, the bar that The League of Villains called a base. As he walked, a dark scowl over took his usual cheerful demeanor, a sharp glare glancing over the occupants of the bar: Shigaraki, Kurogiri, and two teen kids known as Toga and Dabi.

Sitting at the bar Kurogiri handed him a glass of beer; as he was about halfway finished with it, a kid with scruffed up violet hair and a blank stare entered the bar.