#Ember wanted a concert | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vintagehellfire · 1 year ago

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Danse Macabre | E.M x Reader

summary: Your best friend invites you to a concert that you're less than keen on but you get much more devil worship than you bargained for.

warnings: porn without plot, plot? What plot?, choking, nipple play, blood play, bruising, oral (m receiving), sacrilege, bdsm, dom sub dynamics, just really stupid horny honestly. Eyefucking, teasing, edging???? Spit kink, mask kink, devil worship. This is just pure filth honestly, piv, unprotected sex (don’t do this with strangers ya’ll pls I’m begging) mdni 18+

word count: 8.6k

Thank you to @the-unforgivenn for beta reading this pure filth for me and for correcting my atrocious keystroke mistakes. I love you so much babe.

part two

How you got dragged to some sort of musical satanic ritual by your best friend Lilly was far beyond you. The heavy instrumentals contrasted too harshly with the light and theatrical vocals. If looks could kill, Lilly would be dead. This wasn’t your scene, it never would be, it’s what you told yourself. Sipping your gin, arms crossed, you scrunch your face, the bartender having been too busy staring at your chest while he poured your drink, resulting in a rather disgusting concoction. As if the night couldn’t get any worse.

One of the lighter intro songs came to an end before the pyrotechnics roared to life next to you, one of the guitarists emerged from behind the waft of smoke. It was then that your breath caught in your throat, the way that he played had you hypnotised, placing you in a trance so deep that you couldn’t tear your eyes from him even if you wanted to, veins protruding. Your eyes trailed over his body, tight jeans fitting to his body and a uniform dress shirt adorning his torso, long sleeves and turtleneck underneath, hiding any soft skin. As you would be met with a face, you were surprised to find that you were met with a helmet of sorts, breathing tubes and other such accessories adorning it, as well as sticking out the top. His eyes burned red like embers behind the wide goggles, a darkness swallowing the man behind the mask and drawing you in. Curiosity got the better of you, you watched closely when he stomped to the beat of the songs. he fans collectively let out a wave of screams, throwing flowers on stage. You rolled your eyes so hard they probably should have rolled out of your head. Were you attracted to the masked musician? In some capacity sure, but wholly? No. They just… they knew how to play well and those hands… you could admit those hands were something. You shook your head to rid yourself of impure thoughts, it wasn’t like you liked the music anyway.

Your face was stone cold and your arms were crossed over your chest unhappily, cleavage pushed up, and the leather of your jacket creaking. That was the thing about you, you’d rather die than remove your prized biker jacket. It was your battle armour, much like the guitarists get up seemed to be the band’s uniform. To them, it protected their identity, and it protected you – you wouldn’t be caught off guard, you wouldn’t be vulnerable, you couldn’t. Your icy stare pierced through the smoke, through the flames, as you focused your gaze on the guitarist in front of you. His white guitar distinguished him from everyone else just as your expression did you –perfectly sour.

The crowd behind you chanted along to the songs, screaming about Lucifer and the congregation and whatever other shit you chose to ignore in favour of your best friend. Lilly was one of them, jumping up and down, chanting every word of the hymns the lead singer belted out to the tune of the strong bass line and the chugging of guitars. As much as you wanted her to have fun, you rolled your eyes, this wasn’t your scene. Every song that started out heavy led to a disappointment with the vocals or the rock opera and so you just opted to be the designated party pooper and give your best glare towards the lead guitarist who seemed all too interested in your corner of the stage. He wailed on his guitar harder than you’d seen anyone wail on one before, a flash of worry briefly crossing your mind but you quickly pushed it down.

The masked man played through his songs flawlessly, fingers moving expertly across the fretboard, mind and body completely in tandem; however your pout, your knit eyebrows, and crossed arms caught his eye, he’d stare back at you through his tinted goggles, smiling softly to himself at how adorable you looked when you were so grumpy. He could tell this wasn’t your scene and so during the slow and long intro to a song he walked over to the very front, standing just a few feet above you. He tilted his head to the side, his mask listing as he stared, playing the intro as his eyes never left yours.

The small movement caught your attention, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you felt like the glowing embers behind the goggles were burning into your very soul, dissecting every little secret. He slowly points to himself before he gets his queue to jump into his next riffs, stomping away as he pushed through the heavy chords that thundered through the concert hall. You dared not admit it to yourself, but something inside you snapped, a warmth starting to spread between your legs. No, no you couldn’t possibly be attracted to this, right? But just as that thought entered your mind, it shot out of your head and straight to your heart when you saw the man before you strut over to his bandmate. The two bent over backwards together, the taller of the two supporting the back of the man with the white guitar. A cute moment, or so you thought, but as soon as the shorter was up for his solo, the taller wrapped an arm around him and pawed at his cock, tugging him into his muscled body, catching the one you had your eye on off guard. He rocked his hips into the other and rested his masked head on the shorter shoulder, fake panting. He did not falter however, and that had your brain reeling.

With a small smack on the ass, the taller let him go, strutting away as the crowd erupted in ear shattering screeches, and if what had just transpired wasn’t one of the hottest things you’d seen, you would have absolutely rolled your eyes, but instead it had you shifting in your place, all too keenly aware of the small flare of heat that lapped at you and the proximity of the other bodies surrounding you. You suddenly felt small, trapped; and you wanted nothing more than to run out and dunk your head under some ice cold water. What was wrong with you? Your eyes darted from side to side, hoping your best friend Lilly wouldn’t notice.

What went on next was just about to make anyone lose their minds, the lead guitarist started to throw guitar picks into the crowd, plucking one last one from his guitar and marching over to directly in front of you. The song they played next was clearly well known but it was only vaguely familiar to you, it was one you would listen to ironically while doing the dishes, one that you didn’t care much for, but was catchy nonetheless. What you didn’t realise was just how suggestive the lyrics were – and so when the man with the white guitar stood in front of you, spreading his legs to put himself in a more comfortable playing stance you thought nothing about it but his next motions had your panties soaking themselves in your slick. A long and crooked finger pointed to himself quickly, then he went back to wailing on his precious guitar just before giving himself a window of about a second to stop, his ring and middle finger very rapidly turned upwards, flicking rapidly as if motioning fingering you, his goggles deadlocked on your eyes. You could tell he was watching you for a reaction, and how you knew you wouldn’t be able to tell. Christ, maybe you should have listened to Lilly when she was telling you this band was horny. Truthfully, you had shrugged it off, what, some singer in a pope mask acting all horny? That didn’t exactly get your rocks off, but the moment you laid eyes on the masked men playing their instruments, all rational thought flew out the window.

Little did you know that the guitarist did have his eyes set on you, all queues already learned, his body moving on auto pilot, his performance was deliberately exaggerated just for you, his motions tailored to get you hot and bothered. He knew he played the best role, and as the show went on, with the lack of water, and the horrid head, he knew his veins were pronouncing themselves even more, fingers sliding around, fingering the fretboard with an expert speed. Every nook, cranny, and metal notch memorised by the calluses on the pads of his fingers, like an old lover he’d always know how to please. He would pride himself on it, on his accuracy, and he was thankful, oh so thankful, that his death metal band had allowed him the dexterity to pull something such as this off.

Your eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from his figure, stalking his every move like a predator with their prey, A game of cat and mouse you both played with each other from the stage and the crowd. At this point, all shame was thrown out the window and you were openly eye fucking him, blood boiling in your veins and mouth starting to run a little dry.

The final nail in the coffin was during their heaviest song during the show, a calm moment before the storm, before the stadium exploded in a downpour of black and white paper confetti. Your eyes fixated on the man before you as the song slows to a steady chug, breathy whispers sung into the microphones. It made your head spin as you were trying to compose yourself, breath hitching as the object of your lustful affection met your gaze. His black inky goggles bored you as he brought a shaky hand up, his other hand chugging the low E of his guitar. You were transfixed by the man, unable to peel your eyes from him as he slowly and seductively licked his hand, tongue expertly flicking between his fingers, his shaky breaths becoming ragged and exaggerated. Pressing his hand to his chest, he threw his head back in a moan, sliding his elegant fingers down the front of his uniform until it was level with his guitar, and exactly in time with his strumming, he fisted his hand and with a teasing motion he tugged at the air. Your mouth ran completely dry as you registered that he was feigning masturbation in front of thousands of people. He had you caught in a trance, hypnotised by his agonising motions, his eyes seemingly staring into your very soul, picking apart every last bit of you - he saw the scars inside and your desires all rolled into one. As his actions picked up, one hand still busy on his guitar, you let out a choked breath, transfixed by the man, ghoul, whatever he was, before you. He commanded all your attention, causing your mouth to run completely dry but it couldn’t have prepared you for his “release”-- letting go the moment the confetti cannon exploded. Your jaw slacked, a strangled moan flying from your mouth as you clenched your thighs together, mouth slightly agape.

The guitarist knew he had you in a chokehold at that very moment, smirking from underneath his coverings. Flawlessly he jumped back into the song and turned away from you, the game of cat and mouse had become too much, too real. It had only taken him an hour and a half to break you down, but once he did he felt a satisfaction he couldn’t explain, and of course he would try to hide it as he continued to strut across the stage as if he owned it. The reality was that he didn’t want to give away just the way this little game had affected him as well, an undeniable strain in his lower half. If his bandmates had noticed, they had clearly made it their mission to torture him, the rhythm guitarist getting on his knees in front of him during a solo, fucking into his own guitar as he pressed his head to the lead guitarists thigh. It wasn’t until the lead placed a boot on his shoulder to push away from him that the one on his knees relented, the crowd exploding in a rain of screams, and yet all you heard was the rush of blood in your ears. You resigned, the game had been won.

As you tried to catch your breath, you looked over to Lilly, thanking Satan that she hadn’t noticed your turmoil. The rest of the show had you holding your breath, knowing that the masked musician had made it his mission to play games with you. the show ended, you were relieved, you might have a moment yet to go home and get yourself off, forgetting the whole of the events that transpired.

“Come on, let’s get out of here and to the merch table before it gets too crowded!” Lilly cheered, sticking her handout for you to take, but as soon as she looked over your face her eyes drained of excitement. “Oh, are you okay? You look a little pale,” she noted, tilting her head to the side.

“Y-yeah, I,” You cleared your throat, “I’m fine, just feeling a little warm. I think I might head home but you go grab some merch. I’ll text you,” you lied cooly. You didn’t want her to know the profound effect that the lead guitarist had on you. With a nod she gave your shoulder a squeeze and darted off.

You could finally breathe, the suffocation that gripped at your throat just moments earlier had slightly dissipated. As dirty as your thoughts were at the moment, it was in your best interest to get moving, and so, as if on autopilot, you let your feet carry you as far from the stage as possible. You slipped past the crowd, weaving in and around groups of friends, teenagers reeling about the show, displeased parents. You wanted to beeline it out of there before anyone noticed you but unfortunately your plan was short lived as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and tug you behind a closed door.

Your brain ran at a mile a minute, trying to figure out whether it was cause for alarm, but as your back collided with the wall behind you, you were met with the masked ghoul from the stage pressing his knee between your legs, pinning you in place. All colour drained from your face as your breathing laboured. There wasn’t any fear in your body, not any longer, and if there had been any,it had been replaced with undeniable arousal, heat being sent straight to your core. It took all your willpower not to grind into his thigh.

“Hey, sweetheart.” The husky voice purred, a small accent peaking through. He smelled intoxicating, like amber and cigarettes, a tinge of iron poking through in the softest of undertones. It drove you crazy, mind spinning, dizzy with want. He cocks his head to the side, his nautical mask tilting, the black goggles seemingly bottomless, swallowing his eyes. The musician’s expression is completely unreadable and if you knew any better you’d say it was like a predator who had caught his prey. Your mistake was thinking the little game you both played was over, yet now it seems like it had just begun. The man leans into you, invading your space completely, his covered mouth coming up beside your ear. “Oh you thought our little game was over, didn’t you?” He pulls back, allowing your caged body some space. “Don’t think I didn’t see you, little one.” His sweet voice purrs, setting you over the edge, hips finally pushing into his leg as your head tilts back, smacking softly into the wall.

“Fuck…” The syllable leaves your mouth as a groan before you can do anything about it. Surely you were dreaming this, but when you opened your eyes, you were met with the same mask, the same expression that stared at you from the stage.

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart, I’ll have to bring you to the green room. We’ll paint it red in sin .” You swore you could hear him wink from behind his coverings but you didn’t care, satan, you didn’t care as long as you could have him. You’d worship him in uniform, all sweat slicked and bloody if you had to. In this moment you had a one track mind and you’d be damned if you didn’t act on your desires… but maybe having these desires meant that you were already damned. “What, not as bold anymore? Devil got your tongue?” He mused.

“Are you going to run your mouth or are you going to fuck me?” You spit out at him, a feigned venom behind your words, but they were too lust drenched to be taken harshly. In an instant his body was against yours, thigh pressing into your cunt, slowly rubbing back and forth.

“Earn it.” He growled out, face burying itself into the crook of your neck to pepper both kisses and love bites across your jugular. Your body caught fire, desperate to be taken by the mysterious man then and there. You hadn’t seen his face and you were mildly worried that seeing it would ruin the illusion. Would you even find him attractive under all his coverings? You didn’t have time to think about it before his hands came to the meat of your ass, tugging you against him with a burning desire, fire coursing through his veins. The strangled moan that ripped from your throat was one you weren’t expecting, but did it ever feel right, his strained cock digging into your hips as he pushed your body closer to his. You could tell he was well endowed even through the fabric of his trousers, a heat creeping up your neck at this realisation.

“Don’t tease.” You spat, hands coming up to grip his slightly torn jacket, his arm coverings hiding any identifiers. You were going off of nothing aside from the little fire element pin that was securely pinned to the lapel of his uniform. Your hands found themselves tugging him forward, daring him to kiss you.

“Don’t be a brat.” The stranger growled, swiftly lowering the cloth covering his mouth before assaulting your lips with his. It was all teeth and tongues, pure lust taking over every one of your senses, and it seemed to be true for him as well. You kissed back furiously, nipping at his bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from him that would turn into a groan as you rolled your hips against his, begging for some relief. “Easy, pet.” He muttered against the plushness of your mouth, a small tender moment slipping through the cracks. As much as you enjoy rough, there was a certain swell that filled your heart in knowing that he wouldn’t push too far.

Your escapades were all tongue, teeth, and lips, strangled moans, and tugging at each other’s clothes until you both reached the green room wherethe band was supposed to be, however, your mystery man had ensured to clear it before he went out to find you. The only time either one of you broke from one another was for air or to push the door closed, locking it in the process. Both of you were too impatient, a carnal desire for one another pooling into your veins, fire spreading through you both and kindling in that very low spot in your abdomens.

“If you need me to stop, the safe word is Beelzebub.” The man’s husky voice cut through the groans, tugging your hips forward into his by the belt loops. He gave you a moment to process what he had said, but instead you grabbed onto his mask and tugged his head forward, lapping at his bottom lip in order to gain access to his mouth. As soon as he parted his lips, you were welcomed by his tongue dancing in tandem with yours. He tasted of wintergreen and cigarette smoke, a combination so sinful, so depraved that you should have been turned off, instead it flooded you with desire.

“Need you.” You panted out between kisses, the man unrelenting his assault on your mouth. You were utterly soaked through, and you were certain that the musician could smell you but you didn’t care, not right now anyway. You should have been embarrassed by being taken like this but it just turned you on even more knowing that maybe you would get to live out your newly discovered kink instead of trying to soothe — or smother — the flames by yourself.

“Do you need me?” The man mused. “Mmm, prove it to me, my little devil.” His hand crept from your waist down to your hips, and from your hips down to between your legs, agonizingly circling your cunt, thumb pressing into the seam of your jeans in the exact spot your clit would be in. “Show me how needy you are for me… Go on…” His husky voice teased. When you didn’t react he spun you so your back would be to him, a strong arm holding you against his body while the other busied himself with teasing you. His breath was by your ear now, and his cock pressed into your ass. He was so worked up that he began to rut his hips forward, moaning at the friction. His moan elicited a reaction in you, causing you to throw your head back onto his shoulder, mouth falling open. The tassels on his overcoat swayed with each rut of his hips, tickling the side of your face. You couldn’t imagine he wasn’t warm in his get up but you were too occupied to do anything about it.

“Please, fuck, I need you.” You choked out, eyes screwed shut as he teased. You felt him lick a stripe up your neck before nipping just underneath your ear as a small warning before latching his lips to the sensitive spot, sucking a dark bruise into your skin. The sickening combination of his lips on your neck, his hard on rubbing against your ass, and his fingers teasing your clothed cunt was becoming too much, driving your senses crazy. A low growl emanated from deep within his chest, reverberating across your back from the proximity.

“Then get down on your knees….” He spins you around, voice low and husky as he shoves you down, a mix of fear and burning desire settling in the deepest pits of your stomach. Your knees hit the ground with a thud and you’d be sure to bruise later, but that was a small price to pay. You watched him undo his belt and pull his zipper down before bringing his hand back up to his face, licking it slowly like he had during the show. You knew what was coming but what you didn’t expect was him to give you one last order as he spidered his fingers down the ruffled fabric of his shirt. “And pray.” An animalistic snarl came from beyond the mask as his fingers trailed into his boxers this time. The man tugged his cock out and began to stroke himself, chest heaving, his breathing became laboured.

“Oh, god.” You uttered, but the musician didn’t seem to like that. He let go of his cock, allowing it to bounce against his stomach, a stark contrast with his black attire. It looked delicious with the little opalescent bead of precum nestled on the very tip.

“No, my pet,” he purred, his thumb coming to your lips, slipping past them and into your mouth. It tasted of brass and sweat yet you opted to hollow your cheeks around it anyway, “you answer to our savior, satanus here. You are no longer in the house of god.” There was a cruelty behind his voice, corruption on his tongue. You would have thought the theatrics would have instantly had you shoving him away, but instead it left you craving the masked man, mouth salivating at the thought of him completely ruining you.

Without much warning, he tapped his cock on your lips, his precum smudging across your lips, and satanus, was it going to be his death. Your dark smudge of red lipstick would become ruins in the wake, the thought of a red ring around his member had his brain short circuiting, if you didn’t take him in your mouth soon he was going to lose it. Luckily you complied, opening wide to accommodate his size, letting your tongue lap at his tip as he slid in. He started slowly, almost carefully in order not to hurt you but soon enough you pushed his cock to the back of your throat, eliciting a strangled moan from him. His hands flew to your hair, desperate to hold onto something, anything, and he tugged you forward, pulling a moan from the very back of your throat. You pulled back, saliva building up in your mouth mixing with the salty taste of his seed.It wasn’t something you expected to like but you found yourself chasing it, craving more.

Your head bobbed over his length, your moans muffled as you tried to take him deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. His delicate resolve broke then and there, slamming into you at a frantic pace. He chased his high, immense pleasure searing through his veins as he fucked into your mouth like an animal, all sense of self control was gone. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, giving him the most innocent look you could muster as you flicked your tongue over his tip, lapping at his slit. Agonisingly you pulled back, employing the aid of your hand around his length, taking only part of him in your mouth. You jacked him off as you hollowed your cheeks around his tip, tongue expertly flicking over his frenulum and eliciting the most pornographic moan from him.

“Satanus, save me.” The man hissed from above you, pulling on your hair to draw you closer. He was losing control, babbling about how pretty you looked on your knees for him. “You are so exquisitely sinful, my pet.” His chest heaved with every breath he took, fingers tangling themselves further into your head of hair, fingernails practically at your scalp.

You take the praise and you run with it, taking it as a signal to keep going, and this time you move your free hand up his leg, rubbing over his thigh as a tease, a preamble to what you were going to do next. You took his groan as a confirmation to continue, his breaths coaxing you to keep going. You slid your hand up, opting to rub his thigh teasingly, savouring the feeling of the looser material under your fingertips, toying with it before you continued your journey up. While your mouth and right hand busied themselves with his thick cock, your left hand came up to fondle his heavy balls. Who knew that praying to a false idol could be so pleasurable.

“Oh, oh, f-fuck.” The taller threw his head back, voice gruff and fucked out, clearly enjoying this more than he should have been. He was rapidly losing any grip on the situation and he needed to extract himself from it unless he wanted to spill into your mouth. It was his nightmare, his most sinful fantasy, having you like this after the show – a stranger, a person in the crowd. The amount of people that would absolutely kill to be in your position and it was likely that you weren’t appreciating it as you should have been. The man keened before tugging you back harshly, his hips stuttering at the sudden loss of contact from your mouth. “If you keep going like that, I’m going to cum down your throat, sweetheart.” There was a certain level of concern laced into his tone, one that you glossed over through your lust.

“Holy shit…” You breathe out, pupils completely blown, the colours of your irises practically disappearing due to how clouded your mind was with him, only him, nothing but him, and how divine his cock was. At your words, something inside him snaps and he grabs your throat, pulling you up. You could feel yourself growing more aroused by the minute. How he had guessed that you’d be into choking was beyond you, but fuck was this doing things to you that you hadn’t even thought possible.

“There is nothing Holy here.” He growled out, a darkness overtaking his voice. His words sent a cold shiver down your spine, one that found itself shooting down towards your core, causing you to press to him. The ember glow from behind his goggles scanned over your face, flickering, igniting a fire in the bits of your belly. “Here we succumb to our lust.” He breathes before letting your neck go only to bring his hand down to your chest and massage your breast, pinching gently through the fabric of your tank top. In an instant, his mouth attacked your neck savagely, teeth nipping at the thin skin, tongue flicking over the bites to soothe them. You tilt your head back to accommodate him, your breathy moans coming up right beside his ear as you rut into him. You’re desperate to be fucked at this point, needing him more than you need to breathe.

He pierced your skin with his canines, an animalistic desire for you taking over him. He could no longer think, all consumed by his desires. You felt his lips trail down, soft as a butterfly’s wings, stopping at your jugular vein before he bit down, causing you to let out a yelp. Your cry of pain turned into a pornographic moan as he sucked and lapped at your salty skin, a small sheen of sweat starting to gloss over you as you burned up. If this was what being in hell was like, you’d have a hard time coming up with reasons to wind up in heaven. Your torture didn’t end there; however, as he snaked his free hand up to your cheek, holding you in place tenderly as he continued his assault on your neck. He made it his mission to mark you up as his but you were too far gone to care.

“Oh Christ.” You moaned as he lapped at the bite marks he left, but he didn’t seem to like this. Not that you could see this much, but his eyes turned dark as he trailed his lips farther down, burying his face in the crook of your neck before he bit down hard enough to draw blood. Your pain was immediately covered in a strangled cry of pure ecstasy as he tugged you towards him, his hand on your breast moving to your hip, surely bruising it, fingerprint embedded in the skin of your hip bone.

The taste of iron filled the musician’s mouth, his hard on reacting to your metallic taste, pressing into your hip involuntarily. He couldn’t get enough of you - the intoxicating smell of amber and palo santo mixed with the salt from sweat, and the citrus of the gin… He wanted to ruin you once and for all.

“No, my pet, you are not in the house of God. Only the devil resides here. Will I need to have you pray to me again?” The growl that ripped from his throat has you soaking your lace panties, a choked sob escaping from your parted lips. As he took you in, he noted that you already looked completely fucked out, the bruising on your neck blooming like deep red roses, a symbol of both love and devotion. The only thing you could do was shake your head in answer to him. “Mmm,” the stranger hummed, “your body and blood are mine, sweetheart.” He teased you. As your chest heaved, you examined him, traces of your blood down his chin, and some smeared across his mask, his lips were swollen from the harsh and animalistic kisses he was giving you, and satanus were you ever attracted to him in this moment.

“Please… Can I see you?” You plead, your hands coming to his waist, trailing down slowly, your right hand making contact with his cock. The soft cant of his hips encouraged you to grip it gently, stroking him languidly as you await his answer. “Please…” You repeated, eyes desperately boring into the void behind his goggles.

“Oh, is my little pet desperate to see me?” He cooed out, his fingers skillfully finding your belt, undoing it at a painfully slow pace. It was your turn to buck your hips into him, rolling them into his touch. “Mmm, such a little slut, can’t wait until I get my hands on you, can you?” He teased.

“Satanus, yes, please! Wanna see you.” You groaned, breath catching as he slowly teased you through your jeans. “Need you, need- need- ah!” You cried, throwing your head back once again, eyes fluttering shut from absolute pleasure. It’s then that the man opted to unzip your fly, pausing his animalistic activities to gently tug your jeans over your hips. You weren’t having any of this slow and sweet shit; however, and kicked them off as soon as you got the chance to, allowing him easier access to your sopping cunt. The smell hit him immediately and he moaned, head falling against your forehead, his breathing ragged and strained. His cock reacted, bouncing in your hand and you continued your teasing.

“Then beg me for it, pet. I don’t think you’ve earned the opportunity to unmask me just yet.” His resolve crumbled with every soft touch, every stroke. He pushed into your hand and you took that as a sign to speed your motions before you pushed him back. Confusion was written across his features, that was until you let a healthy glob of spit hit his angry cock. “Oh mother fuck.” The man hissed out, crashing his bloodied lips into your own, allowing the metallic taste of your own blood to permeate your tongue. You reciprocated, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He parted his lips, granting you access, as he swiftly moved your panties to the side, his thick fingers slipping between your weeping folds. It took everything in him to not take you then and there, your pussy sucking his fingers in, tight and wet.

“Please, please, I need to see you.” You sobbed out between kisses, but it was clear that it wasn’t enough. The musician growled at your words, dipping his index into your slick and using it as a lubricant to tease your clit with, it took him a moment but he found the bundle of nerves. The instanthis calloused finger landed on your clit, your vision exploded into stars, mouth practically running on its own, incoherent pleas and various iterations of “more” tumbling from your swollen lips. You were finally giving him something to work with, the pleas, the praises. He continued working your cunt, curling his fingers into the sweet spot deep inside you, warm walls squeezing against him.

“Oh, darling. I’ll give you whatever your sinful heart desires.” He nipped at your bottom lip, splitting it with his canines before he pulled back, panting as he tried to catch his breath, however he refused to remove his hand from your cunt, slowing his movements only a fraction so that he could catch his bearings. “Are you sure?” He asked you, a worry laced in his voice. You nodded fervently, a saccharine look in your eyes peeking through beyond the undeniable lust. Whether you understood he was anxious about what you would think of him or not wasn’t apparent but regardless, you wanted to know who the man you were bound to fuck was.

With a swift move he tugged the mask off, tossing it to the couch behind him and removing his balaclava. What you hadn’t expected was the sight to take your breath away completely. His hair tumbled out of the bun he had it tucked into, and the messy curls cascaded down his shoulders, doe eyes framed by the prettiest eyelashes you’d ever seen, and his swollen lips? God you couldn’t even think anymore. You immediately kissed them, nipping at his lips, taking his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking, tearing a moan from him, his lust filled eyes expanding even farther as you continued your assault on his lips. You bit down harder this time, cracking his lip. This time the metallic taste belonged to him and you couldn’t help but moan at his taste. You needed more.

“Please, I- I need you…” You panted, eyeing the man with carnal desire.

“Eddie, my name is Eddie.” And with that final confession he grabbed you by the hip and dragged you back to the roomiest surface he could find. It was all teeth, tongue, and the metallic taste of each other’s blood. Your hand on his cock and his fingers still working you open, movements becoming more erratic as he practically drilled into you with his fingers, setting an unrelenting pace that he seemed eager to keep up. Your knees hit the back of a couch, and his arm immediately shot to the small of your back, gently lowering you, a contrast to how he was abusing your needy body. Your hands moved to his hair in preparation for what was to come, yanking at his soft locks, releasing a deep moan from low in his chest. His hair was silky underneath your fingertips, few tangles in the way or your mission.

“Eddie, please.” You whined, flush with desire, unable to think of what you wanted anymore than wanting him. A smirk adorned his lips and he sank his knees onto the soft cushion, knees bracketing your hips perfectly, his hands coming up to frame your face, curls ticking your cheekbones as he did so.

“Open up, sweetheart.” He cooed. Instinctively you parted your lips for him only to feel a glob of his spit fly into your mouth. “Now swallow like the good devil worshipping slut you are.” You obeyed without question, swallowing down his spit with a pornographic moan. As you did, he took a moment to line himself up for you. “God, you look so beautiful, blasphemous doesn’t even begin to cover it, pet.” He praised as he rubs his dick against your soaked entrance, your hips rocking into him, threatening to suck him in. He hissed but slid his hand down your body, tracing your figure with his fingers, teasing in the most tantalising way, once he reaches your ass, he gives it a harsh slap at which you gasp out, choking on your breath, the sting of his hand making contact with your ass radiating a heat you hadn’t thought possible. You hadn’t expected it in the least but it was welcome nonetheless. “Behave.” He growled out, a darkness seeping into the word.

“P-Please, Eds… I need - I can’t, please.” You babbled, words completely incoherent. You weren’t even sure what you were begging for at this point. His cock? His fingers? Were you asking to be fucked stupid? In all your incoherent ramblings and begging Eddie caught one thing that made his brain fuzzy around the edges. “Corrupt me satanus, corrupt me, please.” Playing into the whole devil worship aspect had him gone, his hips violently snapping into yours, completely disregarding that you might need to adjust to the stretch. Part of him felt bad, but your immediate response was to wrap your legs around his waist, crying his name out as tears brimmed your eyes, mascara beginning to run down your cheeks. To Eddie, you looked absolutely perfect. He leaned in and peppered kisses across your face to wipe away the tears that trickled down.

“S’this what you want, my little pet? You want me to ruin you?” His husky voice was in your ear as he dipped his head lower, his hips rolling into yours slowly. He moved masterfully for someone so scrawny, cock buried to the hilt as he rocked into you. Your mouth fell slack, tightening your legs around his waist and tugging him into you. “Come on, answer me, sweetheart.” He coaxed, pulling out of you slowly before snapping his hips into yours. The pleasure and pain mixed together in a teasing dance, keeping you on the edge and overwhelming your senses all the same. You couldn’t verbally answer and so you turned your head, tucking your face into his neck and kissing up to his ear. About halfway up you landed on a sensitive spot, causing a moan to tumble from his lips, a shiver running down your spine. You latched on like a vampire, sucking over the spot, lapping over it with your tongue to soothe any violent bites you inflicted upon him. In turn he bit into your shoulder, trying to ground himself in reality instead of losing himself to carnal pleasure, the coil in his abdomen tightening evermore. His plan had gone to shit the moment you continued to nibble on his neck, your hands tugging harder at his lock, pulling him further into you. With a slight upward tilt of your hips, Eddie hit a new angle when he snapped his hips into yours, ploughing deeper into you. The both of you moaned in unison before he released a strangled whimper. It was your turn to break skin, your mouth filled with the crimson substance that sustained Eddie’s life. Releasing your lips from the wound, you kissed over his neck and to his shoulder, smearing the fluid across his upper half.

His pace picked up, slamming into you, deeper and deeper, nothing but the sound of breathless lovers, bodies colliding, and the sweet ecstasy of carnal desire flooding the green room. Your hand then came to his back, scratching down it and eliciting a whine from the man above you.

“Please, please, please.” You chanted into his neck. It was as if he understood what you meant, his hand coming down between your joined bodies to rub over the bundle of nerves, little figure eights being drawn over your clit. You were going to lose your mind, and maybe even your soul. Would selling it to the devil be so bad? It didn’t take long after that for a white heat to build, a pressure that you weren’t used to building, the coil tightening, threatening to snap like an elastic band.

“Oh, shit, sweetheart, I’m close.” The man turned his head, kissing up your neck, over your cheek, and found your lips. His kiss was searing hot, burning with need. He chased his release with you, trying to bring you as close to the edge as he could, hoping you might be able to finish at the same time. “Don’t want to finish until you do.” The devil could be generous if he wanted to be.

“S’close.” You panted against his swollen lips, unable to give any coherent answer to him, not that you cared. If laying in sin felt this good, you’d bed the devil any day. “Please, Eds… Don’t stop.” And somehow he kept at it, the same pace, same pressure, same rough and unrelenting fuck that he had been using for the past few minutes. He knew that don’t stop also meant that he shouldn’t change a single fucking thing he was doing, and rightfully so. With a cry, you closed your eyes tight, lights dancing behind your eyelids as you came, the elastic finally snapping, and your release soaking Eddie’s stage uniform.

“Oh- fuck!” The man squeaked, his own release following shortly after. He could have sworn he saw stars in that moment, arms shaking beneath his own weight. His body fully collapsed on top of yours, your arms wrapping around him tightly, kisses tenderly placed on his shoulder. “So perfect f’me.” He mumbled into your sticky skin, reluctantly peeling from you. His brutal and domineering demeanour melted away, replaced by a certain level of care. You could see it behind his eyes clearly. “You okay, sweetheart?” He cooed, brushing your hair from your face, a few strands sticking to your forehead.

“Y-yeah.” You shakily breathe out, your voice hoarse from the activities that had just taken place. As you try to prop yourself up on your shoulders, you wince, a pain shooting through you. “Just sore.” You murmured, suddenly shy under the musician’s gaze. You didn’t dare look at him anymore, a twinge of shame filling your heart.

“Hey, sweetheart, come here.” He mumbled, scooting closer, not daring to pull out just yet. He pulls you up, legs entangled with each other in a pile of limbs, unsure of where one person ended and the other began. He pressed your warm body to his, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, rubbing soothing circles over your back, his gentle voice whispering sweet nothings to you.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You mumbled into his skin, placing a tender kiss over a forming bruise. “That was something else.” He hummed in agreement, allowing his eyes to flutter close for a second, letting himself enjoy a fleeting moment of human contact while he was on tour. While the guys were wonderful and he loved them to death, there was a certain intimacy that he missed in lovers. One that he didn’t indulge in as much these days.

Reluctantly, he pulled out and you pulled away, debating whether to say anything to him, or whether you wanted to indulge in some more pleasantries. If you were any wiser and more observant you’d have noticed the longing in his eyes, his gaze trailing over your figure as you pushed away to gather your belongings. It was odd to say that the musician would have wanted you to stick around for some more aftercare, it would have been even stranger if he admitted to you that he just wanted you to stick around post coitus and have a drink, maybe a smoke, and get to know each other.

“Hey, hang on, let me clean you up.” His voice softened, taking you aback. “Come on, pet, I’m not gonna leave you like this.” He gets up only to tuck himself back into his slick soaked uniform, cringing as he does so. He grabs a water bottle from the nearby table and a small cloth kept on the vanity in the far corner of the room. “Come on, just sit.” He motioned back over to the couch and watched as you hesitantly padded over. You sat down on the cleanest area you could find, squirming as you began to feel Eddie’s cum slipping out of you.

“S’fine, you don’t have to.” You mumbled, turning away from the man. He sighed as he approached you, sinking to his knees before starting to clean your thighs. He worked his way up between your legs, cleaning the leaking spend from your cunt. He placed a few gentle kisses to the tops of your thighs, your eyes flicking over to him as he did so. That was the moment you got a good look at the man. Dark ink littered his skin, barely an inch was pure, untouched, the only areas you couldn’t see his tattoos were the areas in which you had drawn blood, the dried fluid flaking slowly. He continued cleaning you up, rubbing gentle and warm circles with the wet cloth. Part of you couldn’t help but find this incredibly thoughtful, your heart squeezing at the gestures, but the other half of you believed that you were probably just an easy lay.

“Hush, yes I do. It’s the least I can do.” His doe eyes met yours as he looked up at you through his lashes. “I made a mess of you, darling, and I need to clean you up.” His voice was sincere, soft even, and you couldn’t help but melt. You allowed him to tend to your tired limbs, and once he got to your neck, he apologised, knowing that it would probably hurt. You couldn’t help but stare at the softness behind his eyes, the fire that burned within had fizzled out and was replaced by some unnamed emotion. As the towel made contact with your neck, you winced, earning yourself a kiss from the musician. It shocked you that even after the heat of the lustful moment he was still willing to kiss you but you accepted it, melting into his lips. They were soft, a little chapped, but inviting nonetheless.

“Thank you.” You whispered against them, afraid your voice would give out if you spoke any louder. Your hand came up to his face, brushing your thumb over his sharp cheekbone before placing your forehead against his. “You’re sweeter than I anticipated.”

“And you’re kinkier than I anticipated.” He retorted and moved back gently, only to give himself room to fold the towel over to a clean side before cleaning up your face with a gentle hand. “Thank you for indulging me.” He cooed out to you, his sincerity going straight to your heart. You couldn’t help but nod.

“I should go.” Your voice broke, and in that same moment, so did Eddie’s heart. There was something to you that drew him in, that he wanted more of, that he craved. It flew past just the need for human contact, part of it had to do with the way you ran with the punches he threw, you went with the game you played from the stage all the way to the back room. Eddie nodded solemnly, pushing away.

“Yeah, uh…” He bit his lip, tossing the washcloth on the coffee table. Surely worse things had been on that surface in the past, but right now Eddie didn’t care about that, not about what was on that table, what would be in the future, or what he just threw onto it. “You don’t have to, I actually, I don’t know that I want you to. Can I at least buy you a drink?” He asked, standing up straight. You turn around, grabbing your pants so you could slip them back on over your legs.

“You want to buy me a drink?” There’s a hopeful tinge to your voice, head shooting over to look at the musician in question. As you did, you hissed out gently, the garden of blooming roses on your neck blossoming farther across your neck, bite marks adorning your skin like dark tattoos. There was no denying what had gone on.

“Sweetheart, I think we both left a mark on one another,” he teased, “when you pray to the devil so well, I think it’s hard for him to resist.” A twinkle in his eyes told you it was more than just the sex you both had. “Besides, it might help with the pain. What do you say?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed as if you were deep in thought, “only if the devil can treat me right.” You mused. “You going to change first?” You waggled your eyebrows, referring to his squirt-soaked trousers, only to receive a smirk in return. “Oh no sweetheart, I wear my battle scars with pride.” With that, he pushed back to grab his helmet, slipping it back over his head before taking your hand in his and leading you off to the bar. He wasn’t what you expected, none of it was, the show, the music, Eddie, but as you took his hand you couldn’t help the feeling brewing in your chest; the feeling that maybe the unexpected was exactly what you needed.

taglist: @munson-blurbs @the-unforgivenn @littlesubbyflower @word-wytch (if you want) @rip-quizilla @hellfire--cult @mystish

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #musician!eddie #stranger things au #mask kink #ghost bc #sodo ghoul #eddie as sodo #i'm obsessed #eddie munson smut #reader insert #music

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minnaci · 1 year ago

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POST-SHOW AFTERGLOW

contents: heartsteel!shieda kayn x afab gn!reader (reader's anatomy is described using the words "pussy", "cunt", "clit", and "cervix"), bottom!reader, use of insertive sex toys by reader, kayn walks in on reader masturbating, established relationship, bedsheet banter, fingering, penis-in-vagina sex, cervix mention, light dumbification, creampie, post-coital cockwarming

watching kayn perform live never fails to get you hot and bothered. luckily, kayn is always willing to take responsibility.

or, kayn fucks reader after a heartsteel concert. it's ridiculously good.

there's a wild sort of energy that ebbs and flows around kayn post-show. adrenaline— lightning in a bottle. he's on top of the world. he'd win any fight. he's ready for anything—

his train of thought comes to an abrupt end as he nudges open the door to your bedroom, and immediately, every cell in his body is subsumed by the low-burning embers of arousal.

he is not ready for this.

blankets lay crumpled around your spread legs. you're an angel, every curve caressed by soft light, and your eyes are squeezed shut as you fuck yourself on a thick dildo.

kayn recognizes that toy. it's the one that's the closest to his size and shape. you only use it when you're feeling particularly needy for him, or when you miss him. a soft, tender ache blooms in his chest.

"kayn," you whimper, sugar sweet. you don't seem to have noticed him, lost in your own world of pleasure. "kayn, please, please, i need you, please—"

your voice breaks on a sob, and kayn's mouth goes dry. his fingers curl with the need to take.

"what a nice surprise." kayn's smirk widens into a full, cocky grin when your eyes fly open and you squeak with surprise.

"kayn!" your hands scramble to pull the toy out, and kayn greedily watches as your pretty hole gapes ever so slightly, fluttering around air. another shot of heat, straight to his cock.

"oh, don't stop on my account," kayn says. "i'm just enjoying the show."

your resultant pout creases right between your eyebrows, and he lets loose a laugh, crossing the room in three eager, bounding steps to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. his tongue flickers out, and he licks into your mouth. he loves how you melt in his arms, how you always let him in so easily. you're so perfect for him. he's just about to crawl into bed and show you just how perfect he thinks you are when—

"shower first," you murmur against his lips, as if you hadn't been making a mess of the sheets for hours before he came home.

"but—" kayn knows exactly what you're about to say. he's got "dirty" clothes on, so he can't get on the bed, which is "clean". but can anyone really blame him when you look so tempting, so obscene, that his brain hurts from how hard his cock is?

"kayn—"

"hear me out." he presses a few sweet, pleading kisses to your cheeks, relishing in the way you melt under his easy affection.

"...fine."

"you're so beautiful, baby. look at you all fucked out. do you really expect me to make it a whole shower without jerking off? and if i jerk off, i'll cum, and there won't be anything left in the ol' sacks to fill you with."

you raise an eyebrow, clearly not impressed. damn it. looks like kayn has to bring out the big guns.

"...i'll wash the sheets after we're done," kayn adds. "so they'll be clean again."

"you really want me so bad you'd do laundry for me?" you swoon dramatically— a feat when you're already laying in bed. "is this what it means to be loved?"

"you're a menace," he says. it can't be legal for you to be both cute and devastatingly sexy at the same time. fuck, he loves you so much he swears he'll explode with it. his chest tightens. his fists clench. he can't stand it.

he pounces onto you, heart singing at the elated little yelp you let out as he presses a flurry of kisses to your face.

"i love you," kayn growls, incongruously aggressive for how sweet the words are. his fingers find their way between your thighs, rubbing where you want it the most. he dips inside, just a little, but you tense as if he's shoved all five (and a half!) inches inside of you at once.

"love you— love you too, kayn—"

fuck, he could listen to you saying his name just like that for years, and he'd never go soft.

"relax for me, baby." he stretches you in gentle, practised movements, head spinning as you obey, body going pliant under his covetous hands. you're so perfect for him, already soft and wet from your earlier stint with your toy. your lips find his weak spot— the tender patch of skin right between the junction of his neck and jaw— and he groans, feeling a little insane as you rock back against his fingers, dripping sweet and sticky like warm honey.

"i can't hold back much longer," he says, voice strangled.

"so don't." your breath catches as the tip of his finger brushes against your sweet spot, so he does it again, just to hear you gasp. he could get lost in this, this pleasure of playing your body like the finest of instruments, pulling sound after needy, dripping sound from your pretty mouth.

"kayn— kayn, please, stop teasing, don't hold back, please, i need you—" the sheer desperation in your voice makes kayn's blood sing with pleasure, and he gently removes his fingers from your aching hole, much to your chagrin. you line up the head of his cock with your entrance, shuddering as it pulses a thick glob of pre-cum over your skin. "inside, inside, please—"

there's nothing quite like the initial stretch of kayn's cock as he bullies his way inside of you. he's so thick, and the way he's got you folded makes him feel even bigger. your jaw hangs slack, every nerve trembling with anticipation.

the tip of his cock nudges inside, and you both let out twin moans. your cunt is hungry for it. desperate, even— your gaze goes hazy and unfocused as your pussy sucks softly at his tip.

"so fucking good," he groans. "how are you so fucking good every time?"

if you could speak, you'd say that you could ask him the same thing, but any semblance of coherent speech is knocked from the forefront of your mind as he eases deeper into you. every additional inch of his hot, throbbing cock only serves to make your mind go blank with pleasure. your eyes roll back, flutter shut.

"fuuuck, that's it, baby. feels good, doesn't it?" kayn shudders as he bottoms out. the very tip of his cock kisses a spot deep inside, so sensitive that it sends a thrill up your spine. "there it is— there's that weak spot. yeah, let me use it against you, baby. 'm gonna fuck all that resistance right out of your pretty hole..."

he rolls his hips once, twice, giving a few deep, experimental thrusts. true to his word, his cock massages over your sweet spot. you can't fight the onslaught of sensation, and even if you could, you wouldn't want to. it's so, so good— too good to resist, too good to fight. pleasure melts your brain, turning every coherent thought you might have had to gooey bliss.

your jaw hangs slack. your head spins. pleasure curls around your limbs, pulling you to new heights of mindless need.

"yeah, that's right. this is what you needed, isn't it?"

you don’t have to reply— the answer is written in the slight crossing of your eyes, the subtle trembling of your ribcage, the thin line of saliva that drips from the corner of your mouth. heat builds in your core, spreading like fire across your skin, and you let loose a long moan.

“kayn…” you struggle to make eye contact, lucidity slipping through your fingers with every devastating thrust.

“no thinking,” he says. his thumb finds your clit. the added stimulation makes it all too easy to obey. any semblance of logical thought dissipates into hazy pleasure. you wouldn’t be surprised if your brain was leaking straight out of your dripping cunt.

“no thinking,” you repeat dumbly, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. your fucked-out gaze meets his, and he curses under his breath, cock pulsing inside of you. through it all, he continues rubbing those maddening, mind-melting circles on your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

heat envelopes you, swallows you whole and digests you, transforming you into a being of need and pleasure. your nerves sing with molten arousal. every touch, every breath, every heartbeat only sends you spiraling further and further into the depths of debauchery.

“that’s it, baby, let me make you feel good, yeah, yeah—” kayn babbles, his hips stuttering out of rhythm. it makes his cock slide in that much deeper, makes his thumb slip just right against the hood of your clit, and— and—

you fall apart on his cock with a wail, unable to resist the overwhelming pleasure. it burns through you, sets the stars ablaze behind your eyelids. your sanity shatters as you all but convulse, gorging yourself on decadent sensation.

thick, creamy warmth floods your insides, and you practically purr at the way the tip of kayn’s cock kisses the sensitive mouth of your cervix. he’s still mumbling mindless praises against the soft skin of your neck even as he fucks you through both of your orgasms. his voice takes on an edge of wretched desperation. “so good, so good, it hurts, baby, hurts good, i— i— fuck…”

he collapses over you, sheathing himself balls-deep with a groan. the last dregs of his cum drool from his tip, dribbling over your sensitive walls. your pussy flutters around him in response, hungry for every last drop of him, and he nearly whimpers at the added sensation. pain and pleasure swirl around you in a heady cocktail of hormones as you come down from your highs together.

when kayn kisses you, it feels right— the natural product of the raw desire that connects you. his lips move against yours sweetly, softly, and he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. the afterglow is made for kissing, for heavy petting, for the cooling of sweat and softening of breaths.

"what was that all about?" kayn murmurs in the hazy quiet, pulling you closer to him. you grumble a bit as his soft cock shifts inside of you, threatening to fall out, and he makes a soothing little noise, ignoring the pricks of painful overstimulation and focusing on keeping you nice and warm and full.

"what was what all about?"

"don't play, baby. what had you so needy tonight?"

"...ah." your face heats up, and you bury your nose in his chest. still, it doesn't muffle your next words. "you looked really, really good on stage tonight. i couldn't stop looking at your stupid bulge through your stupid leather pants."

the honestly is unexpected enough to subvert kayn's knee-jerk instinct to be insufferable and smug. he gapes at you. "you're so fucking cute."

“mhm,” you hum in agreement. “and you’re beautiful. so we match.”

there’s a frazzled sort of silence as kayn short-circuits from the praise. for someone who presents with such an inflated ego, his reaction to genuine compliments is nothing short of charming.

"so... the sheets?" you break the silence, only half-joking.

kayn groans. “i’ll wash them tomorrow. let me enjoy this, baby.”

“i’m holding you to it.” you bury your face in his chest, heart melting a bit as his lips brush over the crown of your head. dirty sheets or not, there’s nowhere else you would rather be than here, limbs tangled with his, soaking in your shared pleasure.

tags: @enchantedforest-network @angelshub

#shieda kayn smut #shieda kayn x reader #heartsteel kayn smut #heartsteel kayn x reader #league of legends smut #league of legends x reader #heartsteel smut #heartsteel x reader #writemin!#+kayn

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itshype · 2 years ago

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The Opposite of a Golden Ticket (DC x DP)

The Teen Titans are horrified and delighted to discover that their latest crackpot villain is going to target International Sweetheart Ember McLain who is currently touring in Jump City. The villain wants to lower morale and prove not even famous people are safe from his machinations.

They're horrified because their PR is kinda dodgy at the moment, and Ember is a huge star and an excellent choice for a target. People lucky enough to get tickets to her concerts swear it is a religious experience though there is no useable footage to be found anywhere.

They're delighted because they were not amongst the lucky number of people able to get tickets. But a meeting to arrange her safety and some bodyguard duties while she was in the city would be just as good.

Or it would be just as good if this random roadie would let them through. He didn't care they were heroes. He wasn't letting them through without credentials or tickets.

Danny doesn't actually work here. Ember periodically sends him tickets to her shows, proving to him again that he made a good call letting her out into the world to follow her dreams. Proving she was never hypnotising anyone longer than 90 minutes after they'd paid handsomely for the privilege. He loves to come and see her, support her and tell her he's proud.

He won't let the heroes through.

Eventually, the Titans have had enough. They're about to get violent. They think Ember could be hurt right now. They think this random roadie or stagehand is just being officious.

Danny has to make a choice. Let them through and notice within 5 seconds that Ember is Not Quite Right (she's been a ghost longer than she ever was a human), OR fight them and let them look into him instead.

Ember is his friend. It's not a choice.

"Sorry, I really can't let you through, I need this job."

Danny transforms but uses shapeshifting to keep his colouring human. It just looks like he's vaguely glowing.

He takes Impulse (Kid Flash) out first, icing his boots to the floor. Danny doesn't have superspeed so he's the most serious threat. A quick Wail that's covered by the distant, screaming crowd and the rest of them are disoriented enough that he can disarm them.

After that frankly bafflingly short fight the Teen Titans find themselves back at their tower in front of the Master Computer and struggling to put a mission report for reviewal by the Justice League into words.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #mine #notfic #danny phantom #danny fenton #teen titans #titans #dc comics #justice league #the jla #robin #starfire #beastboy #cyborg #ember mclain #superboy #impulse

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rel124c41 · 24 days ago

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GOT YOU (WHERE I WANT YOU) (AS HEARD IN THE MOVIE DISTURBING BEHAVIOR). jade leech

In Jade’s logical mind, there is only one concrete truth: You are getting bored of your boyfriend.

2/3

tags: no grim AU, established relationship, social criticism, piercings/tattoos, misunderstandings, hurt/comfort, punk!jade leech

word count: 9707

He does not see you for the next three days after the concert in Scarabia.

This is the longest you have been away. A full seventy-two hours. It is not good for Jade’s health.

On the first day, it was an ordinary ordeal and Jade slept soundly, if not just bundling his sheets a bit tighter to his chest. On the second day, it was the equivalent to having a tiny splinter in his hand, something always pricking at the back of his subconscious. On the third day, he starts getting antsy — to the point where he seems to spend more time in class looking out windows than focusing on his cauldron or the lecture, to the point where he seems to have this ‘thing’ in his ribcage and under his palm’s fat that he must dig out, to the point where a sighing Azul lets him leave their little private Octavinelle meeting early so he can, “Go retrieve the tramp.”

Which is exactly Jade’s plan as he takes a brisk walk to his dormitory. It will be best to remove both his hat and scarf; he will gather his magic pen and that howlite stone. If you are locked inside Ramshackle again … he would rather not entertain such a notion.

When he conversed with Kalim Al-Asim yesterday, he should have had the foresight to press for more information about your whereabouts.

Now, he is left grappling with piss-poor preparation. His mind is disorganized. He doubts that when he rushes into his dormitory that he will hang either scarf or hat, instead flinging them on the bed. Mental anarchy is an extending splinter, growing longer and longer. If everything is not perfectly straightened out – his books, his shoes, his bedsheets, his mind, his life – how can Jade Leech possibly go on?

As he briskly walks, he remembers the last visage he saw of you. Fires had been scuffed out to only a sparse few, magic-powered lanterns all dead, and the faintest hint of light burn like embers in your tried yet energized eyes. You are stretching out your neck, hand over your pulse point, as the bassist and guitarist click and secure their instruments in their cases.

In his memory, you push down hard on the right side and jerk your chin, creating a loud kernel-pop. Sweat glistens on you like rain, even your eyeliner is smudged with the precipitation. Then, neck snapping again, you turn towards Jade who is making his way over the stage from the back.

Eyes bright, you squint at him mirthfully and make your way over the edge of the stage. For an illustrious moment, he sees an image of the high, guiding northern star, so sharp that it will pierce him like a closed iron maiden, an old torture device that the Queen of Hearts used to punish rule-breakers. You break that illusion by saying. I’m sleeping over here (in Scarabia) tonight, boo.

Since then, it is like you have just vanished from the earth. No matter where he checks, you are not there. Pop Music Club does not have any set-up days to meet or scheduled activities; everyone simply conjures when they ‘feel like it’ and they head home when they’ve ‘enjoyed themselves thoroughly’, so it is fruitless to find you during club hours. You do not attend classes so there is no luck there either.

Jade likes unpredictability but this is just vexing. I’ll check Ramshackle first. After that, I will once more try Night Raven’s technician room. Or, the breakroom for staff members. Her proclivity to rest wherever pleases her is piquing (in both definitions). Jade reaches for his bedroom door and reaches for his hat with opposing hands at the same time.

His door usually sounds like a mouse squeaking, rather than a human strumming. Hat in hand, Jade raises an eyebrow in curiosity when he hears a man singing low on the right side of the room. In his nose, the spicy scent of the Scarabia dormitory flows. His skin prickles up like an agitated cat’s bristling tail.

The factors do not add up though, because it is you and you alone who perches on the edge of Jade’s bed, guitar nestled close and dearly to your chest like a lover.

Your eyes flicker up upon hearing the door opening. A metaphorical glass shard cuts Jade’s veins as you two stare at each other in mild surprise. Then, breaking eye contact first like always, you reach over to Jade’s desk and drink a mysterious liquid that is a sickly olive-orange shade. Excelling at potionology, he knows by color alone that it is a voice-swapping potion. It alters vocal cords to sound like the opposite gender with each sip.

You cough around the foul-tasting elixir and say with a larynx that is slowly morphing back to your own, “Hi baby. Mornin’~”

“It is 8 P.M.”

You grin slyly, eyes squinting like squeezed lemons, “Huh, I guess so~.”

Jade goes huff with a closed mouth smile. So it goes.

You two are used to each other’s presence like a birthmark. Jade frequented Ramshackle and you frequented Mostro Lounge. Though there had always been other presences, the malevolent wisps of screeching souls and the uproarious laughter of your fellow band members, you know each other intimately. Which is why, it takes little effort and time to get settled.

(He fails to notice that when he places his shoes down upon his stool for them that the white tips of the toes do not touch. They are crooked.)

Rearranging sheets of music, you make a place so Jade can sit. Stubborn cowlicks point up like horns from his teal hair when he takes off his hat, so he brushes them down with a hand. Taking his seat beside you, Jade watches you pen the remaining notes you were practicing on the stave, your body leaning close to read them.

Pajamas can wait. Calmed by the sight of you — here in my room and safe — Jade decides to soak in the moment. He watches the familiar elegance of your fingers, bending and hooking as you test the riffs you wrote down on your guitar. There is truly an innate dexterity in those nimble fingers, like you were born and breed for this. Despite acknowledging and making a spot for him, you seem pretty pulled in by your task, by the music.

Your guitar pick (your lucky guitar pick, you would correct Jade upon hearing his inner monologue) oscillates between the strings. It is one of the three items that was transported with you from your old world upon arriving. Well, that wasn’t all you brought. Those three items being a pocket-sized Animal Farm book, guitar pick, and two-way messenger device, all under your ceremony robe pockets, along with the endless flow of new music from an alien universe.

They say in the Coral Sea that: to breathe is to sing. One’s own voice should always be treasured as an irreplaceable power. Music is an irrevocable part of merfolk culture. It creates an atmosphere. For those to enjoy the sea, profess their love, or enjoy celebrations, everyone likes to sing whenever they get the chance.

Jade rarely indulged. He kept himself out of the spotlight and adopted reticent mannerisms. Singing, as you have proven over and over, attracts attention, like a honeybee drawn to pollen’s scent.

You are mumbling lyrics under your breath before you stop. Jade draws his gaze up from your fingers to observe your frustrated expression. Down goes your lucky pick onto the sheet. The guitar nestled to your chest is pushed down flat, chords on your knees. There is this prickling tenor that radiates off you, before you say aloud with defeat in each syllable:

“I can’t do this anymore.”

And for a horrible moment, Jade truthfully does think that the this you are talking about is your relationship.

It would not be an irrational leap. Jade never makes those. With the way you have been so avoidant, disinterested in a majority of what he has to say, and always looking to escape conversations with him, it would make sense that you would want this relationship to cease if it is boring to you. Time has run out on the three month honeymoon. December is sneaking up right around the corner.

Just a handful of days ago, you sat on his bed for almost an hour without saying a single word or humming a single chord. It is uncanny for you to be silent for that long unless you are sleeping. Yet, you were fully awake, staring off into space, keeping all your complicated thoughts to yourself, as he worked at his desk with his terrariums and mushroom encyclopedias.

Jade had almost expected it then. For you to turn on your side, hands and loose mechanic gloves sandwiched between the bony knobs of your knees, and say with a hardened expression of self-confidence, ‘Jade, let’s never see each other again.’ He does not know how he would deal with such a unique surprise.

So, he refuses to deal with such a notion, and instead asks, gently because you have started to grip the front of your hair harshly in mental anguish, “Can’t do what anymore?”

“I can’t keep trying to remember this song,” you sob out without any tears. Dry eyes glance at him. “I keep trying to remember the chords of this song from my favorite childhood movie! But, I never played it before so it’s like piecing together a puzzle without the picture on the box! I don’t know any of the chords! Ugh, why is this so hard!”

For a moment, his imaginative and grand mind goes blank. Jade doesn’t really know to think with such a burden shared to him. Both of you are in strife now. Your problems morph into his problems and that is the zenith of being in a relationship.

However, Jade is a master of cold, calculative plotting. He advises, “If you keep pursuing prey, it travels further and further away each time you reach out towards it. It is better in the long run to hunt lying in wait and catch it by surprise.”

You stare at him. “What?”

Spoke too soon, he realizes. In his vision, your meek form hugs your guitar and caresses your guitar pick like it is the only teether to the physical realm. The instrument that you can rely on — unlike him — while you both move upward in age. “I think it is more advantageous to wait instead of struggling towards it.”

“Then, why wouldn't you just say that,” you question, releasing your harsh grip on your guitar. “I don’t need that kind of –.” You pause, guilty. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“It’s quite alrig –.”

“No, it isn’t. I shouldn’t speak so –.”

“Nonsense. I can’t fathom how –.”

“I’m stressed but that’s no ex –.”

“(Name), truly, no need for –.”

“Jade, I want –.”

All your combined words dissolve into bubbling laughter. Because, you smile crookedly at Jade which makes him fight against a creeping, fond smile which makes you beam a toothy grin which has Jade chuckling softly in reverence of your easygoingness. It concludes with both of you laughing into each other's shoulders, exhausted from interrupting. It tickles when your lips brush his neck and that has Jade seeping deeper into laughter.

I missed you, Jade admits without verbalization. He plants a fat kiss on your cheek. Still rooted on that field of flesh, he breathes in a cavernous breath that moves the non-visible strands of hair on your face like blown grass. Your scent crawls in kitten footsteps into his nostrils. Soft. You smell soft.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take this out on you. I went to rehearsal this afternoon and … ugh! I couldn’t get myself to remember a single chord progression and it’s like, c’mon, I should know this!”

“Not everything should fall onto you. You’re not the captain or boss after all,” Jade says, plucking the words another has used to describe your identity right out of your mind.

“Doesn’t feel like that though. Not since — ugh! Bleh! Look at me talking about such depressing stuff! What a downer, amirite? Let’s talk about something different!”

And, in that innate way you have about you, you manage to steer the conversation to another realm or another universe with practiced ease. Animatedly, you string together stories from the three days you were gone. Hearing stories from you feels like living through them. Truly, your voice is one of your most preeminent aspects. You even continue on steady going as you two brush your teeth for the night. Your voice is addictive. Something that even pulls in the fickle attention of his twin — who comes into their dormitory just as Jade rests his chin on the top of your head and starts to drift off to that hypnotic voice.

The last thing he hears is “well, I wasn’t going to take that lying down. So when she went to the bathroom, I unscrewed the lid of her coffee cup and phew! Right into her drink!” and the next thing he hears is the sound of vomiting.

And what does Jade do? Well Jade – dreams he is swimming through a forest of underwater mushrooms that reach up to a nebulous sky, his body is a primitive eel with no hands or arms, simply snake, threading through ivory white stems of mushroom-tree as one opens up to reveal a pulsing eye – rubs his nose in his sleep.

Unbeknownst to him, he’s been asleep since 10:31 and has gotten a full two hours of sleep. He is positive nothing is amiss outside from his body. The blanket is warm and the sounds are growing louder.

Jade — sits under the spotlight coming from the mushroom-tree’s slit, that single pulsing eye glaring down with a skyscraper iris, before it closes itself like one discontent labia, his eel body squirming in desperation — wakes up, eyes shooting open, when he hears a horrid sound. He only has an elbow up as he watches you lean over and vomit into the wastebasket you are cradling.

Floyd is by your side, ringlets of your hair squeezed in his hand. His twin wears a blank expression as he watches you (is this the first time you puked tonight or has it been more) puke, most likely, again. Their eyes met over the arch of your curling spine, backdropped by the sound of something heavy and wet hitting plastic. You gargle and burp up bile; it sounds painful.

He has a hundred questions he wants to ask his twin, but instead, he seamlessly and silently takes your hair from Floyd’s grip. The action is very fluid like passing a baton in a race; Floyd lets go at the same time Jade grabs on.

Any strands that Floyd neglectfully missed, Jade scoops them up with a fingernail and leans his body over yours, alerting you in the heavy mist of incoherence that your trustful boyfriend has woken up and will take care of you. You simply twitch like someone shot. The pieces that Jade is gathering are wet at the tips and his heart fractures for you.

Sevens, what kind of boyfriend is he if he is inadequate in aiding you in times of need? He should have been awake as soon as you stirred.

You must have moved around a lot on your own too. You were curled next to the wall when falling asleep and now you are sitting on the edge of the bed. The wastebasket is also from the joint bathroom. All that noisy movement and Jade slept. He pushes down his own bile-ball of guilt as you resurface like someone coming up for air.

“I — I —.” You vomit so hard it sounds like something sloshed out of you, like you had just successfully puked your heart up and out.

“Shush, shush, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He repeats that mantra a few times around. It seems to work wonders. “I got you. I got you. I got you.” Finally, sixty seconds pass than a hundred-twenty more seconds; it is long enough where Jade feels comfortable to dig for the reason of this nightly strife.

“Is it the nerves from your parents?”

You shake your head, no, refusing to look at him.

“The Dark Mirror?”

The same again.

“Ramshackle?”

You stiffen. A droplet of water peels off your eye like dew off a leaf. Jade believes he can hear it softly plop into the awaiting bile ocean below. He knows it is the most concrete answer he will get out of you. So, he says gently, not suggesting but telling, “A walk around campus would benefit me right now.”

“Yeah?” You murmur. Your haunted voice does not sound like your own; not due to a potion but rather your vocal cords twisting with fright.

“Are you okay, Jade?” You play along well with his subtle, situational manipulation.

“No, I’m not. My mind is disorganized.”

You go huff with a closed lip smile. So it goes.

As Jade stands off to the side, watching diligently with his eyes glued to your form, you bundle up in a winter jacket and brush your teeth in their bathroom sink. Your toothbrush clinks in the cup with Floyd’s and Jade’s. A programmed, innate part of you reaches for the wastebasket to take care of your mess but Jade stifles it by pushing the object out of your reach. Sometimes, he loathes that you are so independent.

You accept that with a look. What? Jade thinks, wanting to ask you what that look could possibly mean. He doesn’t.

You accept his hand when he offers, interlocking. The heat is grounding. Both of you bid Floyd demure goodbyes, his twin raising a hand up from his bundle of covers in response. Then, you are off.

No additional words are spoken. There is much to be said but neither of you dares to breach it. Steering, Jade guides you down the darkened hallways of Night Raven College. The shadow-blanketed portraits sleep and the shadow-curtained doors remain shut. Paces evenly matched, you share a walk.

December air bites at Jade when he pushes open the double doors. That’s right. Today is December 1st; midnight has most certainly passed by now. He looks up at the night sky where it looks like someone has spilled oil and tried to scrub it up in certain places, only managing to reduce it to a dark, dark gray where all the clouds lie. He does not shiver.

Your grip tightens in his hand though, because some of the cold has invaded through your layers. A scarf. I should have been prepared with a scarf. My mind is untidy; how vexing. However, you give no complaint to the winter air. Perhaps it helps; you lick your lips in a way that makes Jade assume you are trying to sample a taste of the cold.

Onward, you two continue. There are benches you two could sit upon and the fountain is also a nearby resting spot. Somewhere nice to sit and talk. It would be beneficial to discuss what happened tonight, and maybe beneficial for Jade to discuss how he is feeling recently.

His face tightens. The image of gloved fingers savagely parting a clam’s glistening shell lips, crunching the hard body like a handful of saltine crackers, appears in his mind with the paramountcy of those mushroom-trees. Perhaps he will keep his mouth shut. Wouldn't it be selfish to talk about his worries? Yes. He latches onto that excuse. There is no reason to use his unique magic on himself.

However, before any of this can happen, you slip from Jade’s grip as he starts down the stairs. He feels the lost tingle up the arm of psilocybin and bulbophyllum phalaenopsis. He watches as you pull yourself onto that familiar brick wall, straightening up to your feet, and walking across the structure.

There are skinny columns that make up the arches off the building. When you reach them, you grasp on and weave around them in a fashion that is fluid. Jade simply watches, walking around the border of the courtyard with you. It is just Jade, walking on the grass under your dancing feet, and you, shadowed.

A faint, raw-noise humming comes from the underbelly of your throat until you sing softly, “Heeeeey, what’s the point of this? Oh heeeey, what’s your favorite song; maybe we could hum along.” You weave past two columns, somber in the soft cadence. Your fingers look like little ghosts each time you release the thick, ebony metal.

“Well. I think you’re smart. You sweet thing.” Your eyes seem to look at someone Jade cannot see. “Tell me your name; I'm dying here!” You clench a hand to your chest, as you break through whispering-singing to real-singing. You throw your head back and sing coherently without any guitar or percussion, “Awooooouuuuuh! Got you where I want you … Again.”

Eccentric, Jade thinks fondly. Always interesting and unpredictable. He loves those factors about you as much as he is troubled by them. Why can’t things be linear?

After your musician outburst, you grow deathly quiet. Not even humming or murmuring the rest of the song, you continue weaving post by post as Jade follows, observing intently. He wants to crack open your head and dissect the yolk of your complicated, alien thoughts more than ever now. Too cowardly, he asks as you two come upon the first turn in the square formation of the brick wall, “How is your howlite ring fairing tonight?”

You glance down at the circular stone on your index finger. The mineral is white with gray lightning streaks, much like a marble countertop. “No cracks, I think.” You grab onto another post and slide your body around it. The stone glistens on your ghoulish finger.

It is always wise to look out for a breakage among those jagged, flint-hued lines. Jade would hate to see it break again.

The breakage of your last howlite ring led to Jade confessing his love for you. The prologue though? It was a rather unfortunate turn of events. Though, he is not regretful of it in the slightest. He looks back upon the memory of your face – drenched in mascara-black tears, your hands clutching his shirt as they shook with horror, the pale lifelessness in your gaunt cheeks – with both worship and woe.

Jade replays the words said just a few minutes ago: Ramshackle, A walk around campus would benefit me right now, Yeah? A Ramshackle nightmare is a volatile one but still mendable.

Even though Ramshackle is littered with protective charms, it does not completely halt the activity of nightly ghouls. Lilia once suggested acquiring a dire-beast to tame them. But, dire-beasts are a rarity and even harder to train than ghouls. Thus, you worked with other means. Howlite minerals fashioned into jewelry works well for preventing possession, but under constant strain, they can break. No one could have guessed it would happen. Your radio silence was not unusual; your communication device is faulty and it is not entirely unusual for you to slip away for a day or two.

It was merely awful luck that the last Saturday in September, in the morning while brushing your teeth, your howlite ring split down the middle and broke. After the weekend, on a Monday, Jade ventured into Ramshackle to find you with limbs contorted at inhuman angles, puke and piss on your clothes, eyes rolling in the back of your head until all he could see was glistening white like fresh snow, and on the verge of death.

The thing about Jade is he is a bit of a worrier. Like ink chiseled into skin, it is ingrained in him. It comes packaged in his genetic alphabet, passed down from his mother and his father.

It had not been good for his health to open up Ramshackle and find you in such a state.

But, he made certain that the dead felt an even greater hit to their health.

After evicting those three ghouls from your body, you spent a week out of Ramshackle and curled up tight in his bed. On Monday, it had been three days since your last bowel movement. The scene from then is still clear in his mind:

Jade takes a peek through the mediocre crack of the bathroom door. There you are in all your glory, sitting on the toilet with gray sweats around your ankles. A wet compress is laid against your bowing neck and an apple juice box clenched in both hand and mouth. An empty, crunched apple juice rests in the wastebasket; you have been at this for five minutes or so.

With a far off look, you stare at the other end of the bathroom. Anxious, Jade surmises that you are perhaps not even comprehending the sight, too stricken with a fever that everything has blurred.

He has been checking up on your memory hourly. You know your name and you know his name. Yet, when he asks you where you are, you keep saying, almost insisting, your hometown.

Those irises that seemed so straight and bright are lost now. The border of the lake has opened like broken beaver dams and the hue of your irises have slipped out into the white pool, spreading your vision thin and fragile. There is a thick fog that he cannot break. Even now when you turn your head towards him, asking what around your apple juice straw, it looks like you are seeing through him.

“I asked, would you like me to retrieve anything else? Your efforts have seemed to come to a constipated stop.”

Perhaps that is mean of him to poke at but … the straw in your mouth flattens. “Shut up,” you berate him, meanly, yet with a faint smile all the same. Your head falls, matted ringlets of hair covering your face. Staring at the wet cloth of white on your neck, Jade listens as you murmur teasingly, “Eat my shorts.”

At least you are coherent enough to have an attitude with him. It causes a twitch of a smile to rise to his face. Leaning against the wall more but refusing to open the door wider for your sake, Jade notes, “You kept your apple juice down.”

You only nod languidly at that.

He had considered making slippery elm tea for you. However, teas can lead to slight dehydration and you have been unable to keep a majority of things down. The most has been a popsicle of electrolytes Floyd took from the lounge’s freezer. Water has unfortunately been a no-go. It makes Jade’s chest feel lighter to know you are on your second box of juice.

It feels like euphoria when he hears the sound of something hitting water. He smiles sweetly at you through the crack of the door, but you are less receptive to it.

“Shut the door!”

Jade fufu-s like a smug bastard.

“Privacy, dude! Privacy!”

And, Jade went back to his bed, firmly closing the door behind him without another word.

Certain ailments can be remedied in no time. A fever going down to lower temperatures and a wound closing up with blood clots. These are instant gratifications; worries that have both beginnings and ends.

Such linear illnesses do not cause Jade as much strife as malaises that are difficult to identify or seem endless as a stretching horizon. The ones that seem to have no ends or starts. With those types of ailments, one always seems to find themselves in the middle of it. Those haunt him.

Another thing about Jade? Besides being a worrier, Jade thinks. He thinks deeply.

This might be a symptom of having the family heirloom of worry passed down to him. A consequence of being born where he was and a consequence of being raised by whom he loves. Jade can think himself into the deepest, darkest pits. He can also use those very thoughts to build ladder rungs to escape those pits. It is all like a dog chasing its tail (more appropriately, an eel chasing its tail, growing dizzy in a mushroom-forest).

He is chasing his own tail the entire time, thinking these thoughts as you two walk. Trying to see if from his memory, he can pull out some shortcut on healing you. Jade only stops chasing his tail when you both have completed one rotation around the courtyard’s square wall and you start to walk down cobblestones before shoving your shoulder into Jade’s sternum.

He looks down at you, curious. Your hand lifts up to rest on his pectoral muscle and the side of your face nuzzles into the same area. The buttons on his pajama top press uncomfortably into his skin like grinding pebbles. Cuddling standing up is not so uncommon but is it late, wouldn’t you rather sit on a bench; he should offer that alternative, shouldn’t he; would it not be rude of him to change your positions because it is likely you will recoil after that and not touch him again, couldn’t —

There he goes again, thinking and worrying. His automatic genetics are fully charged from a good night’s rest. Eyelids drooping softly, he breathes in the scent of your shampoo – a steady warmth that coats the scent of you onto the insides of his nostrils and heart like spray paint – and feels all that irrationality leave him.

“Mmm, you wanna talk about it?”

Jade blinks at your lazy drawl, words squished by his chest. He looks down and only sees the top of your head. “Talk about what?”

“Your disorganized head.”

You are so sweet, what did I possibly do to deserve someone … sweet? Jade’s body expands and deflates with a deep, content sigh. Your hand stirs on his pajama and falls limply to touch a button. You tap a melody on it that he does not recognize. “Ah, I assure you that was simply in jest. My health is quite strong.”

Jade looks at your howlite ring, watching it stir with each tap-tap you do. Sometimes, a person has to be on the verge of losing something to appreciate it in its full scope. It is a hard lesson to learn. Jade feels like he is learning it again.

“Okay,” you easily concede. Your disposition rarely has you pressing for anything that will not easily break, not unless it is something you want really badly. You must not want to read his thoughts like he wants to read yours. What is your opinion of this situation, about what is happening between the two of you – is it good or bad?

Relationships are labyrinthine roads. Driven and steered through with two people in the vehicles, they only have one person with their hand on the wheel though. Thoughts are private. Jade brushes an ungloved hand through your hair, feeling the curves of where your skull lies.

All of Jade’s thoughts mellow and simmer out until all he thinks is about is the bones in his feet that balance him on the ground, the sensation of the cold nipping his neck and ears that remind him of his faraway home, and the simple fact that he loves you very much and he hopes that he can love you all through December. When New Years passes, he hopes you will allow him to love you all through the upcoming twelve months.

“Your heartbeat is so nice.”

Hm?

Jade rouses awake slightly, frost coating the tips of his hair and his legs numb. How long have the two of you been here? The sky is still black, a closed lid on this moment where only pinpricks of light break through like superficial air-holes. Still midnight? He shivers when your cold fingers sneak through the seams of his pajama top, webbing through the space from button to button.

“Your heartbeat. It has such a nice melody. Sometimes, I get so caught up in listening to it that I wanna try to change my body to copy. Like we’re two instruments that could match up to each other if we try hard enough.” You really are so – “Brrr, I’m freezing! Let’s go back to bed, babe!”

– sweet, Jade thinks with a smile.

If there is one feature that sets Jade and Floyd’s father apart from the rest, it has always been his voice.

Vocal cords are unique as fingerprints. However, not all of them are pleasant to listen to and a few of them you can even mistake for others in crowds. Not Don Leech’s voice. No, his voice is in a class of his own. A sui generis sound that captivates all who are blessed or cursed to hear it.

Unfortunate merfolk say it is the type of voice that sends a chill down one’s spine. A feeling so sinister that it can only be described as the eerie walk of pycnogonida, spindly sea spiders, traveling down the body’s bony ladder. It is also the voice that has their mother’s head whirling towards their home’s entrance wherever she hears it, love in her eyes. A voice so comforting as it narrated youthful bedtime stories of ancient history and great battles.

The twins are unsure if their father is part-siren. It is a speculation not out of the realm of possibility. Even for all of Jade’s prowess when it comes to information collecting, he doubts he will ever in his life be able to find a crumb of his father’s past before the age of twenty-three.

The available information concerning his origin (familial ties and beyond): 1. Don Leech never speaks of his mother or his father. No reminiscing on how his mother cooked a certain way nor any life lessons his own father taught him fall from his mouth. 2. Don Leech has no siblings. There are no nieces and nephews on that side of the family to grow up with. 3. Lastly, Don Leech appeared in the specific hometown that he raised Floyd and Jade in at twenty-three. Like a sudden storm, without any forewarning weather, manifested almost.

Frankly, it is impossible to track down any family history on their secretive, recondite father. Anyone that tries is foolish.

If Don Leech is part-siren, the gene in the blood is too diluted for either Floyd or Jade to possess any natural talent towards singing. Besides, they could never match the expectations set by their father’s strong baritone … which Jade is aware of as he stares at his double bass on stage at La Grotta with a … hole in his stomach, he believes.

Yes, he reassures himself after a moment. It is accurate to call it a hole. Somehow, it feels like a bottomless pupil of black and suckles at him like a parasite. It is quite unpleasant. He wishes he knew a spell or potion to dispel it from himself. Demure, Jade leans away from the curtain he was peeking from.

It is his, Floyd’s, and Azul’s first time playing at La Grotta. This will inevitably lead to Jade finding himself in the spotlight. Even when split amongst his brother and their plaything, it is a bit much for the young, freshly thirteen eel-mer. The diameter of that gaping crater grows and grows in his intestines.

As always, Jade is thoroughly prepared for any outcomes but he would loathe to accidentally do something foolish on stage. He even took precautions to change the bass strings with new ones, even though the replacement time did not call for it. If only … “Jade.”

Recognizing him right away without seeing him – “Father.” – Jade turns around to greet the sight of his father. Amber brown eyes gaze down at him like duel suns on the horizon. It is a surprise to be under their harsh, amber scrutiny because the young teen was told Don Leech was too preoccupied to come to their show. Stricken, he does not really know what else to say.

His father narrows his eyes and his ear-fins lower in … an unreadable emotion. Jade hopes it is not a sign of displeasure. So, he quickly adds, “I hope that today’s affairs have been luh-lucrative.” Damnit, Jade seethes with his head bowed. Foolish tongue.

Slowly, the ear-fins on the side of his father’s teal face lift up, the deformed, asymmetrical one on the left following along with the intact one on the right. His features do not soften because there is no probable way to soften such a face. The jagged nose scar will not grow tinier and the angular cut of his face will not round out. But still, it seems there is sympathy because in that sui generis voice, he inquires, “Are you afraid, Jade?”

“No, Father.”

Clip. Self-assured. Curt.

“Ah, so you are terrified.”

But it works poorly on his observant father.

The capo-mandamento of their side of the Coral Sea gives his son a hard, pushing stare. There is something dreadful in your opponent knowing exactly what you are thinking while you are left clueless over their own thoughts. That hole of black, Jade remembers it as he watches his father peel back the curtain to look onstage.

The jazz trio instruments are all there: drums, double bass, and piano. All neatly placed in anticipation, even though the drummer said he is too bored to wait onstage and to call him when they are ready to start immediately, and even though the pianist has become thoroughly distracted with helping his mother serve orders, numerous tentacles carrying numerous trays. It is only Jade who is left, taskless and anxious.

But terrified? He would like to think not. After living in the Coral Sea for thirteen years, this is a mere bump in the torrential whirlpool of frightening experiences he has grown up with. His desensitization is healthy and strong. Jade means to go tell his father this but is stopped when …

“I used to sing here. Did you know that?” The words leak down over his father’s shoulder like snail mucus, dragging along the tattoo of the magnificent Sea Witch crushing the princess’s boat in her grasp. Hypnotic and powerful, even though he only says softly, “I sang no more than an hour and no more than once a week.”

Still, the very action of Don Leech just revealing a smidgen of his past – nothing past his mysterious appearance at twenty-three but something beyond the time Floyd and Jade were born – has that hole closing up. Anxiety is sealed shut and awe bandages itself over. Jade tries not to show it as he leans in, intrigued.

Those amber-brown eyes cut diamonds in the water as Don Leech turns back to look at his son, “Music. Perspective and personal emotions are shaped by the music we indulge in. It holds greater influence than any words you and I could use.”

Jade wants to soak these paramount, influential words in, but he cannot because something shocks him deeply in the heart. His touch-adverse father gently runs a taloned hand through Jade’s hair. Not ruffling it because the mafioso head knows it took his son effort to tame. Instead, he simply combs through it once until he reaches the other side.

And, while he slips away, Don Leech murmurs in that distinguishable baritone, “When us merfolk hear music, we cannot help but be swayed to wayward influences.”

As both father and memory drop away into that black hole, Jade reaches out to hold a tip of teal hair in his gloved finger as if remembering that far-off touch. He rubs back and forth on the strand while thinking, Was that a cautionary tale or simply my Father’s eccentric type of humor? Is it something to keep in consideration after all these years?

Of course it is. What a foolish doubt. His father’s words always held a leash of influence over his sons, a guiding light in the dark. His influence is a key factor in why Floyd always polished his shoes every morning. For a very carefree, nonchalant individual, Floyd takes extreme care in maintaining his footwear. One of the reasons he does this? Because his father told him to.

Still, swayed by wayward influences? I am not so easily swayed. And what an odd turn of phrase too, Father. Perverse behavior is a tiny indulgence in Jade’s essence and not a shackle on his soul. In the Coral Sea, he learned how to get exactly what he wanted and when he wanted it. Nothing can steer Jade but himself.

He wants you. Yet more importantly, he wants you to want him in matching intensity, and he loathes the slight indication that he wants you more than you want him instead of the other way around. It bothers him on a deep, deep, underground level of his body, simmering in his stomach acid, and reminds him of the first time he experienced getting a splinter on a hike.

What a truly horrid sensation to have something under the skin. Jade thinks that he should – “I know Riddle collared (Name) yesterday, but can your vengeful plotting wait until after the meeting?”

Jade flicks his eyes off from where he was focusing. Which he realizes now as he gains coherency and sheds off his spiraling thoughts, it was directly towards Riddle Rosehearts. It was a pretty harsh look too. Curious, the eel-met glances down at Jamil and asks amused, “He collared her again?”

A grimace forms on Jamil’s face. The expression reminds Jade of a turn of phrase that expresses regret; it is called ‘spoke too soon’. He delights in that. When people realize they have slipped up when talking to Jade, it warms the eel-mer’s heart to know others are so, so comfortable around him.

Jamil taps his ballpoint pen on his notes. His passages are exceptionally shorter than Kalim, who has been making great strides at actually actively being a housewarden. It seems Jamil has gotten over his inner turmoil when he informs, “Iago and her both returned to Scarabia with collars. Something about how the type of music they played was banned in Heartslabyul.”

Fondness lifts up Jade’s lips. Though he doesn’t get to experience all of it, your mischievous charms are something that have always been congenial to him. This wouldn’t have been the first time Riddle has collared you and it certainly won’t be the last. “Would you happen to know what they played?”

His expanse of knowledge on the Queendom of Roses is still limited. Which is why it’s nice Jamil answers without hassle, “Something a band of Queendom of Roses students played during V.D.C; she wouldn’t stop talking about them for a week. Apparently, the guitarist took his instrument and maimmed his fellow band member’s drum-kit.”

Music from V.D.C? Suddenly, a toothy grin overtakes Jade’s features. He remembers V.D.C very fondly. Your ineffable stress from not getting to play with Kalim and your ineffable supply of happy-go-lucky smiles when Jade and Azul agreed to browse the Foot Town with you before you all watched the performance together. The most interesting performance had to be when you puppeteered Malleus Draconia to fix the wrecked coliseum because you ‘had to see the other bands or you would just die!’

Grinning wide enough to split his face, Jade supplies the information he knows happily into the conversation, “Ah, that’s because there is a town in the Queendom of Roses that has the same type of music (Name) likes. They’re based around Alice’s disobedient nature and rule-breaking. She calls it punk music. They call it mad-hatter music.”

How quaint. He had not known that music was banned at Heartslabyul. It would make sense that mad-hatter music is banned in that dormitory; perhaps, he should let Floyd know this? He imagines both of you would be undeterred and try to play those rhythms together – you on vocals and guitar with his twin on drums.

“She might’ve been better off at RSA. Especially if they would have matched her rhythm and style.”

Jade’s grin drops as soon as the idea leaves Jamil’s mouth. “I believe she is perfectly suited for Night Raven College.” An entire other student-body knowing and adoring you, it stomps a foul taste in his mouth.

“I don’t know, but I’ve noticed an uptick of lilac cat hair in Scarabia.”

Ah, Alchemivich Pinka is caught in your web too? “Nothing more than a passing fancy. You’ll find yourself void of it in a week or two.”

“Her ability to make such quick acquaintances without overstepping is admirable. Not many here could copy such a feat.”

“Oya, is that a dig into Kalim’s disposition that I hear?”

Jamil twirls his pen once, as if to absolve himself of any guilt. His face is stone, laser focused on the lecturing Headmage in front of him. But if one pays close enough attention, they would notice the slight curve of his mouth. Third year Jamil has been just, if not more, entertaining as closed off first year Jamil.

“What earnest words. To think that day would come with you would be so honest with me. I’m glad that our friendship is advancing in so many lucrative ways.”

Jamil refutes dryly, “I spoke on (Name)’s habits and nothing more.”

Jade does not realize how enraptured he has been in this quaint conversation with Viper until something to his right leans against him, hard, almost slumping. For an inane second, he thinks his opposing seatmate has just made the bold move of resting on him. So, confused, Jade turns to clear up this misunderstanding that he is someone friendly enough to lean on.

At least he would until droopy olive-brown and gold stare at him, half-lidded and presumably bored. “Hello, Floyd.”

His twin barely responds, humming softly before he rests his head on Jade’s elbow. He’s homesick. Jade knows he has hit the nail on the head when he sees what Floyd is drawing. Especially since both mother and father neglected a phone call yesterday because of an uptick in business.

The sketchbook Floyd bought is his own personal one. His twin has a natural talent for being able to visualize or hear something and replicating it. Musicology has always been in the frontier of his artistry, but he has a slight endearment towards art too. Besides, art above the surface has a wider variety than that underwater.

It is almost impossible to create anything in his home. Ink or paint will float away unless an artist has a good magical hand, separating the liquid medium from their surroundings with wafer-thin, magical layers. A majority of paintings displayed in museums are found from shipwrecks or built by using colored stones, sculpting them into scenes. Longer wavelengths are also absorbed the deeper one travels in the Coral Sea. Red is unheard of. Such limiting yet comforting strifes.

What Floyd is smooshing around with his thumb and darkening with a graphite pencil is the interior of La Grotta. Jade recognizes the stage almost immediately, having been stuck in daydreams about it. The booths made of large, arching backs of coral, the stage’s open oyster shell, and the hanging, bioluminescent seaweed – all so familiar.

The only thing that disrupts it is the stark image of yourself. You have never been to the Coral Sea before. He hasn’t dared to suggest bringing you there. It is not a place you are familiar with yet at all. Yet, standing like an aphrodite in the oyster shell, mouth poised in song, you look right at home among the crowd of merfolk.

They converse in soft mermish to not be overheard by an oblivious Headmage.

“Is that supposed to be (Name)?”

“No, it’s grandma. Who else would it be, dumbass?”

“Well, if only you were an adequate artist, others could make a comprehensive image of what you are scribbling.”

“Eat my shorts,” Floyd spits back, stealing your little phrase as he rubs a rubber eraser over your eyeballs. The part that makes you the most recognizable is not the microphone in your hand but the highlighted stars in your eyes, as white as the seaweed hanging above you.

Jade chuckles, going to turn to continue his conversation with Jamil, before Floyd asks unprompted, “When ya gonna invite Shrimpy over to meet Ma and Pops? Three months is way too long of a wait.”

Yes, he knows three months is quite a lengthy extent to go without meeting the parents, but not for you. For you, three months might just signal the end if Jade is not careful. Things are so volatile. You are reeling in displaced identity. Can he really afford to add more people selfishly into your inner circle?

“They’ll have to be a bit more patient. Nothing rewarding comes from grasping out too soon.” We hunt lying in wait.

“Yeah, well, ya tell Mama that because she’s all upset about not seeing or hearing Shrimpy. Can’t just mention to them that Shrimpy’s a singer then not bring her home. Idiot.”

“There are still things that need to be done, preparations before anything like that can happen.”

“Staller.”

“Call it what you will, but I don’t wish to spring a trap without checking all the nets are secured.”

“Oh?” Floyd finishes the last touches of light/white treading itself through your hair before he goes on to darken the shadows.

In fluent mermish, Jade replies, “Of course. I would not do all this without a clear end goal in mind. We will have to sabotage others who work towards gaining her favor. Her attention should not be spread so thin, so we will have to adopt the methodology of horse-blinders. Then, and only then, I would implement the design of capturing her.”

When the twins look at each other, they share a sharp, menacing grin. Needle-thin teeth smiling at wolfishly-thick teeth. It is a look that can be best measured in the satisfaction of a plan coming to fruition. Behind strands of teal, Floyd’s olive eye peeks out like a clownfish peeking out its anemone.

“She’s a tiny shrimp, so make sure ya don’t use too flimsy of a net. Pops taught us that. Make sure it's tight and cramped.”

Ah, yes. That’s right. And, aren’t their father’s words always to be heeded to?

If Jade did not meticulously put together his appearance this morning, he might be a bit scornful that Azul is looking at him if he can’t recognize him. As if the two of them are strangers instead of familiarized predator and prey. Even his words are a bit hurtful (they aren’t really but Jade will still pout at them): “Am I dreaming or is that really you, Jade?”

“Relax, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants,” Jade punctually assures.

Subconsciously, his right leg lifts and crosses over his left. Just as quickly as he did it, he consciously moves it back. Firmly placing it down on the VIP’s carpet, he resumes his spread-out look. That one is going to be a hard habit to break.

Despite the given assurance, Azul still seems unconvinced. The dead giveaway is how his eyes flicker left and right to his brother and himself on the opposing couches, trying to pick up the details. His suspicion is not unwarranted. Jade and his brother have played games like this before, switching hair styles and voices, before having their unrespected, childhood plaything try to figure out who is who.

Azul has a much more respectable air to him as he pushes his glasses snug to his face, articulating sharply, “I have no time to play this game today.

“Final exams are approaching. Neglectful, procrastinating students are hard pressed for study materials.” His shoes and cane click hard like striked matches as he strides towards his desk. “I recently obtained from a Heartslabyul student – the one Jade so rudely walked out on if I might add.”

“You may not.”

“ – the magical prowess to memorize anything in exchange for a more athletic physique. A build ensured to capture the affection of that sweet Sage Island native he is pining over. Now, as for what we’ll do with such a zenith of intelligence –”

“What’s anyone gonna use that for?” Floyd protests. From his own spread out position on the couch, head upside down on the armrest, he glares at Azul. “I don’t wanna do the same thing as last year; that’s boooring.”

“If the both of you will quit interrupting, we might perhaps get to the actual idea.” Though it would cut another else to shreds, Azul’s glare is lackluster to the twins. Still, they allow him to drill on. “Nothing fires up students more than competition. Rudimentary sports, battle of bands, things like that. We’ll be hosting an ‘eating competition’ in the Longue. The prize? The ability to memorize anything without limitations.”

“An eating competition? Didn’t Shrimpy mention that a week back or something?” Floyd turns to Jade.

“She mentioned something like that; I believe it’s from a cartoon. Starts with a H … Hey … Hey something.”

“Hey Arnold!” Floyd snaps his fingers.

“It’s a custom we don’t have in Twisted Wonderland. If not for the prize, the experience of something new is bait and lure to bring in foot traffic. And, each loser will have to pay full price for all the meals they eat.”

“A food competition … eeh, doesn’t sound too bad.” His twin rolls his neck over the armrest, as if considering it. “I know a couple guys who’d be interested.”

“A competition where individuals gorge themselves until the verge of bursting with puke. Sounds delightful! What an intriguing custom.” The results will surely be sulfurous and show-stopping.

Yet, as typical, Jade’s fun is ruined before it even begins. Azul pushes up his glasses, levels him with a hard stare, and declares, “You’re not allowed to participate. Sevens knows I couldn’t financially recover from your appetite if you were permitted to take part.”

“A bold accusation. I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort.” The smile that crawls on his face suggests otherwise, gleaming silver with needle-point teeth and the smiley piercing hanging over those teeth like mistletoe.

Bloated with strife and anxiety like always, Azul sighs. He leans back into his chair, plush enough to relieve him of some of the burdens he carries. “If we are in conjunction, then you two can continue on with your shifts.” Like an unstoppable train, Azul is already grasping at documents and contacts that crowd his desk, ready to move onto the next big thing.

“Kaaay! Sounds fun.”

“I’ll be sure to spread the word.”

Jade opens the door for both of them to depart. But before he can close it fully, a sui generis voice slithers its way through the space between the door crack — “So they got my tooth on one end of the string and the doorknob at the other end!” — and it even influences smitten Azul to lift his head and look towards the noise.

You are magnetic when you tell stories. Jade has seen people at other tables in the Lounge hush up so they can eavesdrop on your conversation. It is no wonder that through the slow, syrupy breakfast crowd that your voice pierces through all of them and is the first one all three of them hear together. Jade can even pinpoint your location based on the traveling vibrations of sound.

“ … sweet summer child that I was, I put my full faith in them. I saw no reason not ta! So, my Mom’s got a surgeon grip on the doorknob. Steady; steady. And, my Dad starts the count: ooone, twooo, and right before we got to three … Bam! Just before three and my mouth’s gushing! I’m leaking red all over our dining room’s carpet. I swear, my Mom should’ve enlisted for the army! They need to start using her technique on P.O.Ws!”

Your eyeliner is smudged again; it is your typical ‘worn-in’ makeup look that you frequently do. It looks like you are fostering two black eyes. Grunge, he knows the style intimately. Your lipstick is a deep red. Might be more fitting to call it a dark red-violet; the hue closely resembles the skin of a plum. Uniquely picturesque like a model, you walk in narrating a story about your childhood with a sleazy grin and animated hands. Your guitarist and bassist are captivated, all three of you following after the waiter leading you to your seats.

Without any resistance, Floyd calls out, waving a hand, “Shrimpy! Look over here!” And, obviously that is what you do.

Witchcraft eyes turn towards the sound of his twin’s voice, mouth limp as you pause in narration, and look towards the VIP room’s entrance. Then, suddenly, you’re staring directly at Jade. Plum lips falling open in shock and eyeliner shifting as your eyes go round.

Jade, satisfaction coursing through his veins, raises a stark white glove before demurely folding his hands in front of his belt.

In the mere blink of an eye, you manage to weave through the servers and customers, completely forgetting about your entourage, to jump around Jade in circles. Giggling up a storm, you hop around your boyfriend in circles — “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, Jade; ah, I love the new look; babe; the piercings are so, so razer; oh my god; we match; we match; ah, Jade you pull it off so well; your eyebrow piercing is so razer!!” — and scrutinize all the changes that he made yesterday night.

Finally, you stop circling him and stand in front him, almost vibrating in place with awe. The enthusiasm in your eyes causes them to shine in bright white highlights like diamonds.

“They’re all authentic too. It took quite some practice to get this one.” Jade flashes you a grin, revealing all his teeth and the bull piercing metal that is impaling through the tissue connecting his upper lip and upper gum.

Everything falls cleanly into place in Jade’s net.

#jade leech x reader #jade leech #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst jade

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thatrandomsarahchick · 1 year ago

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I but imagine if they accidentally become vigilantes? Or worse ... heroes!

They don't even realise at first, so used to vigilantes like Danny and Red Huntress harassing and stalking them, but they end up being so genuine in their love of this music shop that isn't a front for anything that they pass Batman's test and he let's them be.

The area around their shop becomes known as their territory, especially when they start stopping any villain attacks that happen within a five block radius - they can't risk their stuff getting damaged! Skulker finds out one of the neighbours was attacked on the way home and quickly makes her a small, non lethal, weapon to protect herself with. More people from the neighbourhood come forward telling him about attacks that have happened outside their radius and he starts a small section of personal protection devices for sale at reasonable prices.

Red Hood comes into the shop again because a few of the kids in his area have started carrying Ember's Emporium branded key chains that double as blunt knives if you spin them the right way. They're not enough to kill someone, but enough for the kids to hopefully surprise them and have a chance at getting free. Another thing that's been showing up are thick metal balls that expand into a baton if you press a button.

He somehow gets into a discussion with Skulker about Crime Alley, and how the Bats and cops won't even go there. He starts ranting about how he does everything he can, but it still never seems to be enough to protect the innocents from getting hurt. Skulker sees how this Revenant is striving to protect his haunt, and offers to help him out. He incorrectly assumes that the man felt so strongly about protecting his street that he came back to life.

Jason leaves with a signed contract to provide him with personal protection devices at a discount rate. In exchange, Jason will put in a good word to Ember's parole officer if he asks for it, and won't mention any of the fighting they've been doing.

Ember's Music Emporium

When he became King, Danny had not banned the ghosts from earth but asked them to be discreet, so instead of giving concerts that were extremely flashy, Ember decided to open a music store.

It was complicated to find a good location since she wanted to go far away from Amity, but she was aware that not all cities would accept strangers and it could be dangerous for her if they found out she was a ghost.

Money was not so difficult, Ember had collected several things during her unofficial concerts, among them: cash (besides, Danny was willing to sponsor her if that wasn't enough), and musical instruments were even easier to find as Skulker loved to build them and wanted to help her.

In the end, her little music store set up in Gotham (rusty laws, natural ecto, crazies everywhere and lots of people who looked extremely colorful, she assumed they would take her as one).

She and Skulker worked very hard at turning the dusty place they bought into something nice where everyone was welcome; they also made it a sort of temporary home, seeing as they couldn't go to the Infinite Realms every day.

And everything was a success until someone tried to attack their little business; naturally the ghosts protected it and very soon, a rare scarecrow was hit by one of Skulker's bombs.

It didn't cause much damage but it definitely drew attention. Many tried to attack after this and they kept responding (Skulker much more excited than she was about the whole thing).

But Ember was determined to not call Danny, she was sure they would get scolded about attacking people and not going unnoticed as they promised (although the rude people attacked them first and none of them were dead, or Danny would have come).

When some weird guys in bat costumes started trying to sneak into her humble music store (and they didn't even bother to pretend to be customers like the nice guy in the red helmet), she decided that maybe it was time to call the halfa. Things had gotten a little out of hand.

#dpxdc #Ember and Skulker opened a music store in Gotham #Ember loves music and thought the music store was the most obvious move from being a rock star #Skulker decided to help her immediately #he loves creating instruments for her and this is not different #they opened the store in Gotham and it did quite well #many were more interested in seeing her play than buying but Ember loved that #Scarecrow attempted to attack to “mark territory” as he heard the shop owners were new to Gotham #that didn't work out well for him #ghosts are very territorial #and Skulker has a lot of guns everywhere he goes #Ember is not thrilled with this development #dp x dc #dc x dp #the bats heard that the store opened but paid no attention to it #apparently they gave small concerts and taught music to anyone #they started paying attention after the rogues started attacking the music store #and many new weapons began to be described #Skulker loves to show off #Jason has no problem with the store because they don't attack anyone who doesn't attack them #though he's a bit biased after hearing that the Joker was left in the hospital #his family doesn't think the same #Danny just wants a vacation #Is it too much to ask the ghosts not to look for trouble where he can't protect them immediately?#he is clearly frustrated that they didn't go unnoticed #but he's totally on Ember's side anyway

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rustyironskillet · 9 months ago

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Day 2: Wish

“If you had to make a wish with Desiree, what would it be? Tucker asked randomly through the comms as he sat in front of his mom’s cafe.

A chorus of groans could be heard over the intercoms.

“Come on guys, I am bored!! There's only so many cookies a man can eat before he gets tired!!” he argued, “and you guys said I’m not allowed to use my PDA!”

“That's because we're on a stake-out,” Sam rebutted on the other side of town. “We can’t have you getting distracted and missing Desiree!”

“Ohh really?!?! Because it sounds like you're at a concert!”

“We’re supposed to blend in so that she doesn't think we’re looking for her!! Why else would a person like me be outside at noon?”

“HOW DID I SUPPOSED TO LOOK NORMAL WITHOUT MY TECHNOLOGY?”

“Is this really what your stake-out are like?” Valerie asked, switching off the main channel to speak to Danny privately as she soared through the sky above Amity Park.

“Well, we typically don’t do stake-outs,” Danny said as he sped through Amity in his ghost form, trying to find a spot that would trigger his ghost sense. “Most of the time, if a ghost wants to mess with the public, they’d make it known. However, ghosts like Ember, Spectra, and Desiree are more subtle since they get their power from people.”.

“Hmm, I see.”

After a few seconds of silence, Danny finally spoke up again. “What would you wish?”

“Oh jeez, really?” She chuckled.

“I mean, yeah, I am curious.”

“Well, I wouldn’t make a wish even if my life was at stake, but if it was someone else like my dad at stake, I’d probably just ask for a full ride to college.”

“Smart”

“Thanks, what about you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Danny joked, “I’d wish for top surgery.”

Suddenly, Danny’s ghost sense triggers, and a poof of green smoke appears around him.

“Aah!” he shouts as the smoke envelops him.

“Danny?! What’s wrong?” Valerie hurriedly asked as she sped down to where Danny was.

When she got down to where he was, all she was met with was an extremely confused Danny.

“What happened?” she asked

“I haven’t a fracking clue,” he responded, standing like a wet cat, grabbed by the scruff of its neck.

“Huh,” Valeria said as she did a quick sweep around the area but found nothing but the remnant ectoplasmic particles.

“There’s nothing here; I think she just granted a wish.”

“Granted a wish? Who’s wish?”

“....”

“Dude check”

Here is the ao3 link

#dannymay2024 #dannymay 2024 #danny fenton #valerie gray #red huntress #dp #dannymay #sam manson #tucker foley #desiree #Ghost hunter #Day 2: wish #Wish

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doodlesdreaming · 7 months ago

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Late night self indulgent drabble incoming. (Heavely inspired by @zoanluen 's Dance with the Dead AU)

************************************

The boy couldn't believe it actually worked. He thought he'd get caught for sure, but here was Theo, experiencing his first live-in concert, while practically hanging from the rafters of the ceiling. His tail wrapped tightly around the steel beam to keep his balance.

The show was everything he imagined it would be. The band members themselves were just as spectacular in person. The lead guitarist, energetic and as wild as his massive mane of hot pink hair, almost seemed on fire thanks to the spotlights. The pianist, hyper focused and mysterious, his blue skin giving him an ethereal glow on stage. And there's the drummer, keeping the beat in robotic sense that made it very clear how much they rehearsed for the act.

Their music was as enchanting as it was heart-pounding. Rhythms of a time, of a world, long dead and buried. A ghost that refused to be laid to rest. It stirred an unexplainable longing in Theo's chest. A fire wanting to take wing and burn the night sky until the stars are as bright as the sun itself.

Watching the performance, Theo’s eyes burned its ember glow. The Firebird desperately yearning to rise her song, and to dance with the dead....

#my brain has been feeling like mush since yesterday #anxiety ended up blind siding me out of nowhere despite the good day i was having #so now im just trying to get my head space together so i can actually sleep tonight #so self indulgence for some happy thoughts #sorry in advance zoan 💦#anyhoot #random thoughts #fandom au #hyper light drifter #dead cells #ultrakill #headcanons #oc insert #late night thoughts #not art related #i should doodle this au soon

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deliriumsdelight7 · 2 months ago

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This Heart That Glows Like an Ember - Chapter 1

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Relationships: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson & Wayne Munson Characters: Chrissy Cunningham, Eddie Munson, Laura Cunningham, Phillip Cunningham, Wayne Munson Additional Tags: Inspired by Last Christmas (2019), holiday fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, I'm gonna try and make it heartwarming but you know how much I love sad stuff

Summary:

When Chrissy Cunningham comes across a stranger's lost concert ticket, all she wants is to find him and get it back to him. Instead, she meets Eddie - a guitarist in a local metal band. Meeting him brings new light to her life. But she has a secret - a hidden shame that drives her to prove, once and for all, that she deserves the life she's been given. How does that secret tie into Eddie's own unseen grief and guilt? Can the two of them help each other overcome the fallout of the tragedy that binds them together?

Read on AO3

#hellcheer

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pikakaistudios · 2 years ago

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!!DP prompt!!

Wheel of fear

There are more and more missing people in Amity Park. Danny wanting to figure out what's going on tries to ask some of his frienemies in the Ghost Zone. He first goes to Ember (which was a very good idea). The singer looked traumatized and as soon as she saw Phantom she deeply apologized for hurting his friends earlier. Phantom suprised by the sudden outburst of guilt asks her what happened.

"I-I was just in the middle of preparing for my n-next concert. Suddenly e-everything just went black. *sight* Then I heard a crowd clapping and cheering. But there was no crowd... Next thing I saw was this ghost dressed in a ringmaster outfit. He then started saying a welcome speech like you see in the TV shows. The lights lit up a big wheel of fortune. The ghost then addressed to me as I was the one to spin the wheel and win a price. I was pretty angry at the guy at first because my concert was to start in 30 minutes since he took me in that place, but I decided that a little break for me wouldn't be that bad. But then, right before I spun it... The images appeared. The images that showed me what can I win. They were horrific but I couldn't see much of them since I spun the wheel. It... it stopped on an image showing a curled up person with fingers pointing at them. Then I got transported to a different place. There- There was... There was mom, dad, my friends from school I- He-"

"Deep breaths Ember, you are doing great"

"He made me remember...That bastard! He made me remember all the moments I regret from my past live! He reversed the roles and made me the victim of my mistakes! I just want to be left alone! I want to stop remembering all of it!"

Ember looks up to Phantom full of tears and says:

"He will come for you too. Even you have flaws. He will make them stay in your mind forever"

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wind-rider · 2 months ago

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Factions of Havel:

THE RESISTANCE

-- -- --

Modern symbol of the Resistance; inspired by imagery of Cana, a rather controversial choice.

[ID: a sketchy silhouette image of the head and neck of a snarling wolf. The shape is made up of monochrome swirls, some stretching down from its eye. The shape of a broken crown overlaid upon a sun floats between its open jaws. End ID.]

— — —

Been a hot minute since I made a massive loredump post so I figured it was Time, and also I kind of went insane in @v0idspeak's dms after watching far too many character analysis videos. Ahem. Anyway-

Before I start, if any part of this makes you ask "hey wind, wtf are you talking about? Corynen? Cyrin? Protusol? What are you on and can I have some?", I direct you towards this tag, in particular the following posts: - General Overview - Protusol (+ Corynen briefly) - Cyrinism

All set? Okay, cool. Without further ado, on to the convoluted lore! My favourite!

PRE-MODERN ERA

The roots of the anti-Corynen resistance reach back further than their current leader's birth, and even before the Corynen's founding itself. Originally it was a movement against the current Havel government's participation in the Panta-Kirata war, which settled a little once Tornis came onto the scene and began making concerted efforts towards peace. His presidential campaign was heavily supported by the then-Resistance, and he came into power on an overwhelming popular vote. When he did indeed fulfill his campaign promise of peace and healing, the Resistance largely simmered down into nothing, save for a few surges here and there in the peak of scandals and rumours surrounding Protusol and its projects.

This brings us to roughly a decade before the modern day. Myrus and Santos, the famous treaty-born twins and Tornis' symbols of progress and peace, were beginning to grow disillusioned with their father's plans. This was before the ethics overhaul within Protusol, and Cyrin research subjects were still experiencing some pretty... questionable treatment. In Tornis' eyes, it was all in the name of science and common good, but his now late-teenage children saw it differently. They released a public statement about the conditions within the labs, before leaving together and going into hiding in the aftermath.

Their statement resulted in an absolute PR NIGHTMARE, as you'd expect. Unfortunately for Tornis, his future PR guy was still his barely-out-of-preteens son, who, yes, had been groomed as his successor for several years now, but wasn't quite in a position to deal with this mess quite yet. Instead, Tornis swept it under the rug within days through several deals with other young factions such as FEI, which spurred many of their current deals and partnerships. The press conferences and promises to overhaul Protusol's ethics protocols was enough to largely placate the public, but the twins were left cut off from their family and former resources and stirring with anger at their father's hasty cover-up of everything surrounding their disappearance.

Their initial partnership was a joint one; they both came upon the sputtering embers of the post-war Resistance, and set about stirring them aflame once again. However, this partnership was not meant to last. It didn't take long for a rift to appear between the duo, as they quickly found themselves with very different ideas of what shape a rebellion against the Corynen should take. They fought, first with words, then physically. Myrus easily overpowered her brother, but refused to kill him; she did not share his worldview of violence and death being the only catalyst for change, and left him to run or rot, whichever happened first.

Santos did neither. He didn't need his sister to get what he wanted. Instead, he quickly rose to become the leader of the Resistance, and a prominent figure in Havel's (and particularly the capital Misan's) criminal underbelly. Myrus, meanwhile, faded into the shadows, focusing on her own smaller-scale operations and trying to do what she saw as true good rather than Santos' view of 'the ends justify the means'.

She gained a following of her own, largely due to being a genuinely kind person at her core, despite (or perhaps because of) her willingness to fight for those under her care and general take-no-shit attitude. She truly wants the best for those around her- and in a way, so does her brother, but Santos is far more willing to inflict suffering to those he sees as less important to the cause in order to benefit the rest. He caters in particular to those who wish to feel significant, who want to make large, violent, immediate change. Myrus wants to stop her peoples' suffering- Santos wants to free them from those who have caused it, at any cost. The difference is subtle, but the ripples are massive.

Santos' initial methods essentially involve stirring up shit; great big displays of pushback and power. However, he learns quickly that being obvious about it gets you kicked back down VERY hard, and he becomes more subtle, executing plans more carefully, and from more of a distance. It's effective- but it's not what those within his organization want, creating a very politically unstable situation where Santos is forced to be constantly putting out fires while maintaining his illusion of poise and control, ironically making it much more difficult to get anything else done.

-- -- --

PRESENT DAY

However, overall, the Resistance works. They raise awareness, place Cyrin children in foster homes, and make massive strides against Cyrin trafficking and illegal metastabilizer* and biorase-derivative drug manufacturing. Well. Ahem. Rather, they take control of the manufacturing themselves for a massive profit and greater control of the island and underground, but shh, we don't talk about that one. They're doing good! They're helping! And if it means a little questionable things here and there, well, that's just the price of attaining their final benevolent goals! Right?

*metastabilizers: specialized drugs intended for stabilizing Cyrin metamorphosis, developed by the Corynen and vital in their treatment of such. Often illegally used in conjunction with equally illegal biorase-derived drugs to lessen their lethality and deteriorative effects on the human body.

Naturally, when the Summit comes into play, Santos immediately sees it as the opportunity it is- a change for one massive play, a game of sabotage and large-scale destruction with the end goal of dissolution of the other factions and a power vacuum to insert himself and Myrus into. He's convinced himself that he can get Myrus to see reason and join him, once she sees the results of his methods. They both want the same things, after all. The ends will always justify the means.

The greatest threat to him is ultimately Kyano, but he underestimates him, seeing him as someone who could be tempted by a place of power at his side and generally controlled and reasoned with. Besides, if that fails, he could always get him out of the picture too!

Throughout his meetings with the other factions, he keeps his plans concealed, searching instead for information and indications of those who could be swayed to his side. He's thinking ahead- he can't run a country alone, and will need administration, allies. FEI suspects him of planning something, but the Resistance is such a political dumpster fire beneath the surface that they keep getting misleading information, and can never quite get the details for what he may be planning.

That doesn't stop them from deploying some... contingencies, of course. One can never be too careful.

Ultimately, Santos and the Resistance have good intentions; but they run into the issue that through making such an incredibly bold and violent move against the Corynen, with so many innocents caught in the crossfire, they've changed themselves (and ultimately, Cyrin) in the public's eyes from innocent victims fighting for freedom from oppression to monsters who are a threat to the public and must be wiped out for the greater good. Santos is so blinded by what he's seen, so furious (and largely rightfully so), that he fails to see that he's become his father.

The ends justify the means.

Isn't that what Tornis always said?

-- -- --

That's all I've got for now! Please please please send @v0idspeak or I any questions you have about this! If anyone asks, I'll be happy to elaborate on any events or references in this post, as well as talk about how the Resistance took on Cana as a symbol- something rather revolutionary, if you'll pardon the pun.

Want more? Check out the #storystuff tag for even more rambles and lore! Or send an ask! Do both!!

#storystuff #windrambles #welp that got long #but hopefully it's interesting!#a lot of stuff I want to go into more detail on later

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dp-marvel94 · 1 year ago

Text

Face to Face - Epilogue

Summary: When Danny went through the ghost catcher, he expected to be cured of the ghostliness that had haunted him since the accident, not to wake up on the lab floor with his parents saying he’d been overshadowed but everything’s back to normal now. But why does Danny Fenton cry himself to sleep to then dream of flying? Why does Phantom, the ghost who was supposedly possessing Danny remember a life that wasn’t his? Most of all, why do both the human and the ghost feel that something vital is missing, in their very soul? Or: Trying to cure himself of his powers one month after the accident, Danny accidentally splits himself but neither his ghost nor his human half know that that is what they did

First -> Last

Word Count: 5,791

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Note: Hi friends! It's been a while. Honestly, I was putting off posting this, the last chapter of Face to Face, because it intimidated me. 😅 But I really wanted to wrap this up by the end of the year. So we're finally here! I'm so excited to share the ending with you guys.

Also in honor of finishing this fic, I wanted to share this loving art made by @lilianade-comics on Tumblr. Check out this lovely scene from chapter 51 here!

Happy Reading!

Six months later.

“I must have been here a dozen times at least. And your lair still surprises me every time.” Sidney said, eyes surveying the room.

Danny leaned back on his couch, giving a chuckle. “Hey, I’m just working with what I have. I think the Hobbit vibes are pretty cool.”

“I figured you would want something more modern and sci fi.” His friend shrugged.

The halfa raised a brow. “Like an underground bunker? Nah.” He shook his head. “As cool as quarters on the Enterprise would be, or the inside of the TARDIS…. It just didn’t feel right. Plus,” He shrugged. “I like to be comfy.”

“It is definitely that.”

True to what Danny had imagined all those months ago, the underground house was cozy, warm, and homey. Wooden floors and paneling. Circular rooms and round doorways. The furniture was simple, warm, reddish maple-wood beds, chairs, and sofas accenting each room. Multiple rugs covered the floors and carefully selected books filled one book shelf. Other decorative objects and nick-nacks covered the walls, end tables, and other surfaces.

Some were brought from the material realm. One of his model rockets. A blob ghost plush that had been made by his dad. A Black orchid, a gift from Sam, sat in one corner, a Femalien Poster from Tucker on the wall above it. A shadow box with tickets and a glossy photo of the siblings, smiling in their bowties and fezzes with a certain actor; for Christmas his sister had bought him tickets to Comic Con and a Meet and Greet with Doctor Who actor Matt Smith.

Some objects were picked up from various trips through the Realms. There was a black and white lamp from Sidney’s lair that gave off gray light. A drum head on the wall sported an animated image of blue fire; he’d gotten that when Johnny and Kitty had taken him to see their friend Ember perform.

And some were manifested by the lair itself. A painting of a The Library with swirling spectral clouds in the background. Snow globes from different places he’d visited: Sid’s lair, The Library, Dora’s kingdom, Ember’s concert hall venue. And…. the halfa smiled softly at this last object… photo of his family and two best friends, Danny grinning in the middle in ghost form.

“Jeepers! What is this?!” Sidney’s voice interrupted the half ghost’s musing.

Danny’s gaze flickered to the object of his friend’s attention. “Oh. That? It was a Christmas present from Mom.” He jabbed a thumb at the kitchen counter where a ceramic cookie jar sported half a dozen eyes and pointy teeth around the lid, threatening approaching hands. He grinned. “It’s a Mimic.”

“A Mimic…” For just a moment, Sidney’s black and white brow wrinkled. Then… “Like from that Dungeon and Dragons game Tucker told me about?!”

“Yep.” Danny nodded.

“Fighting a monster like that… that must be the bee’s knees!” The half ghost could practically see the stars in his friend’s eyes.

“You’re still invited to our games any time you want to join.” Danny raised a brow.

“This section of the Realms needs its own group.” Sidney crossed his arms, pouting slightly.

“Dora might like it… and Ember.” The half ghost grinned toothily. “She’s already literally a bard.” He tapped his chin. “Maybe we can get Ghost Writer to let us use a room in his lair.”

“The Library is not the most convenient location though; it’s far away from everyone but me.”

“Hum.” Danny’s brow furrowed, considering. “That’s fair.” Sidney’s lair was the closest to the Library by far. But the other’s…. Ember’s lair was about the same distance from the portal as Sidney’s, except in the exact opposite direction. And Dora’s lair was vaguely below his, a leisurely forty-five minute flight down. If anything…. Danny blinked. “I’m in the middle.”

“You sure are, buster.” Sidney raised a brow, looking at him as if it was obvious.

The half ghost took a second to process and then laughed. “It’s always like that, huh?”

Getting in between the Lunch Lady and his friends. Helping Dora and other ghosts get back to the portal. Making friends with people in this part of the Zone. He rolled his eyes at the irony. The literal half ghost always stuck in the middle. Or rather… maybe he’d chosen to place himself there.

“So I guess we’d meet here. Or…” An idea had been swimming around in his head. A place for the ghosts on this side of the portal to gather, to bond, to help each other and…. “So I’d been thinking-”

Just then, the black rectangular device clipped to the belt of Danny’s suit chimed. “Oh. That’s probably my parents.” He detached the communicator– made by his parents, with Tucker’s help, to work across dimensions and designed to look like the ones from Star Trek– and flipped it open.

His brow furrowed. “I’m not late for dinner, am I? Didn’t think I’d been gone that long.”

“No sweetie.” His mom’s voice sounded from the other end. “I’m sorry to interrupt your hang-out with Sidney. But Mr. Jenkins called from the Salvage Yard about a ghost problem.”

The boy sighed, head rolling back on the couch to look up at the ceiling. “Is it Technus again?”

“It sounded like it.” The wince was almost audible in her voice. “Your father and I would go but Mr. Jenkins asked for Phantom… very insistently.”

Another sigh. “I’ll be right there.” Danny hung up, putting the communicator back on his belt before burying his head in his hand.

“Technus again?” Sidney rose a brow.

The halfa looked up, fixing an eye on his friend. “ I mean, I’m fine with him hanging out in the material world and tinkering with stuff. But…” The halfa groaned. “He keeps trying to blow things up the salvage yard.”

The ghostly nerd chuckled. “All that new fangled modern technology…. That beatnik must think he died and gone to heaven.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “He will if I have to tell him to stop stealing other people’s stuff one more time.”

Sidney shook his head. “You know it’s hard to keep a ghost from his obsession.” Then tapping his chin, he mused. “But maybe if he had his own place to experiment…”

“Hum…” Danny furrowed his brow, considering. He floated up. “Gotta go.” He pointed at the black and white ghost. “I’m serious, you should come to our D&D games next Saturday. Think about it?”

“I will.” The other ghost nodded, also rising. “See you later.”

The two exited through the lair’s door, Sidney flying into the green atmosphere of the Zone. Danny flew up, towards the portal. The clear dome around the structure parted with his presence and he entered.

The boy drifted over the carefully cultivated plants, a particularly energetic snap-dragon snapping at his heel. “Hey! I don’t have time to play right now.” He bent down, patting the petly approximation of a draconic head.

Danny stood again and continued, passing the beds of black lettuce. A ghostly blue lizard darted between the squash vines. In the flowering tiger shrub, a tiny green bird cooed. Other plants were scattered over the area, glowing insects, some as large as his fist, buzzing over them. The boy couldn’t help but smile. Only six months and there was already so much after-life here on his little island.

The half ghost arrived in the middle, the frame of the portal surprisingly at home among the vegetation. Though… green no longer swirled in the frame; instead, black and yellow painted doors blocked the entrance. His parents had installed a set on either side to keep out unwanted visitors.

But Danny, of course, wasn’t an unwanted visitor. With a quick scan of his palm on the panel beside the door, they parted. He flew through, just as the doors on the human-world side opened too.

At the sound, both parents looked up from their work. “Danny-boy!” His dad smiled with a wave. “You want one of us to come with you?”

“Nah. I’m just gonna try and talk to Technus again.” The halfa waved off the concern. He floated up, towards the ceiling.

His dad looked almost disappointed at the decline; trust Jack Fenton to always be ready and eager to soak an annoyance in ectoplasmic goo, whether they were ghost or human. Still both adults accepted the statement.

“Knock his socks off, son! And be careful!” “We’ll do great, sweetie! Call us if you need anything!”

With his parents’ words of encouragement rising in his ears, Danny phased through the ceiling and zoomed off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Banging, clanging, and shouting rang through Mr. Jenkins’ Salvage Yard.

“It’s finished!” Maniacal laughing sounded “Finally finished! I-”

“Finished?! What in tarnation even is-.” A sudden crash. “Woah!’”

“Ah. A few more finishing touches and…” A sparking, sizzling hiss…

“Where did you get a welding gun? Wait! Is that my coffee maker?!”

The ghost scoffed. “It’s not like you were using it.”

“I used it this mornin’, you-”

Danny arrived just as Technus flipped up his face shield. “Tada! My greatest creation!” The ghost spread his arms, grinning proudly.

“You stole my French Press!” Mr. Jenkins yelled.

“Ghost Child!” The adult ghost ignored him, eyes lighting up at Phantom’s arrival. “You arrived just in time to watch!”

Danny fixed Technus with a skeptical look. “What’s going on here?”

“As I was saying, I Technus! Master of all things electronic and beeping have finished my greatest creation yet!” The ghost motioned again, to a tracker-trailer sized collection of mismatched metal parts.

Well, that wasn’t here the last time. “Technus… where did you get all this stuff?”

Just then, a frantic woman came running out of the square building sitting among all the old cars. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Jenkins. I don’t understand how, but the office phone is gone. So are the fax machine and the microwave. And all the computers and-” Her eyes widened, voice squeaking as she spotted Technus. “Not you again!”

“That’s my computer?!” Jenkin’s eyes bulged, his face turning red. “I already told you, this ain’t a junkyard. You can’t take whatever you want!”

“These machines are just sitting here, wasting away! I had to do something with all this beautiful technology.”

“What’s it even supposed to be!?”

“An ingenious invention! And greatly needed!” The green skinned ghost held a finger up. “What kind of junk yard doesn’t have a car-crusher?”

“You’re nuttier than a fruitcake.” Jenkins pointed accusingly at Technus. “This ain’t no junk yard! We’re a salvage yard. We sell used parts!”

“Salvage yard.” Technus rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous. You’re just jealous of my brilliance, old man!”

“At least I made it past half a century!” The older man spat.

“I, Technus! Made it to 52, thank you very much! 52 years and then felled by my own unstable experiment! Oh, to die in the pursuit of science! What a glorious send-off! And don’t you know about that, Halfa child! Still wearing that hip and sweet hazmat suit-”

“We are not talking about my death.” Danny interrupted pointedly. “Now-”

“Of course! Enough of this. You came to see my genius!” The mad scientist darted around the metal monstrosity, lab coat flapping behind him.

“Phantom! Stop him!” Mr. Jenkins cried.

“You heard him, Technus.” The ghost boy crossed his arms. “Don’t make me get out the thermos.”

The older ghost ignored the reprimanded, eagerly grabbing at the machine’s controls. “First! The claw will shoot out and snag the car we want. Now which one…” His brow furrowed, then turning and pointing at a red, old-looking convertible. “Ah! That sad sorry hunk of junk will do.”

“Technus! We talked about this!” Danny drove forward, arms out to pull the other ghost away from the controls.

At the same time… “ No! That’s-” Mr. Jenkins sounded panicked.

Danny surged forward but faster than he could process, the mad scientist blinked out of the way. He missed, tumbling in the air and barely missing the side of the car-crushed machine.

The clawed arm lashed out, clamping around the truck. The metal fingers snapped closed with an agonizing crunch of metal and glass.

“Must be out of practice.” Danny mumbled. Then, he lit his hands with ecto-energy, “Technus, I’m warning you!”

“And now! My hyper-efficient car-crusher will reduce this rust bucket to scrap in seconds!” The other ghost laughed maniacally, jamming one of the lever’s down.

“No! No! No!” Mr. Jenkins sounded near… tears?

The arm pulled the car forward, the headlights meeting the jaws of the crusher with a stomach-turning crunch.

“Look! My funky fresh creation is working perfectly!”

The ghost boy let his shot lose, the ecto-energy knocking the other ghost away.

“No! That’s my car!!” Mr. Jenkins fell to his knees.

Danny darted in front of the control panel. His eyes widened. So many buttons, nobs, and levers…. Lights blinked in front of him. Frantic, the boy jabbed at different controls.

“My Oldsmobile!” Beside him, Mr. Jenkins was definitely crying. “That was Pa’s. Me and Pa fixed it up before he passed. No!”

The halfa’s eyes flashed. “How do you turn this thing off?” He turned to the other ghost, demanding.

Technus floated there for a moment, eyes wide and startled. He stared, the previous mad joy completely evaporated, even as he took in his invention. After a blink, his gaze moved from the machine to the devastated human man. The ghost’s face scrunched up, brow wrinkling. Then…

He flew back to the controls. Wordlessly, the mad scientist pushed a series of buttons, metal crunching uglily all the while. He pulled a final lever and the sound of gears and breaking glass stopped.

Quiet fell and Danny sighed, shoulders untensing. Still, he nervously fingered at the thermo’s lid. “Technus, you know I don’t have any problem with you hanging around Amity Park. Tinkering by itself is fine. But when you start taking other people’s things and destroying property…. I can’t let that stand.”

“But it’s just an old car…” The older ghost fixed his head down, voice oddly subdued.

“It’s Mr. Jenkins’ car.” Danny pointed. “It belongs to him.” His tone sharpened. “I wouldn’t come in your lair and mess with your laboratory. Take your inventions without asking. You can’t do that to Mr. Jenkins.”

A long, tense pause fell over the yard. The sound of gravel shifting at the human man stood, as his assistant nervously shuffled. Danny could feel both adult’s eyes on him but his own gaze was fixed on the ghost and his tight, unreadable expression. Technus had stopped the crusher but… why? Did he understand? The boy’s stomach turned, anxiously hoping. That the ghost had listened, that he could find a peaceful resolution.

Technus’s grip on the control panel’s levers tightened. “It seems, I, Technus, made an error. The first tenant of the scientific method…. I failed to gather all the important background information.”

Mr. Jenkins looked up, angrily whipping his face. “You don’t say.”

“I got so excited, I forgot to ask for permission to use the junk…”

“Hey! It’s not-” The human started objecting.

“Or to think about whether the invention would be useful here. I mean, who ever heard of a junkyard without a car-crusher? But apparently, you don’t need one. Which does not make any sense to me. Still, I should not have taken your things and-”

“That’s all fine and good. But my car’s still trashed.” Jenkins interrupted, scowling at the crushed vehicle.

“An honest mistake.” Technus winced. “And…” He held up a finger. “Give me a second.” He darted over to the wreckage. “Here, let me…”

The mad scientist ghost waved his hands over the debris. His aura sparked, spreading out and enveloping the twisted metal and shards of glass. The pieces trembled slightly, rising with a jerk. Technus’ fingers moved as if he was counting, typing, or playing an instrument. The wreckage floated and flowed, swirling in the air and coming together. It coalesced into…

“Well I’ll be damned.” Mr. Jenkins said breathily.

Danny’s eyes widened, just as amazed. “How? You… you-”

“Fixed it!” Technus swung around, arms spread. “I fixed it!”

Sure enough, the car sat in front of them, whole and intact.

The on-lookers just blinked for a long moment. Then…

“My car!” Mr. Jenkins practically ran forward. “Bessie! You’re alright!” He flopped onto the hood, arms spreading wide as if hugging the vehicle. “Better than alright!” Eyes wide and gleeful, he wiped at a spot over the headlights. “That blasted scratch is gone!”

The human man kept cooing over his car and Danny laughed. “He’s worse than my dad with the GEV.” The boy rolled his eyes. Then… “Seriously though. Putting it back together like that…. that was incredible, Technus. Thank you for fixing this.”

“Pst.” The ghost shrugged off the thanks. “It was child’s play!” He laughed almost maniacally.

“Can you uh… put back the rest of the office?” The assistant asked meekly.

Technus’ eyes flickered to her, briefly looking disappointed, before he scoffed. “Can I put the rest of the office back?” He waved his arms, green light again spreading and enveloping the metal pieces. “Easier than differential calculus. Can I, Technus, master of all things mechanical, put it back? Please.”

The different pieces separated, flying off in seemingly random directions, while the mad scientist mumbled to himself.

Meanwhile, Mr. Jenkins looked up from his car. “I didn’t know you could fix things like this, Technus. Incredible!” He popped open the trunk, gaze flickering over the various parts. “She’s as good as new.” He reached inside, tapping something. “Say. One of the new tow-trucks is acting squirrely. Some kind of malfunction with that fancy new, space-age onboard computers. Can’t make head ‘r tails of it. Take a look and maybe I can find some spare parts for you to tinker with.”

Parts continued to swirl away, the car-crusher growing smaller and smaller. Technus tapped his chin. “Is this a problem worthy of I! Technus’ vast expertise!?”

For a moment, both Mr. Jenkins and his assistant looked worried, concerned eyes searching Danny.

The ghost boy nodded sagely. “Of course! Computer technology is so advanced now. Especially in cars! They definitely need someone as genius as you to fix it. Plus free parts!” The half ghost spread his arms. “You can’t pass up a deal like that!”

“You’re right, Ghost Child!” With a final flourish, the last remnants of the disastrous car crusher vanished, the components returning to their proper places. “Come Jenkins!” The mad scientist quickly floated away. “Show me this tow-truck!”

“Not so fast! We mere humans can’t fly!” The human man jogged after.

Danny gave another chuckle at the pair. He flew after them.

“Here it is.” Mr. Jenkins panted, motioning to the car. He unlocked the door and slid into the seat. “The problem is, anytime I start up the car…” He pressed the ignition. “See?”

The ghost nodded from where he leaned over, observing. “Ah! That is confounding! First, let me try…”

The half ghost watched two for several minutes. His eyes slowly widened, anxious core lossening. The two talked and hypothesized, bouncing ideas off of each other.

“Try it again.” Technus instructed.

Mr. Jenkins pressed the start button again. A pause. “Well, I’ll be.”

The mad scientist laughed. “I told you, old geezer. No electronical problem can overcome my genius!”

The human rolled his eyes, good naturedly. “Old geezer? Ya didn’t know what a computer was until last month.”

They were… getting along? “This is great! See.” Danny gave an encouraging smile and spread his arms. “Technus can help you out with stuff like this and you can give him some spare parts to work with. How does that sound, Mr Jenkins? Technus?”

The human tapped his chin. “You know, my brother’s got an auto shop. He’s always needin’ help. Maybe we can work something out.”

“I’m listening…” The green-skinned ghost nodded, face serious. Even as his aura flickered excitedly.

“I’ll give Perry a call and…”

The two talked for a few more minutes. Hope bloomed in Danny’s heart, a smile slowly parting his lips. They had this. Coming up with a compromise together. Without him. In fact…

The ghost boy turned to leave. “I’m going to go check on your assistant and everything in the office. Shout if you need me.”

The two barely acknowledged him, simply waving as they both chuckled over something.

Danny flew away, shaking his head. Moments later, he knocked at the office door. “It’s Phantom.”

There was a shout to enter and the boy did so. His eyes flickered over the room. Slightly disarrayed but… there was the microwave, the phone, the computer.

The assistant looked up from the desk. “Mr. Jenkins is okay, right? I haven’t heard any screaming recently.”

Danny laughed. “Yeah, he’s fine. Him and Technus are working out tech-help for spare parts.”

The woman blanched. “Is that wise?”

The boy nodded. “Giving the guy something to focus on will be good for him. And I’m sure Mr. Jenkins could use the help.”

The assistant’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I guess you have a point.” Her face smoothed out, smiling gratefully at him. “Thank you, by the way, for coming and helping with all this.”

“It’s just what I do.” Danny shrugged. “No big deal.”

“Seriously. This all wouldn’t still be standing without you.” She motioned around her vaguely. “We’d be in a mess without you, Phantom.”

“Well then…” The boy blushed at the praise. “You’re welcome… uh, I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Nancy.” She smiled.

“Nancy.” Danny gave a nod. “Everything’s good here so I’m going to head out. Give FentonWorks a call if you need anything.”

“I will.”

With a wave, the half ghost drifted up and phased through the ceiling. He flew over the salvage yard, catching a glimpse of the two men, one human and one ghost. Mr. Jenkins leaned against the vehicle, arms crossed casually. Technus floated, head lifted to the sky. His unique brand of laughter carried on the wind, the human’s hearty chuckle just as real and vibrant below it.

Danny beamed down at the scene. “Yeah. They’re going to be fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny returned home to his ghost researcher parents, both proudly congratulating him on peacefully dealing with Technus. After which of course, both had to blather on about their latest inventions. The boy fondly rolled his eyes.

He tried to invisibly sneak up on his big sister, the super-powered little brother’s prerogative. To his chagrin, he was unsuccessful though; before he could even think of turning her chair intangible, she turned the spray bottle on him like he was a misbehaving cat.

He logged onto Doom and played with his best friends. The boss of the current level decimated their party three times before they gave up for now and started on a new side quest. All the while, they talked about new movies, rumors and gossip at school, Ember’s upcoming concert, and convincing Sidney to join them for D&D.

Family and friends. Ghosts and humans and the two somehow, miraculously existing together. All this and more, in a day in the life of a half ghost.

And now, during the darkest part of the night, that eerie time between the late night and early morning, the Haunting Hour. Now, Danny Fenton-Phantom floated on his back, suspended in the air above the Ops Center.

Blobby snuggled against him, tiny paws kneading biscuits into his side. The smaller ghost purred loudly, now firmly settled into something between a very cat-like blob and a blob-like cat. The boy gently stroked his pet, idly scrolling through his phone.

A text notification pinged and Danny laughed, typing back.

Danny: that’s the most cursed meme i’ve ever seen

Another cursed follow up. And another. Danny snorted, sending his own.

Tucker: 😵 ☠️ Deed. Y u stil up thoigh?

Danny: Dude it’s spooky hour. Getting my haunt on.

Tucker: U lucky basterd. Ony need 4 hrs of skeep

Danny: 😜 Y r u still up?

Tucker: Doom. newd new armor.

Tucker: 😵 stupd skelton killed me😭

Danny: Go to sleep!

Tucker: Neverrttt5454er66wreeqwsd

Danny: ?

Tucker: dropped phome on my face

Tucker: maybe i shoud slep

Danny: You think? 🤨

Tucker: One more meme!

Tucker: Phantomceiling.mov

Tucker: wrong file. 😴🥱😫 Sry. Gd night Danny

Danny laughed softly, shaking his head at his sleepy friend. He could imagine it, Tucker half-way across town, drifting off at his computer, gaming with one hand and texting with the other. No wonder the skeletons, the freaking easiest monster in the game, managed to kill him.

And he sent a random video? Danny tilted his head at the file name, pressing play.

“Woah!” Tucker’s excited voice cheered.

The camera shifted wildly, a blurry tan surface covering the screen. The crispness of the image wavered, in and out until…. tiny, glow-in-the-dark stars shifted into focus. On the… ceiling? Why did Tucker have a video of his bedroom ceiling?

“I can’t even believe this, I’m floating!” This friend’s voice cheered.

The half ghost’s eyes widened, suddenly remembering. This video, the one Tucker made while swinging from the ceiling. Meaning….

The image titled, pointed directly above and… Black suit, white hair, sparkling green eyes paned into view. Danny felt his heart squeeze.

“Say hi, Danny.” Tucker laughed.

“Hi Danny.” The ghost stuck out his tongue, giving a wave.

“Hi Phantom.” The boy smiled softly, waving back.

This video… he’d forgotten about it completely. Hadn’t even realized they had any video from when he was split, all those months ago. And now…

On the screen, Tucker grunted in effort, Phantom’s face deceptively even, eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth.

And now, Danny could remember it like it was yesterday. His feet planted firmly on the ceiling, one hand in Tucker’s, his familiar weightlessness spread through the contact. That was him, trying to hold back his laughter. And yet…

“Come… on.” His friend shouted in frustration. “Come on!” Two voices burst out in laughter, one higher pitched- obviously Sam. And the other….

The camera panned. Black hair, blue eyes pinched closed, mouth open with his laughter.

“Hi, Fenton.” His eyes crinkled, a fond mirth.

Danny remembered this too. Busting a gut at a constipated-looking Tucker, bent over with his chortles, Sam rolling her eyes at his comment. That was him. And yet…

After re-fusing, it had felt like he’d been asleep for a long time. Like he hadn’t really been present; it was all a dream. And yet, he had been right there. He remembered everything. It was like he told Jazz, all those months ago. He was Phantom and Fenton. Fenton and Phantom had been him. And yet he, the Danny thinking this thought, hadn’t really been there. But now….

The video continued, the camera passed around as Tucker cheered, swinging like a pendulum. As Sam had her turn, laughing hysterically the entire time. As Jazz screamed to be put down, before admitting that it wasn’t so bad. All the while, Danny chuckled at the scene. His smile grew, something soft and precious and fond.

“Wait… how?” Tucker wrinkled his brow. “I don’t get it.”

“He’s tapping into our powers.” Phantom righted himself in the air. “I mean, I’m the ghost so I’m technically the one with the powers right now. But we’re still the same person.”

“So I can kinda use them if we’re touching.” Fenton explained. “I uhh… actually turned myself intangible last night, when Phantom did it and I was touching him.”

The video ended there, Fenton and Phantom side by side. The human’s brow wrinkled in thought. The ghost mid-nod, agreeing.

And Danny’s heart squeezed, something nostalgic. “Guys. We made it.” A finger brushed the screen. As if he could reach back to then and reassure both halves of himself. “We made it.”

Danny remembered that day where it started. Sitting with his friends, his burger falling through his hands. That was the final straw, the moment that changed everything. It led to his fateful decision to go through the ghost catcher. A bad decision but it had left him all the better. It had taught him many hard won lessons, changing the way he saw his friends, his parents, and most importantly himself.

And those lessons…. Danny remembered, his dream the night he re-merged.

“I’m going to be okay.” A soft, swirling gratitude. “I won’t forget what I learned when I was you guys. I’ll remember.”

Danny hadn’t forgotten. He’d come back to himself, like finally coming home. And he’d found that he was more. More than just Phantom plus Fenton. More than just human plus ghost.

Letting out a sigh, the ghost boy lowered himself in the air, down to the roof of the Ops Center. To the camping chair left out here for his nightly star gazing. Blobby curled into his lap, the halfa giving gentle pets. His head drifted up, towards the sky.

And he let himself remember his last night as two halves of himself.

Danny closed his eyes and he was back there. Sitting side by side. Pointing out constellations and telling stories, one arm around his other half. And at the same time, drifting off to sleep to the echoing voice, his body comfortably leaned against the familiar chilly presence.

“Hey, I’m very witty. You just happen to share my brain.” The ghost grinned, roughly ruffling his counterpart’s hair. “Can’t get one over on you, can I?”

“I’m the pun master.” Fenton chuckled, leaning into the touch.

“You’re annoying, that’s what you are.” Phantom teased.

A chuckle at the memory. Seeing this from both sides really shouldn’t make sense. Yet it couldn’t be more clear…

“I love you too.” The human muttered, rolling his eyes.

The ghost stilled, his free hand dropping out of the black hair. His core squeezed, jovial teasing giving way to a soft and quiet joy. The tiredness radiated off of his other self, heavy enough that he was starting to get silly. But those words…. Every syllable was real.

Phantom breathed. Teasing and joking was familiar, comfortable even. He was even used to transparency, tender honesty. But this…. The arm still around his human half tightened, his free arm circling around Fenton’s front. He had said earlier, if they had anything else to say to each other while they were still split, they should say it.

Ghost Danny completed the hug. “I do love you.”

Back on the roof, Danny’s hand tenderly rested over his heart-core. Maybe if anyone else had seen that moment, he’d feel embarrassed, ashamed. But that moment was just for him. That same soft and quiet joy rose, quivering in his chest. Splitting himself had let Danny see himself in new ways. He’d learned so much. He’d grown to know, accept, appreciate, and, yes, love both halves of himself. As strange as it was to say, Fenton and Phantom had loved each other.

An overbearing gratitude washed over him at that. Gratitude that they (that he) had been brave enough to voice that, to give him this memory. This proof, this reminder of how far he’d come. Of all he’d learned.

He had suffered and struggled and agonized. He had fought with his own self-hatred and doubt, his shame and fear, with the painful reminders of his death. But with the love and support of his parents, sister, and friends, he had overcome. He had learned and grown and changed. The transformation itself hurt and terrified him. But he had risen above it. And now. Now Danny loved who he had become.

And who had he become? What did loving himself mean now, with his heart and core nestled together, where they belonged? It meant taking care of himself. Letting his friends and family know him and love him. Loving other people. It meant eating enough– both ecto and regular food-, sleeping well, watching the stars during his Haunting Hour. Spending time with his loved ones and letting them share his burdens. Helping others as Danny Phantom.

He saved humans in the town with his powers when ghost animals appeared or over-enthusiastic ghosts wouldn’t listen. He helped lost ghosts find their way back to the portal. He worked to find ways for humans and ghosts to exist together.

The idea from when he’d been talking to Sidney earlier flickered in his mind. A shared place for the ghosts on this side of the portal to gather, to bond, to help each other. A kind of Sanctuary, that was his dream.

That first time he’d almost fused, before telling his parents about Phantom, he’d dreamed of the human in the ghostly, ghostly in the human. He’d imagined truly being both. And now Danny found he was. The life he wanted was here, in the life he was building.

Danny unlocked his phone again, taking the image of Fenton and Phantom side by side. “We’ve come so far.” His eyes softened, full of awe and gratitude. “I said it before, in that dream. I’m happy I was both of you. And thank you for working to grow into who I am now.”

In his lab, Blobby mewed, head jerking up at something in the sky. The half ghost looked, eyes widening. A shooting star, streaming across the vibrantly deep sky.

His core fluttered in time with his heart, swelling with hope. Danny smiled. “Here’s to whatever comes next.”

Note: Thank you all for reading! Whether you joined me at the beginning back in 2019, you started following only recently, or you're binging at some point in the future, I appreciate you! I would never have written this story, let alone finished it, without all the kind comments on here and fanfiction.net, Tumblr reblogs and rambles in the tags, and DMs on Tumblr and Discord. If you ever talked to me about this story, offered your support and encouragement, I am so thankful to you. I am so thankful for the friendships I've found through this fic and for how much I've grown as a writer.

As always, I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter and the story as a whole. I love and appreciate you all!

#Danny Phantom #Face to Face #Double Danny #Split Danny #My Fic

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