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small-sinclair · 1 year ago

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Only Louisiana Knows

@sketchy-rosewitch, here ya go! Let me know if you want a part 2!

A/B/O Sinclair Brothers x child!reader (platonic)

Contains: reader is not a wolf, mentions child abuse (not by brothers), kidnapper is a Hunter, injured reader, gore, blood, murder, not proofread

Lester was the one to notice something was wrong with you while driving towards Ambrose. He could smell it.

Though, out loud, it sounds odd and not good at all, but it’s true. He knew that the man sitting with you wasn’t the best man or the best father. He knew something was wrong when he saw bruises too big for your little body, and there’s not child-like wonder glowing in your eyes when he started talking to you about the swamp creatures. Lester didn’t like the way the man always eyeing your every move and how he glared at you whenever you answered a question. Lester didn’t like it one bit, and he knew his brothers wouldn’t, too.

He pulled up to the station and parked the truck. “I’ll let Bo know yer here.” He hops out of the truck and headed inside. It’ll be fast, he promises himself. He doesn’t want to leave you alone for long.

“Bo?” He called as he entered the front. “Ya here?”

“Yeah!” Bo answered. He was laying under a car with a light on. The radio on the bench was playing 80s rock. “Jus’ a sec!” He pushed himself out front underneath and stands, wiping his hands on his pants, turning the radio off. “Yes, Les?”

“We gotta ourselves a child beater,” Lester answered, stepping in the garage so you and your father don’t hear. In the corner, Vincent closes his sketch book and stands off his stool. He tilted his head a little and nodded Lester to go on. "He has a kid wit'im... a youngling."

Bo stiffened as he crossed his arms. "Did you see anything on the child?"

"Bo, you can smell it."

Bo lifted a brow then looked at Vincent, who shrugged, then back at Lester. "Le’me meet him. I bet I could figure him out." As soon as he finished saying those words, the bell to the door open and closed. The smell of burnt leaves and cedar filled the air, but the sweet scent of cherry and vanilla followed. "I'll be righ' there!" Bo shouted as he tossed the rag to the side. "Vince, head to the basement and listen close if I need ya."

He gets a nod from the other alpha and slips away towards the tunnels underground. He spares a glance before leaving, clicking the door behind him softly.

Lester led the way out as Bo followed, fixing his hat as he walked. Standing by the front door, Bo saw the man and tried to to recoil at the smell. Lester was right: it didn't smell right nor look good. He didn't like how the man kept the child close, and he didn't like how the kid didn't look at anything or tried to talk. What is the kid? Four or something? When he was that age, you could never shut him up! Still, Bo gave a nod at man along with a welcoming grin. If he could figure the man out and get him far away from the kid, that'll be the best for both him and the town. He doesn't want a child beater part of his mother's dream, her waxed pack.

"Apologies for the wait," Bo said. "What can I do for ya?"

"Car blew a flat," the man said. Shit, even the way he talks and the smell of his breath made Bo want to throw-up. "Me and my kid need to get going soon."

"Of course," Bo nodded. "Les? Get the keys to the tow and bring the car. I can see what I can do." He turned to the side and opened his arm. "I have some tires back here if ya wanna see 'em? Easier for you to pick, ya know?"

Lester takes the keys off the hook and looks back at Bo with a concerned look. Bo waved him off shyly, giving him the reassurance that everything will be okay. Bo wasn't going to do anything to the kid, to you.

You stood still as you hugged your stuffed gray wolf closer to your chest. The mechanic held out his hand towards your father and said, "Name's Bo."

"Harry," he shook Bo's hand. "Look, I don't mean to come off as a bother but--"

"No bother at all, sir," Bo flashed an award-winning smile. "Was just fixin' t'breaklines on a car." Then he turned his attention towards you. "Does jounir wanna sucker? I got som' lollies."

He seemed to be asking you and not your father, but you know better than to talk. As much as you want to say yes, you saw the glare form your father and shook your head. You didn't want to be more in trouble than you have to be.

"Okay, kiddo," Bo said, turning on his heels. "The kid c'n stay up here. Shop's too messy for a kid to be walkin' around." Then Bo turned to you and nodded at a chair. Gladly, you took your seat. After climbing up, sat your stuffed wolf, named Wolfie, next to you. Bo smiled slightly then turned back to your father. "Come 'is way."

As Bo and your father left, your legs dangled over the chair, so you started kicking in the air and hugged Wolfie.

He's not really your father, Harry. You know he's not because you were taken from your real parents as payment for something. But he turned around and burned them alive for drinking out of people's necks. You don't do that, but Harry doesn't believe that. He's been referred to as a "hunter", but he doesn't hunt deer or animals... well, he does hunt wolves and people that drink from necks.

It's confusing and hard to follow what he does, so you don't ask. In fact, you don't talk unless he tells you to. Maybe he's scared you'll tell people about the cross-bow in the trunk of his car or about the packets of wolf's bane hidden under the seat? Who's to say, really.

You made Wolfie dance over your knees when you heard your father yelling and something falling to the ground. You hugged Wolfie close to your chest as you slowly slipped off the chair and looked into the doorway. You saw harry with a wrench trying to hurt Bo while Bo...

Bo didn't look the same.

His shirt was ripped as fur stuck out. His blue eyes were brighter and burned in flames of anger. His face was getting longer and larger like his hands and fingers. You watched as his nails grew into claws like a bear as wolf ears poked out of his hair. He pushed Harry back with a long, black and brown tail. You heard his clothing tear and rip until there was nothing left. Bo wasn't a human. He stood tall and proud as a wolf... a werewolf.

You and your stuffie turned, and you bolted out the door as you heard his howl and an echo of a growl, but you didn't go far. You forgot to tie your shoes and tripped on the laces. You fell on face forward and tried to scramble to get away, but you felt a shadow creep over you. Looking up, you saw another werewolf with black thick fur, but it was miss half its face and ear. It looked down at you then leapt over your trembling body through the glass door window. You let out a scream and covered your head.

It's just a dream It's just a bad dream!

Then you heard Harry's cry of agony and death. You heard snarls and growls ripping through Harry’s skin. Then his gun fired, hitting one of them.

Before you knew it, you were scooped up by a large claw and carried away to the other side of the road. The one with one eye and ear placed you down and stood on all fours protectively, it’s fur standing.

Barking loudly, Vincent snarled as it glared forward. How fucking dare he come to his home, to his town, and threaten his family with a gun! It dared to harm you? Hurt you just for being there!? No. Not on his watch. He growled as Harry limped out of the station. He glared at you and the wolf and raised his gun—

“No!” You pushed through the other wolf and opened your arms. “Stop—!”

Stupid child.

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

Lester bright the broken car home, but he was speeding the whole way through. He heard the gun shot clear as day and felt his heart tear apart. He pressed on the gas and drove until he couldn’t no more. He parked the car and leapt out of the driver’s seat. The transformation is normal painful, but he found through the pain and was running the rest of the way. He didn’t stop until he saw the child laying behind Vincent as Bo attacked the hunter from behind.

Lester could smell blood as soon as he raced down the gravel road. He watched as Vincent lunged at the man’s chest while Bo aimed for his throat. He heard the cracking of bones and skin ripping, but he didn’t see you move. He grit his teeth as he narrowed in on the hunter and jumped high enough to land on top of his arm.

You heard his body being torn apart violent until there was nothing left of him. You curled up into a ball and clinched Wolfie tighter as you started crying in the fur, flinching at their victory howls over the killed hunter, over Harry.

Lester pushed the body away and rushed towards the curled up child. His pants were ripped as changed back to normal. “Bo! First-aid, now!” He shouted as he slid on his knees next to you. “Kid? Kiddo!?” He glanced over his shoulder then back at you. Letting out a frustrated yell, he picked you up and ran into the station.

***********

The first thing you felt when you woke up was something soft and warm like fur. Looking up, you found the full-face wolf under you, sleeping soundly with its tail wrapped around you protectively. Panic surged through your body as you pushed yourself up for the wolf, waking it up in the process.

You fell on your back as burning pain from your leg grew like weeds in the summer. It shot up through your little body as you scrambled away from it. You put your arms around your head as you curled into a ball.

“Don’t hurt me! Please!” Fat tears fell from your eyes as you cried out, “Mama! Mama! Papa!” You knew your parents weren’t there anymore. Harry wasn’t there anymore. You were alone. Truly and forever alone. “Wolfe! Where’s-where’s Wolfie!?” Then you peeled through your hands and saw the half-faced wolf inching closer to you. “Papa! Papa, help!”

Bo’s ears lowered as a high-pitched whine escaped. He doesn’t whine. He never does. But hearing you call out for someone that’s gone… what did that hunter do to you? He didn’t like this one bit, but he knew what had to be done. You are a child, a kid… his kid. Vincent’s kid. Lester’s kid. Their child.

You heard nails tapping on the ground and pattering of paws coming closer to you. Then your arm was nudged by a nose. A dog's nose. you opened your eyes and met the brightest blue eyes and blackest fur you've ever seen. The werewolf lowered himself down onto his stomach and whimpered softly as he nudged your arm again. He digs his nose under your arm until your arm was resting on his neck. His blue eyes were hurt and sorry as if he felt your pain.

From behind, the other joined as well. The wolf lowered himself on the floor next to you and curled around you like like a dragon protecting its hoard, its tail covering you like a blanket. It whimpered like the other did as it came closer to you. It’s burning blue and green eye focused on you and your fears. How Vincent wished to take away your pain.

Lester’s feet hurried over the wooden steps but slowed when he saw his brothers and you together. He softened as he came towards the little pile, but slowed when Bo glared at him as if he did something wrong. So he knelt besides Vincent and offered a friendly smile. “Heya, sweetness,” his voice was so light and careful. “How ya feelin’?”

All he got from you was a chocked out sob and a cry.

“Yeah, I reckon much,” he sighed sadly. “But, hey, listen,” he made sure to move so you’re right in eye sight of him. “I patched up your stuffy an’ washed it good.”

“Wolfie?” You murmured hopefully.

He nods. “Yes. Wolfie is okay. Jus’ hang dryin’.” He looked between his brothers and back at you. “Do ya wanna sleep somewhere more comfortable? Made a bed for ya.”

“Wolfie?”

“Yes, little bit,” he chuckles. “Wolfie will be there.”

Bo nudged his head against yours as if he’s reassuring you. What else can you do? Nodding, you allowed Lester to pick you up. He was gentle enough so your leg doesn’t start bleeding.

Bo and Vincent followed Lester but stopped at the bottom of the steps. Mama never liked it when they went upstairs with dirty paws. Hold habits die hard with the Sinclairs. Vincent laid on his paws and watched as his little brother and you disappeared. Tonight was on him, and he’ll never forget it.

As the night went on, Lester didn’t leave your side. He slept at the old writing desk in the broken chair he knew throw out. Vincent stayed at the bottom of the steps and slowly came back to human with ripped clothing and torn shoes, maskless. The two stayed at the house with you while Bo took care of Harry.

He took his body and filled his ripped stomach with stones until it sank in the swamp with the gators. Before he did that, he took his hunter’s ring and notebook in his back pocket. The little black box was filled with names and addresses of other hunters, and that made Bo smile wide. He stood over the torn body and took a few photos to send to the hunter cove as a warning to stay away from Ambrose, but he hoped they came. He wanted blood for what he did to that child. He wanted their hearts in his jaw. Bo wanted to make them fear him—

Then he thought of you and how you curled closed to him. He thought about how small you were and how light and shy your eyes are. Bo sighs to himself and shakes his head. He’ll be a father a true father to you, but he’ll be damned if anyone came close to you. He sunk the body into the water and rowed back to shore. He stepped out and dragged the boat on land. He knelt down and washed the blood off his hands in the blessed swamp waters.

No one will find him. It’ll be between him, the swamp, and the other spirits that haunt these waters.

Only Louisiana and her ruby fields will ever know.

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pygmi-cygni · 3 months ago

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writing tip - children

kiddos, ninas, ninos, kinder, whatever you like to call em, they're everywhere. especially in writing! children can be a fun, innocent way to lighten up your story or add opportunities for immeasurable angst.

But i have noticed a propensity for miswriting them. I briefly touched on this in my character continuity post, but I'll go in depth about it rn.

Kids are fascinating. Their little brains work just as hard as adults, but the way they think is way different. I think there's an equal balance of overestimating and underestimating child capabilities in stories, so I'll explain examples of both.

When writing dialogue for children, it's important to note the way that certain milestones are met.

Kids under the age of five are not going to be conjugating verbs, using tense or proper structure. They have just passed the telegraphic/multiword stage of speech, which basically means being able to string words into a sentence. The vocabulary is low, but the comprehension is high. They'll be able to describe things but with a lot of abstract thought and physical description.

Example: John (5 y.o) watches a blue tow truck carry a red car down the road. He runs to tell his father.

Overestimating: "Papa, look! There's a blue tow truck with a car!" (too specific)

Underestimating: "Papa, lookit! A blue thing had another red thing on top of it an' it was goin real fast!" (John knows what cars are at this age; he has passed the 'thingy' stage of description)

Accurate: "Papa, look! A blue truck with a hook on it was with a red car on the road and the red car was on top going fast!"

John is at the age where he can identify nouns and actions, but he can't really put them in the correct order. He might not know exactly what a tow truck is, but he can see the blue truck has a hook, so he says that instead.

Kids at this age are good at descriptions and big picture concepts. If you want to use a kid as a witness in a mystery, this age would be helpful for describing the perp's looks, but nothing specific about what happenened.

Also, kids are remarkably efficient. After the age of two, toddlers/young children can feed themselves and keep themselves entertained. Obviously an adult/caregiver would need to organize and resource the food and toys, but the kids no longer need another person for every movement.

First words.

Not gonna be anything with plosives or hard palate sounds. no -ing, no consonant blends (spider, brick) no k or ck.

Soft vowels, bilabials (m, p, s, l) are all that's really gonna be a thing. (mama, papa, wa-wa, moo, baby, that kinda stuff.) it's used a lot because it's correct.

Toddlers are not busting out complicated words like stegosaurus, ok.

Obviously there are exceptions but by and large, it's pretty simple. Use this as a reference or not, but just some tips for keeping it realistic.

xox bye

#writing advice #writing tips #writing help #fic writing #writer #descriptive writing #children #babies #caretaker #writing kids #tumblr #writers of tumblr #writers community #creative writing

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the-bar-sinister · 3 months ago

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Crimson Sunset, Azure Dawn (6259 words) by thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 2/? Fandom: One Piece (Anime & Manga) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: shuggy, mishanks, cross guild polycule

Additional Tags: Polyamory, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Enemies to Lovers, The Cross Guild (One Piece), Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Baggage, Getting Together, Drama, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smoking, why is shanks like that, Background Relationships, Rating May Change, POV Third Person Limited, POV Alternating Summary: Red Haired Shanks had wrapped himself in mystery and glory and vanished from the lives of everyone who cared about him, leaving a trail of old flames lost and confused in his wake. Years later, Mihawk would have been content to finally give the duel long owed him. Buggy swore he simply wanted to give him a piece of his mind. Crocodile just wanted the pair to have some measure of closure, difficult as it might be.

No one expected the rising star of the scarlet emperor to crash so suddenly and violently to earth. No one expected to fish a lost and broken Shanks out of the wreckage of his ship.

But maybe it takes disaster for old flames to flicker back to life, and for Cross Guild to bring in its most surprising member.

Prologue & Chapter 1

Note: the prologue of this fic and one scene from the first chapter originally appeared in Deicide: Onigashima Afterparty and can be skipped if you have already read that.

Prologue

The Cross Guild ship sat anchored a few miles off the coast of Wano with the former marine vessel locked in tow for when they departed. It had been a hell of a few days.Crocodile and Mihawk had practically gang pressed him— and the crew— into what he had called a 'recruitment mission', chasing Smoker and his marine boys to the closed island after getting intel that they were there.

It was a crazy move. And crazier still, it had worked. Cross Guild now had a couple of famous marines (and an undercover marine pirate!) and their crew on the roster, a fact which seemed to please Crocodile to no end, and admittedly, probably would further demoralize the navy.

But that wasn't what was on Buggy's mind.

Buggy had gotten a few drinks into himself by the time he’d worked up the nerve to confront Crocodile. He and Drake had celebrated his switching sides the best way they could— by getting drunk and flirting back and forth for a few hours— before Buggy had finally had to excuse himself.

He rolled up his baggy sleeves and took a deep breath before he slammed open the door to the little lounge he knew Croc was skulking around in with as imperious a face as the new Emperor could muster. “Crocodile! I gotta talk to you!”

Crocodile, of course, didn't even lower his cigar. He didn't even answer. He just waved him over. He was sitting in his tall armchair, feet on the table, with a bottle of rye and the morning's newspaper.

Buggy sauntered over with his hands floating off his wrists (and rested against his hips) and a big frown on his face.

“I gotta talk to you, I said!” He leaned in. “About my crew!”

Now Crocodile took the cigar out of his mouth, and breathed smoke in his face. "Alright, clown. I'm listening. What about your crew?"

Buggy breathed it in with a little shiver, before he huffed.

“...you gotta treat my men with a little more respect. Cabaji’s tellin’ me that you’re going around barking orders at him and the rest of my guys.”

Crocodile stared at him for a long moment, and then he patted his lap. "Sit down, Buggy."

Buggy huffed, flushing brightly as he stomped over and dropped neatly into his lap. “I mean it, Croc. They’re my men…they respect me. You can’t just push ‘em around like they were yours.”

Croc's arm slithered around him and his hook dropped across his legs. "Buggy. Sweetheart. I bark orders at everybody. You know this."

Buggy pursed his lips in a frown, looking him in the eyes as he looped an arm around his shoulders. “...I mean, yeah. It’s onna the charming things about you, Croccy. But Cabaji’s gettin’ annoyed.”

Crocodile puffed on his cigar, for a moment, and then pressed it into Buggy's mouth, still damp with his saliva. "That's your swordsman, right? Long dark hair? Bunch of knives?"

Buggy took a puff off it, hanging around his shoulders as he relished the taste. “Yeah, that’s the one. My number one acrobat. A real standout guy. He thinks you’re disrespecting us.”

"Does he now?" Croc snorted, and stroked the curve of his hook over Buggy's thigh. "Alright, Bug. There are two solutions to this. Either one– you stick to me like glue so I can tell you the orders and you bark 'em…"

He left the suggestion hanging for a moment.

Buggy’s leg rubbed against his hook as his torso disconnected to lean into his body. He blushed, huffing softly. “You ain’t the worst company. But go on.”

"Funny you should mention that," Croc chuckled. "Option two is you bring your 'number one acrobat' to bed with us and we sort out questions of respect that way."

WIth that, Buggy went bright red, and his head popped off to turn around and look at Croc with wide and flustered eyes.

Cabaji would be into it, of course.

It’d probably sort it out, one way or another, if he was invited there. It wasn’t as if they weren’t already intimate.

“I’ll think about it,” he said stiffly. “...on that note! I got something I gotta bring up about him.”

Crocodile cackled, and grabbed Buggy's floating head by the pigtail. "Don't fly away on me, clown. What about him? Planning a spring wedding?"

Buggy yelped, and his head fell down against his shoulder again.

“N-no!” he huffed sharply. “I wanna get him a devil fruit! He’s worrying about keeping up with all the freaks in the New World.”

Crocodile twirled his fingers through Buggy's hair for a moment. "Huh, smart man. He doesn't already have one, then? Is he a haki guy, or what?"

“He’s an acrobat. And a damn good one too.” Buggy poked his chest with his floating hand, though…he did nuzzle Crocodile’s hand. “And he’s not a haki master like Mihawk or nothin’.”

Crocodile stared at him, even as he stroked his thumb over Buggy's jaw. "So what, he's just a guy? And he hasn't fucking died yet?"

Everybody from Crocodile's 'crew'-- Baroque Works, what was left of them– had a Devil Fruit. Everybody he associated with had some trick up their sleeve.

Buggy brushed the scruff of his jawline against his fingers with a nod. Cabaji was amazing for having come this far with him— even against all the shit they faced, he was still alive and kickin’.

That had to count for something.

“He’s just that good, Croc. But he wants to be better.”

"You know what? It sounds like he's fucking earned it," Crocodile grumbled. He patted Buggy's face not unfondly, and grinned. "I'll put in a request with Doffy and get him a fruit lined up. And I'm thinking you should bring him to bed whatever else we figure."

Buggy grinned widely at him, his body floating in pieces against the other man.

“Damn right he has! I’ll let him know, Croccy!” He winked. “...about the invitation, too.”

"Good man," Crocodile leered. "I–"

They were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door, at which Crocodile barked, "enter!"

Buggy’s head jerked up, and his body parts rapidly snapped back together as he wriggled on Crocodile’s lap with a grumpy murmur of ‘my respect as a co-leader!’

Crocodile didn't let Buggy up, his hook still firmly over his lap– but it didn't end up mattering anyway, it was just Galdino.

"Sir. Buggy."

"Mr. 3," Crocodile drawled out with the air of an almost affectionate nickname. "What's with the knock?"

"Some uh, interesting news, actually." He glanced back and forth between Buggy and Crocodile in a rather nervous way– despite that, Buggy thought whatever the glance was about, it didn't have anything to do with the compromising position.

“Hey Galdy.” Buggy murmured as he fell back against Crocodile with a sigh. “What’s up?”

"Well…"

"Out with it," Crocodile barked. He grinned wickedly. "Promise I won't shoot the messenger this time."

Galdino gave them a look somewhere between sour and wry. Crocodile's attempt at murder had become a joke somewhere along the way between them.

"It's Red Haired Shanks," Galdino said. "Doflamingo's faction reported in by transponder snail that his ship's been sighted around the other side of Wano."

Buggy’s face blanched underneath his makeup, and his eyes went wide over his smile as his lips closed.

“.....” He gripped Crocodile tighter. “.......Shanks… is in Wano…as we speak???”

Crocodile grimaced and raised his hook. "Is every damned Emperor on the sea in the same hundred mile radius?"

Galdino held his hands up. "Don't ask me, I just took the message. But… it sounds like it's close, anyway. Even with the recent shake up."

"Wonderful." Crocodile grumbled. He squeezed Buggy's arm. "Alright, Galdino. Thank you for the information. Were there any other details?"

"They said it seemed like he was making ready to leave."

Buggy grabbed Crocodile by the lapels, looking at him with wild eyes. “We should intercept him, before the bastard slips away again!”

He knew, distantly, he was being irrational. Something about Shanks always set it off in him. The entire reason he’d gone off at Luffy to begin with was because of that damned straw hat of Shanks’.

Crocodile's hook pierced through Buggy's leg, as his grip tightened on his shoulder. "Are you crazy, clown?"

"I'll just… leave you to it then," Galdino murmured, slipping out the door.

Buggy leaned his face nose to nose with Crocodile.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to give that red haired bastard a piece of my mind? He…he…” his hands shook, “he broke my heart, Croccy!”

Crocodile stared at him with incredulous annoyance that slowly melted away into exhaustion, and maybe a trace of sympathy. He let go of Buggy's shoulder and grabbed the bottle of rye from beside his chair, taking a long pull before putting it to Buggy's lips.

"Yeah. You've mentioned," he grumbled. ".... we're gonna have to go find Mihawk."

Buggy grabbed the bottle, and tilted it back in several long swigs.

“Yeahhh….oh he’s not gonna be happy either, is he?”

"Yeah, he sure fucking ain't." Croc shook his head. "How the hell did I end up with both of Shank's fucking exes?"

Buggy took another long swig of rye before he leaned in to kiss Crocodile’s lips. “I think that says a LOT about you and your taste in men, Croccy.”

Crocodile kissed him back, before grumbling. "Well, I fucking hate that. Alright, let's go find Hawkie and give him the bad news."

Buggy laughed, leaning back enough to look him in the eyes. Despite the big smile on his face, he was reeling.

Shanks. Fucking Shanks. Red Haired Shanks the Emperor…the dopey cabin boy from when he was a wide-eyed idealistic brat himself. A boyfriend, a confidant…at least before he changed.

His fingers tightened on the bottle. He was going to need a lot more to drink if he was going to deal with him today.

On the Rocks

With the aid of his spyglass combined with his observation haki he could keep watch on someone from quite a distance away. Could watch them far before they knew he was there.

Red Haired Shanks stood perched on the rail of his ship, glass in hand, watching the crew of the Thousand Sunny make ready to depart Wano.

Now was the time. After what he'd seen the kid do in the fight against Kaidou— the white haired deity that had flickered to life from his devil fruit's power— now was the time to tell him the truth about the fruit. About his destiny. About what Roger had said.

Now was the time to challenge him, and see what he could really do.

Shanks tried to smile, but something gnawed in the pit of his stomach.

He should be happy.

Everything had been leading to this moment. Everything since those whispered words from his captain long ago. Ever since seven years ago when Luffy had claimed what should have been—

Since Luffy had claimed his destiny.

Shanks should be happy.

Shanks shouted the order to make ready to sail. They'd follow the Sunny at a distance until they were a day out from Wano and then make themselves known.

It was good enough that Luffy would be happy. That so many other people would be happy. He was sure that Roger was smiling somewhere, still.

He had to be sure of it.

Mihawk sat on the deck of the ship, carefully cleaning Yoru with a reverent and practiced hand. Under the broad parasol he’d insisted they install, he watched the sea beyond them as his fingers and his cloth trailed over Yoru’s shining black blade.

“Daz. Do you think the tea is steeped?”

The blood of the marines who hadn’t yielded was still fresh in his mind, the thrill of the short but interesting battle and its resolution of a whole cadre of new crew and executives for their little organization still buzzing distantly behind his sharp and canny eyes.

Cross Guild had devoured two of the Navy’s finest. Welcomed them, and their powerful underlings, into the fold. It was a victory; and now they moved on to the next step in their plan to whittle the Marine’s strength to nothing.

"Should be," Daz nodded as he eyeballed the teacup steeping on the tray.

“Thank you,” he glanced back at him with a subtle smile as he held his blade up to the light. Bergamot tea, steeped strong— he trusted Daz to make it correctly. “What do you think of our new friends, the former Marines.”

Daz was the man that Crocodile had brought from his adventures in Alabasta. Mihawk's own man, Wallace, was with Perona, currently.

"As long as they don't stick a knife in our backs, I think they'll be great." Daz handed him the cup of tea. From the smell of it, he'd gotten it just right.

MIhawk took a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance before taking a long sip. Yes, it was perfect. “They seem to have impressed Crocodile…and he is not a man who trusts easy.”

"Sure isn't," Daz agreed. Mihawk knew that he was well aware. Apparently, Daz had been working officially for Sir Crocodile and Rain Dinners for quite some time, while working unofficially for "Mr. Zero" and Baroque Works without knowing that the two were one and the same. And yet, he'd followed him even afterward. Through the depths even of Impel Down.

“He seems to have put quite a bit into that crew— I’m not a trusting man, myself… but if he trusts them I will endeavor to do the same.”

Daz nodded. "Spent some time with a couple of 'em last night. They seem alright. I hope it won't kick the captain in the teeth."

Mihawk looked up at him with a thin smile. “If it does, I’ll simply have to hang their heads from the prow. But let us hope it’s as good as it seems.

He liked Daz. It was a comfort and a relief to know that Crocodile had had someone looking out for him in the years when they couldn’t meet under the watchful eye of the World Government.

Once, and once again in a way, he had been Crocodile’s right hand. His first mate and swordsman. He and Daz were still settling out exactly what that meant for the two of them– Daz having occupied the spot that he had vacated for so long– but it didn't seem to be a real problem.

"If you need a hand with that, let me know."

MIhawk chuckled as he sipped his tea again. “I might need a hand with it, should push come to shove. I–”

"Hawkie!" Crocodile snapped sharply as he stomped up from below deck. He was dragging Buggy with him, a bottle of alcohol in the clown's hands. Mihawk could already tell something was up. He leaned over the back of his chair, teacup by his side and Yoru over his lap. His keen eyes scanned the bottle of alcohol as his lips drew into a tense frown.

“Crocodile. Bad news? Have the marine recruits betrayed us?”

"Nothing as simple as that," Crocodile growled around his cigar. "Got a report, didn't we, Bug?"

Daz shot an apprehensive glance toward Mihawk, clearly picking up on the same 'bad news' feeling that he was.

Buggy slid over grinning a smile that wasn’t at all reassuring as he wiggled the booze bottle his way.

“How about we have a drink, huh? The boys said they saw uh… they saw a ship off the coast of Wano.”

Mihawk raised his eyebrow at him with a low hum. “And…?”

Crocodile put his arm around Mihawk's shoulders. "And it's Shank's ship, Hawkie."

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Red Haired Shanks. The two of them had a long and storied history. Meeting during a grand adventure, becoming rivals— the clash of wills and sword that reverberated around the world— and Shank’s injury bringing with it distance and the World Government’s interference as Mihawk became a proper Warlord of the Sea.

“What brings him to Wano, I wonder.” He stood smoothly up from under Crocodile's arm, and lifted Yoru to place upon his shoulder, glowering at the island in the distance. “...bring us around to him. I’d like a duel.”

"You're kidding me," Crocodile growled. "Now you wanna duel him? Hawk, I brought Buggy over for you to talk some fucking sense into. We can't roll up to Shanks with one god damn ship and a handful of hungover marines!"

“You think he’ll simply kill us then?” Mihawk glanced over his shoulder at Crocodile as Buggy laughed nervously and popped open the bottle to take a long sip.

"Hell if I know! Man was always a wildcard, and look what he did to the two of you! All I hear about is him decimating crews all over the grand line; do you two think he wants to have a fucking nice little duel and a chat?"

Daz quietly walked over and put a hand on Croc's shoulder. "Easy there, captain."

“What if he wants to say he’s sorry to me?” Buggy asked with a sniff as he hugged the bottle to his chest. “He’s got a lot to make up for, that bastard!”

Mihawk huffed sharply, his arms crossed over his chest. “His legend has been growing, but it isn’t as if I have stopped my rise either. If you don’t want to face him, Crocodile…I can go on one of the lifeboats.”

"Like hell you will!" Crocodile barked. "Like hell I'm letting you go off alone."

Daz raised his hand. "If I may?"

Buggy flopped against Crocodile again, his hand detaching and bringing the bottle to Mihawk.

He took it with a nod and had a long swig. “...I’m listening.”

"Why don't we send a messenger and see if he wants to talk and or duel," Daz offered, scratching the back of his head. "It's not like that would be hard to do."

Crocodile grudgingly slipped his arm around Buggy, and did the same once more to Mihawk. He gave each of them a speculative look. "Well? Daz has a point."

Mihawk leaned against him with an affection most never picked up on, huffing a long sigh. “...it’s a good point, Daz. I suppose it would come across as less of an act of war that way.”

Buggy poked his fingers together. “...can I write the letter?”

"Not without a second pair of eyes on it, Bug," Crocodile grumbled. "But with approval– yes."

Buggy looped an arm around him with a wide grin. “I promise Croccy. You’re not gonna regret this!”

Mihawk wasn’t so sure, but as he stared out at Wano with narrowing eyes he knew something for certain.

He rested his shoulder against Crocodile’s, jaw set as he reckoned it.

It was long past due to face the ghosts of the past.

Buggy’s feet were pacing the floor. Back and forth and back and forth as the rest of his body hovered around the cabin while chewing on the ends of his gloves.

They’d done it. The heavily edited letter had been sent to Shanks’ ship— the deed was done and the offer to meet was sent.

He was terrified. He hadn’t spoken to Shanks in years and years; he’d only seen him rarely too, like the time he’d spotted him in Marineford during that massive war.

But Shanks— like he’d always been ever since he left— was far too important to notice Buggy back.

Buggy's brooding thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Captain?"

The voice, and mode of address were immediately familiar.

“Gah!!” Buggy whipped around with a big grin. “Cabaji! My main man! Come in, come in!”

When Cabaji slipped into the room, shutting the door quickly behind him, Buggy could already tell he knew something was up. There would certainly be rumors around the ship already about Shanks being sighted, and Cabaji was one of the few people who'd know that that held a significance for Buggy— even if he didn't know exactly what it was.

Cabaji nodded to him. "I heard a little rumor going around."

“Is it about fucking Red Haired Shanks?” Buggy’s lips twitched. “...because we just sent a letter to him. Mihawk wants to challenge him to a duel, I guess.”

He whistled, giving Buggy a dubious look. "Mihawk's going to duel him? What about you?"

Buggy grimaced. “...I’m gonna give him a damn piece of my mind. Probably from the ship, and through an amplification snail.”

"That's it?" Cabaji looked confused. Maybe it was because of the way Buggy had always talked about Shanks— when he talked about him at all, when he was drunk— like Buggy had been dead set on murdering him to death. "You're sure you don't want to get to him before Mihawk does?"

Buggy grit his teeth, one of his feet kicking a ball off to the side where it ricocheted off the wall.

"It's complicated, Cabaji! I REALLY wanna get down there and show him just how much I’ve grown. I wanna show him the FULL power of Buggy the Clown! But Mihawk’s got his mind set.”

Cabaji put his hands on his hips. "So Hawk and Croc are running roughshod over you again, Captain? What makes Mihawk's grievance more important than yours? Anyway, if Shanks is such a bigshot— shouldn't the two of you put him down together?"

He was losing Cabaji’s faith, he knew it. He half dropped into the sofa of his cabin as his feet ran to catch up, his brow knit.

How the hell was he supposed to explain the complicated bullshit that seemed to inundate his relationship with Shanks? Mihawk was pissed off at Shanks for, admittedly similar reasons, it seemed.

Heartbreak. Heartbreak when someone they were close to started drifting away because of some grand responsibility or power trip. The worst part was Buggy didn’t even know WHAT bug Shanks had gotten up his ass. One day, one conversation with Roger and he was suddenly not the man he’d grown up with.

“It’s not ...they ain’t running roughshod on me, Cabaji! They’re…it’s complicated, dammit! I don’t wanna kill the guy YET. I wanna talk to him first. He’s got some things to answer for and he ain’t answering from the bottom of a grave!”

That seemed to cut through Cabaji's dubious look-– but it was replaced by another, even more conflicted expression. The acrobat leaned in closer to him, until they were shoulder to shoulder. He put his hand on his back. Usually; not always, but usually, Cabaji waited for Buggy to touch him first, like he was waiting for permission.

"Captain, can I— can I ask you a personal question? I've kinda wondered for a long time now…"

Buggy sighed low, under his breath, and looped his arm around Cabaji with a shake of his head. “I think I know what’s comin’...I’m listening.”

Cabaji rubbed his jaw, leaning heavily on his captain. After a moment of silence he finally asked. "Were you and Shanks like… together? Is he an ex?"

“Ghhhhhhhhh.” Buggy’s shoulders sagged under his arms. “Yeah, he’s an ex. He and I …we were real close on Roger’s ship. For a long fuckin’ time too.”

Cabaji wrapped his arm more tightly around him and pulled him closer. "Well shit. No wonder its so fucking complicated. Okay that's… I can see why you maybe wouldn't jump right to killing him. Is Mihawk going to kill him? Do we need to rein that in?"

Buggy groaned. “I’m pretty sure they’re exes too… I think he just wants to beat him to prove he’s stronger or some shit. You know Mihawk…a hell of a guy, but he tends to conflate mortal peril and romance.”

"That… tracks. I mean, he's not wrong about that, " Cabaji murmured. Then he got indignant on Buggy's behalf again. "But hey! Hey, my question stands! Why does he get the first crack at him if he's an ex, too?"

“I mean, probably because he’s got a big fuckoff sword and jumps to use it at a moment's notice!” Buggy threw his hands up. “But you know what? You’re right! I’m gonna take the first crack. Damn the consequences!”

"Hell yes, captain!" Cabaji grinned widely. "You know I'll back you up no matter what."

It was a big offer, when you thought about it. There were worlds of power level between Cabaji and Shanks or Mihawk. But he was still ready to jump into the frey.

“Cabaji…” Buggy grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him into a half hug. “Dunno what I did to get a guy half as loyal as you. I’m gettin’ you that devil fruit…gonna have Doflamingo hunt for it right away…you really are my best man. ...when we face down Shanks…I know you’re gonna have my back.”

Cabaji squeezed him back, the conflicted and dubious look that had plagued his features since he'd entered gone completely now. "Damn right, Captain. You'll always have me."

Buggy was damn lucky. Damn lucky that the crazy fucking acrobat from the East Blue had followed him all the way into hell.

He wouldn’t have it any other way

It had been almost a full day since their messenger had gone to Shanks, and had yet to return. Mihawk had been practicing with Yoru. His blade sang with each swing, decapitating dummies with ease as he danced around the ship’s deck with his intense and glowering stare.

If Shanks answered— if Shanks wanted that duel he’d long denied the man— then Mihawk was going to ensure he walked away victorious. He almost didn’t notice as Crocodile came out from below deck, his eyes narrowed in on a dummy in a hat.

Crocodile stood and watched for a moment, before he cleared his throat. "We got an answer, Hawk."

Yoru stabbed through the heart of the dummy as Mihawk turned his gaze to Crocodile with a sharp grin across his face. "Has he accepted?"

"You're gonna want to see for yourself." Crocodile smiled back at him, but it was a more careful smile than Mihawk usually saw written on him, as if he was still judging the situation. He held a folded scrap of paper out to him.

Mihawk reached out and grabbed the paper with a thankful nod, before looking it over with his mouth set in a frown.

It’d been so long. The world government and Shanks’ own piratical rise had caused the rift between them— the strange shift in his personality after the loss of his arm had sealed it. He’d forsaken the man as his rival during his spiral into depression and isolation. Part of him hadn't expected anything back at all.

But there was the message, plain as day.

Shanks had accepted the duel.

With a caveat.

"See what I mean?" Crocodile said, puffing on his cigar.

According to Shanks' note he was in the middle of some kind of 'important engagement' and would meet for the duel at Queen Ellery Island after that business was concluded.

"Queen Ellery Island…" Mihawk’s eyes narrowed. "...I know that island. So he wants to duel there in three days, does he? Where might he be heading now?"

Queen Ellery was an autumn isle— like his own home for so long— in the nearby cluster. A dark little metropolis constantly covered in twilit clouds. A haven for crime and vice.

"Good question," Crocodile grumbled. He blew out a long puff of smoke and offered his cigar to Mihawk. "According to our intel, it looks like he might be toward Ellery already. Off in that direction, at least."

MIhawk took his cigar, and took a long intake of smoke to calm himself. Despite the placid expression, some well of emotion was bubbling inside him. Tension…desire…excitement, even distress over the wasted time.

"He used to be my rival."

Crocodile closed the distance between them, looping his good arm around his shoulders, and squeezing him.

"Wasn't even all that long ago, all things considered. I remember you two used to duke it out every time we crossed paths."

Mihawk nodded. "I used to think his blade would remain ever sharp, keen enough to help my rise to even greater heights." He leaned against Crocodile with a frown. "...and then he started to change. I changed too."

Crocodile leaned his cheek on the top of Mihawk's hat. "We all changed, Hawk. Time does that. The shit we all went through does that."

Crocodile had been cut down, his dreams dashed to pieces on the floor against Whitebeard… Mihawk had reeled from the splash damage, his own faith in everything so shaken that he began to turn in on himself.

The World Government had erected walls with their offer of ‘Warlord’--- lines of invisible transgression that pushed him from even his former captain.

It was no surprise those walls drove Shanks further away.

"Life changed, that much is true."

"Derailed all our lives for a long time," Crocodile murmured. "But, me and you, we're getting back at it, right? Maybe the ol' ginger's rethinking things, too."

Mihawk tilted his head. "Do you think so?"

Shanks… Mihawk had seen the road he was headed down ever since their last parting. Ever more the Emperor, ever more closed into himself and his crew as they worked on who knew what strange purpose.

Ever further from them, on some quest only the scion to the Pirate King could understand.

"Who knows?" Crocodile shook his head, and ran his thumb over the edge of Mihawk's jaw. "Maybe we'll find out when you duel him, eh? Get the two of you drunk after, and figure out just what the hell has been going on."

Mihawk nuzzled his hand with a flush. "I’ve been wondering… I’ve been wanting to learn just what mission’s seized him so strongly to the exclusion of all else. It all happened when he returned without his arm."

"I've been wondering that too," Crocodile grumbled. He tugged Mihawk over to the bench in the corner of the room-– away from the destroyed dummies-– and sat them down. "He was always distant, and weird. But kinda fun, yeah? After that he seemed to lose his sense of fun."

MIhawk slid over with him with a low sigh, nodding his head before he sat against Crocodile with a nod.

"Yes. After that, he’d lost his sense of fun, and it seemed….something inside him. His freedom perhaps? His drive?"

"Can't say I'm any better," Crocodile grumbled. "Wonder what it was that finally threw Shanks over the edge though. You ever find out how he lost the arm?"

Mihawk shook his head. "Only that he went back to some island he’d been spending time around, and came back a different man."

"Must be a hell of a story." He shook his head. "I assume you want me to lay a course for Ellery? Or have you decided you'd rather blow him off."

Mihawk smiled grimly. "....Turnabout may be fair play, but I won’t forgive myself for letting this chance slip by. Set the course, darling. He has much to answer for."

"Hey, Bug, guess what?" Crocodile asked, putting his arm around Buggy's shoulders as he snuck up on him from behind. How the hell did a man that big walk so silently?

Buggy jolted, falling against him as his skin prickled in surprise. "Maybe wear a bell, Croccy! You’re gonna give me a heart attack!"

He spun around to look at him. He’d been busy. Very busy.

Very busy pacing around the ship like he was trying to set it on fire with the friction of his feet.

Just like normal. He was fine.

Super fine.

Of course Crocodile just laughed at him, as usual.

"We're meeting Shanks on Queen Ellery. Should be about five days from now."

Buggy’s eyes bugged from his head. "He’s goin’ to Queen Ellery? We’re really gonna go see him??"

"Yep." Crocodile nodded, thumping his hook against the back of Buggy's shoulder. "He agreed to duel Hawk."

Buggy vibrated against him, his eyes going wide. He’d agreed to duel Mihawk…Shanks. Mr. ‘I can’t even bother to notice my ex-boyfriends at Marineford, I’m too big and important and better than you’ Shanks…

Was going to duel Mihawk. In five days. On fucking Queen Ellery.

"Did he say anythin’ about me…?" he asked in a quieter voice than he intended.

"He said he's 'looking forward to a chat', yeah," Crocodile nodded.

"Wait…he really said he was lookin’ forward to it?" Buggy grabbed his shoulders with a wide grin, even as his main body half turned under Crocodile’s arms. "HAH…figured that after years and years of being Buggy-less he’d..he’d miss me!"

Sure. Buggy had been the one who left. He’d been the one who never reached out…

But Shanks had changed.

There was something about him that had shifted after that conversation with Roger. Like all the plans they’d made as kids didn’t matter anymore, and all the dreams they’d bonded over were nothing but something to grow up from.

"You need a drink about it?" Crocodile asked, staring him down as Buggy gripped his shoulders..

"Yeah… I kinda hate how fired and …" (desperate) "--worked up I get about this. You’d think I’d…I dunno…forget. After a while."

"But it still feels like a fresh wound, eh?" Crocodile shook his head. "C'mon, Bug. Let's head back to quarters, I'll get you good and wasted and you can tell me for the 10th time how he broke your heart."

Buggy huffed as he looped his arm around Crocodile.

"sounds like a date, Croccy…" He paused for a moment before he whispered. "You think he’s gonna be happy to see me?"

"Bug, if he makes you and Hawky any more miserable, I'm gonna fucking end him myself," Crocodile growled boldly. "Emperor or fucking not."

Buggy felt himself flush hotly, before he clambered onto Crocodile, arms looped around his shoulders and his body pressed against his back.

"Awww, Croccy you’re too good to us!" He kissed the top of his head. "You’re the best warlord a guy can ask for."

Three days from the message. Three days of increasing restlessness as they ticked down the moments towards their meeting with Red Haired Shanks on Queen Ellery Island. Buggy was practically chewing through his gloves as he watched the distant horizon where the sun was slowly vanishing.

He’d distracted himself. He’d worked out some last minute shit with the boys, worked on routines, calls, everything he had to do for Cross Guild with the fervor of a man trying not to think about something fast approaching.

There was very little to distract him right at the moment. Alone with the sea, the warm ruby glow of the sunset, and his thoughts.

He brushed his long blue hair over his ear with a quiet sigh and an attempt at a smile. He’d lay into him. He’d really tell him how he felt the last handful of years. And then maybe things would work out.

Maybe he’d even say sorry for whatever the hell had changed between them.

He was contemplating all the possibilities when something started to nag at him. The clear water reflecting the ruby sky suddenly wasn't clear, but littered with large chunks of debris.

"Uhhhh…" He half leaned over the bannister of the ship, staring down at the water with a frown. "Guys!? Croc? Mihawk? Cabaji? Anyone?? Looks…looks like there’s some trouble around here. Shanks mighta gone to town on someone."

"Huh? What's up, ca–" Cabaji came running over from across the deck, looking over to see the wreckage too. He whistled. "Damn, that's definitely a whole ship."

As Buggy followed his gaze westward toward the sun on the horizon, he saw the trail of debris become thicker, and a dark plume of smoke cloud the sky. A particularly large piece of hull nagged at the back of his mind.

Did he recognize that ship?

It took a longer moment of squinting at it to realize exactly how he did recognize it

"You’re kiddin’ me…there’s no fuckin’ way." He was breathless. "...that’s Red Haired Shanks’ ship. That bow, that flag…"

"What?" Cabaji sounded completely incredulous. "No way, you're kidding?"

That was when Buggy spotted it.

Some poor soul collapsed crossways over a piece of flotsam hull barely the size of a door.

Buggy hissed through his teeth

"Cabaji! Get the boys who don’t got devil fruits and fish that poor bastard outta the drink!" He leapt up on the bannister, grabbing some rigging to peer down at him. "It might be onna Shanks’ boys. We can hear about what the hell went down from him!"

Cabaji had already started moving before Buggy had finished, grabbing rigging from the deck, and holding onto it as he hurled himself straight into the water, and headed for the unlucky man who'd wound up in the drink.

As his gaze followed the acrobat the man on the wreckage drifted in the tide, bringing him around to a better angle for Buggy to see his bright, red hair.

It was Shanks.

Buggy hissed through his teeth, his eyes wide and panicked as he could only wait for Cabaji to arrive back on deck. He was no use in the sea.

"Shanks…what the hell happened to ya…what did you even need to DO?"

#shuggy #mishanks #cross guild polycule #crocbug #crocobug #crochawk #wanitaka #bughawk #sir crocodile #dracule mihawk #buggy the clown #red haired shanks #one piece #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #archive of our own #ao3 #fic: one piece deicide

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nolanhollogay · 2 years ago

Note

“Woah, what’s up with you? You look pissed.” + the nhgobxou!

the pogues said #FUCKMIKEY and they're right in this one occasion :/ also nova pov 4 fun

Nova was sitting with the others in the Twinkie, Edgar's head in her lap, when JJ stormed over, Mikey in tow.

His jaw was set, his hands turned into fists. "Woah, what's up with you? You look pissed," she said.

Edgar sat up, frown bringing his entire face down. "What happened, amor?"

JJ crossed his arms over his chest, turning to Mikey with a look that could kill. "Mikey has something he wants to tell you guys."

Everyone turned to him, Edgar somehow not managing to break eye contact as he grabbed JJ's arm to pull him close.

Mikey tensed like a scared animal waiting for a predator to leave. "I really don't–"

Voice hard as stone, JJ commanded, "Tell 'em!" Edgar flinched and Nova rested her hand on his knee.

"J, this isn't going to help anythi–"

"He's dating Rafe fucking Cameron! He hooked up with him at Midsummers after he tried to kick the shit outta me," JJ shouted.

"What the fuck?" Kie said, sitting up so hard she knocked something over.

Nova couldn't believe her ears. "What are you talking about?"

Edgar laughed, but he sounded close to tears. "There must be some kind of misunderstanding. Mikey wouldn't– You wouldn't..." Mikey looked away, guilt plastered onto his face. "You– Mikey– He said I deserved to be deported! He got me arrested! And you still.. you slept with him after he did that to me? After he attacked Pope and JJ for no reason? Why would you do that?"

The wounded look on Edgar's face, his glittering eyes shining with hurt, made Mikey visibly crumble.

He swallowed hard, blinking away his own tears, and cleared his throat. "You guys don't understand..."

Nova sent him a look that made him flinch. "Make us understand then, Mike. What are we missing? Because from what we've seen, Rafe is a fucked up psychotic racist. And you're willing to ignore that so you can sleep with him guilt free?"

Mikey made a noise like a kicked dog. "It's not just.. It's not like I'm just having sex with him and ignoring all the shitty parts of his personality. It's.. He's different when it's just me and him. He's not so horrible."

Edgar was quiet, drawn in on himself. "He punched me in the mouth so hard that I bled because I was trying to stop him from beating up JJ. And, again, he had me arrested. I was literally in jail."

Pope piped up. "Need I remind you, he and Topper assaulted me for literally no reason, when I was trying to bring people groceries after a hurricane. Because I committed the crime of existing where he could see me."

"What happens when he turns on you? What are you gonna do then?" JJ asked.

"He's not gonna–"

Nova interrupted whatever half assed excuse he was going to come up with. "Yes, he will. People like that always do. My own mother jumped ship because she wanted to be a Kook that bad. You think a guy you've been with a few weeks is gonna stick around?"

John B hummed, frowning so hard it creased his eyebrows. "Why don't we actually give Mikey a chance to speak?"

Edgar nodded along. "There has to be something we're not getting."

Kie laughed, anger more than present in her voice. "No, we understand just fine! Mikey just doesn't care about you guys enough to stay away. Doesn't care about us! He's too busy throwing us to the wolves so he can play house with a psychopath!"

"I'm not– I do care about you. You don't get to decide whether I do or not, Kiara," He ran his hands over his face. "And, frankly, this has nothing to do with you. Or you." He pointed to Nova.

She wanted to punch him in the face.

"Look, you guys just.. You don't know him like I do, okay? He's not the fucking devil. He's just–"

Edgar cut him off. "John B, would you be able to take me home?"

John B nodded, even though he sent Mikey an apologetic look. "Of course, Eddie."

Wordlessly, everyone else climbed inside the Twinkie, leaving Mikey standing outside of it.

"You coming?" John B asked.

Mikey shook his head. "No. I'll walk home."

#me vs not referencing the twinkie in every obx prompt #i just love her<3 #nova morales #edgar ramirez #michael caswell #nova asks #asks #my writing #nhgobxcu #i love you obnoxious acronyms #leaf tag 🌿

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liminally-charged · 3 months ago

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Imagine you have a backyard. It's a nice little space. You have a grass lawn, a few flowerpots, a jamberry bush you take good care of, and a hedge around the yard. You're pretty sure there's ants in the bush somewhere, but you haven't seen any anthills and they don't enter the yard, so you don't bother all that much.

One day you walk into your backyard with your white plastic chair in tow, wanting to enjoy the sun. But something tore a line through the grass towards the center, from where the line expands into a circle. The line trails all the way back to the hedge. You're confused; was that the ants? Do ants make corn circles in grass? You're gonna have to look that up, as well as buy new grass seeds. What a pain.

But over the next few days, you watch something very intriguing happen. Every now and then the circle expands a bit; flourishes and small markings are added, like a crude little mandala. At some point you get a little idea: You buy a garden gnome and place it in the middle of the circle. Curious about what might happen next, you almost can't sleep that night. But on the next day your gnome is gone. You look around the yard, search the hedge, until you almost stumble over something in the ground: a small red tip of a gnome hat. The ants took your gnome and buried it.

You don't know whether to be angry or impressed, or dumbfounded. But if the ants want a challenge, they shall get one. You dig out the gnome, tie it down with ropes and hooks and cinderblocks, smackdab in the circle. Let 'em get through that, you say. But on the next day the ants have bitten through the rope, moved the cinderblocks and buried the gnome again. Even worse, there's a trail of ripped-out grass towards your prized jamberry bush. You have to put an end to this now, so you go out and buy ant poison and ant traps. But when you come back, catastrophe has struck; the ants are swarming all over your jamberries.

Now you're furious. You tear through the hedge, and sure enough there's the anthill. They've stolen your cinderblocks as well to reinforce their sad little hill. But it's too little too late now; your jamberry bush demands blood. You set down ant traps everywhere, spray the gnome in ant poison and jam it into their stupid dumb anthill. You wanna bury the gnome so bad!? Here you go! One gnome buried DEEP in the ground!! FREE OF CHARGE!!!

There's no more ants after that. The gnome remains buried in their hill, inside the hedge, beyond the grass of your yard. The circle markings fade in time, overgrown by new grass. It's more peaceful this way; your daily life can go on without any distractions. Sometimes you crave a jamberry, and then you think of the whole ant situation. But oh well... you can always buy jamberries at the store.

#this is what I think we are to eldritch creatures #we are interesting little things but not worth the hassle #unless we decide to cause a ruckus #then we're faced with the wrath of a god

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shadedjasmine · 5 months ago

Text

Deep Blue

1 • 2 • 3 • 4

It’s time. The week has passed, and my work begins.

Savannah zip ties my wrists together. Protocol, but she apologizes all the same. I’d wager she leaves them a little slack for my benefit. Together with two armed men, I am walked from my apartment and loaded into a van, along with 5 others in the program. My prisoner number, 11PB-078, is stitched into the breast pocket of my work blazer, just like the others in the program. We’re all various ages and different backgrounds. But, we are all just numbers. At least to some; Savannah had to double-check her paperwork earlier to ensure my number was correctly displayed. She forgot it again two minutes later. “You’re just Jasmine to me,” she shrugged.

When the van rolls through the mountains, Moonlight Palace comes into view, sitting atop a mountain, supported by gothic structures weaving impossibly through the rock, as if the mountain had formed around it and carved away. At the base of the mountain is a more post-modern structure and a sprawling campus that weaves in and out of the mountain. Lux Hall is a contradiction of architectural periods with no attempt to unify them artistically. It functions, and for the Shadows, that is enough.

The prisoners and I are unloaded at Lux Hall South’s entrance and marched in single file, with our handlers in tow. My eyes drink in the space, finding the seams in the structure where new ideas took form and forced a change in the building. In the center of the common area, massive as it is, is a stone, sitting beneath a massive skylight. Stray remnants of the weaving river fall from the skylight and into a flowing reservoir that we cross over by bridge.

“Wait,” I peer to Savannah, keeping my pace with the rest of the envoy. “Where is this waterfall coming from if we’re in a mountain?”

“You didn’t see the rest of it,” Savanna replies. “The mountain is the edge of a massive plateau. The river rapids travel eastbound for miles over and around the plateau, eventually meeting in the ocean to the east.”

My mind paints the picture and I feel myself smile. Even in my imagination, it’s beautiful.

“I’m guessing this mountain is manmade.”

“Terraforming has come a long way. The mountain was made to disguise the house, and was blasted away when Pan took residence.”

“So this massive boulder in the middle was from the mountain I take it?”

“Very good,” Savannah points to the blasting marks on the stone. “When Lux Hall was first unearthed, a blasting error was made and a stone fell through and damaged the skylight. A few of us liked it and started climbing it for fun. So, we kept it, and repaired everything else.”

As we walk, a few people by the boulder’s base turn to look at us. But the eyes of one girl, sharp and curious, land firmly on me. She has to be about my age, with an affinity for loose-fit clothing and stylish boots. She tracks me with a blatant curiosity, her hands hooked around the corners of her pockets. Only when her friends call to her does she move back to the boulder. But she keeps eye contact for a while longer.

We reach our destination; the staircase before the security office. The prisoners and I are lined up shoulder to shoulder, our bound wrists held firmly in front of us. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Savannah check her watch. She scoffs.

The door to the security office opens. The man that walks emerges from inside reminds me much of the guards at the pillbox; he is older, falling slightly out of shape, with his year or so riding a desk beginning to cover up whatever training he had. He’s losing a battle with his five o’clock shadow, His hair is beginning to thin.

He walks past us, the prisoners, and walks straight to Savannah and the handlers. I don’t hear much, but I get the sense that we aren’t worth the time to go through orientation. “I don’t care what you do,” I hear him bicker. “Just put ‘em somewhere.” He walks past us once more, on the way somewhere more important than us. And then he notices me. He scowls.

“The tides can be viscous out there, “ he mutters. “Try not to drown.” And that’s it. He walks away. Orientation over. I fail to see anyone in the lineup who expected any more. The handlers and guards split us up.

“Ok, we got one at the beach, I’ll drive her,” I hear Savannah tell security. They argue for a bit, but in the end, I’m left in her custody alone. She leads me away from the office, down through a series of smaller hallways.

“One what?” I eventually ask.

“I’ll tell you when we get there.”

The busy sounds of the main hall eventually fade, and before long, I’m led through a car garage and to a small Lotus Elise. Cute. It suits her. But after she carefully helps me into the car and gets into the driver's seat, she starts the engine. And I hear irregularities.

“So, for a few months, we’ve been getting artworks from a nation that doesn’t exist.” Savannah drives off, looping around and exiting the garage before peeling down the road like she didn’t just speak the strangest sentence I’ve heard all day.

“...I’m sorry?”

“Yeah,” Savannah laughs. “An artist going by the name of Deng Jia has been painting things, crafting things, packaging them up, and sending them on floating dinghies that crash on shore. Be don’t know how they found us, or how the dinghies fly under the radar until the last nautical miles, but it has been their preferred delivery method and it has never failed them. They’ve told us where to find them, and drone footage confirms that they are right where they say they are but…”

“...but?”

“There shouldn’t be anything there. No land, no nation, nothing. They just sprung into existence with intimate knowledge of who we are and where to find us. The paintings they’ve sent depict members of our ranks and events from our history. Armor sets have been forged that fit the exact measurements of the recipients that they are meant for.”

“There’s no way we don’t have a leak.”

“That’s what we thought. But we’ve examined security several times and it’s always come back airtight. That’s part of the reason why we came up with this prisoner release program–to shake things up. Introduce some new variables and maybe find out what we’ve missed.”

“So, there’s another dinghy.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, it looks like it crashed on the rocks just before the beach. You’ll likely have to recover it, but luckily, the sea isn’t too deep there.”

My heart flutters in its chest. “I don’t think you understand what this means to me…”

“Simple joys, like the lofty drive home, or mom’s cooking, or swimming– It means so much more when it’s been taken from you. Trust me, I understand.”

The car continues away from Lux, weaving its way down a wavy road. Light dances across my skin through the passing trees, and I can see the beach from where we are.

And then I hear it. The irregularity.

“I think you have a cylinder misfire.

Savannah peers over to me with an incredulous look on her face, like she just discovered something fascinating. “...you’re a gearhead!”

I roll my eyes. “Yea, yea. I dabbled in cars for a bit. I know a little.”

“You diagnosed my engine by listening to it. You know more than a little.”

I snicker, resigning with a sheepish shrug. “It was a hobby. Maybe I’ll get back into it.”

Savannah pulls her car to a stop at the peer. She opens the passenger door and immediately cuts the zip ties. She allows me the pleasure of stepping out onto the peer on my own. The sound and scent of the sea swell within and around me, and I am free. Truly free. But I do not forget Savannah’s grace and leniency. My wrists should still be bound; we both know this for sure.

I keep a short, invisible tether between me and my handler as I drink in the sea air.

As Savannah rummages through the trunk of her car, she sees me, staying obediently in her orbit. “You’re wearing the swimwear we gave you, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well…. go on. I need a few minutes to get the tracker set up. Maybe like 5 minutes?”

The sea calls me, and I take a careful step forward. But only a step.

“Go, Jasmine. Your handler has given you permission for a five-minute swim. We’ll engage your tracker if we need to find you.”

I glance out to sea. The terror of doing anything wrong, of ending back up in the Pillbox, freezes me into place. I don’t notice Savannah until she appears in front of me and her fingers make quick work of my blazer buttons. She steals the jacket away and drapes it neatly over her arm.

“Seven minutes,” she tells me. She walks away.

Mist dances on my forearms. The waves crash onto the beach in a symphony of white noise. My shirt is half undone when I look down at my fingers. My slacks all but vanish. Somehow, I have the resolve to neatly fold my uniform and return it to the car. I don’t remember doing any undressing, because all I can think of is the feeling of sand between my toes.

Eight years. Eight years without the feeling of sand between my toes. The tether is much longer now. Much much longer.

I am sent running, and within seconds, my ankles feel the sea take them for the first time in almost a decade. The water rises the further I go, and eventually, I can submerge myself fully. I gather my breath and I ocean welcomes me home.

The world disappears, and I am weightless. The afternoon sun shines down in spectacular rippling flickers. The water is dense, and sound travels faster through it. The waves above sing in a unified chorus for miles and miles. It's peaceful but absolute.

I float for as long as my breath allows. I tithe to the ocean in tears.

My record is four minutes, but I can’t deny that I cared more about the reunion and less about the technique. I return to the surface after two. I check the shore and find Savannah smiling at me. She says nothing. She silently offers me my remaining five minutes.

I scan the ocean for the rock face and I notice it a few dozen feet away. Challenge accepted. I recall my training, I steady my breathing and I take in the air. And then I dive. I search the shallow depths for the wrecked dinghy. It doesn’t take long.

I swim over, examine the wreckage, and find the object of interest, sealed in a lock box with a rope tied around it.

It's like they wanted me to find it. Savannah’s right–this whole situation with these people is odd. Clairvoyance couldn’t be ruled out. No wonder the Shadows were concerned; up until this point, they were the closest thing to clairvoyance on the planet.

I tie the free end of the rope around my waist and dislodge the object. It’s light and flat, and therefore, very buoyant. Towing it back takes no effort at all.

I resurface after four minutes and sit on the beach before pulling the object ashore with me. Savannah sees the object and hurries to the beach to retrieve and catalog it. I lay on the sand for a few seconds before offering my assistance. Together, we open the lock box and find a perfectly preserved painting of two other women on an unfamiliar beach. It wasn’t Savannah and I, but the parallels were undeniable.

Not only couldn’t clairvoyance not be ruled out, it was approaching likelihood. No wonder security was in disarray.

I dry myself off, drape the passenger seat in the towel, and drift off to sleep under the setting sun to the sound of a smooth engine with a cylinder misfire. When I wake again, I am back at the apartments. Savannah escorts me to mine.

“Good work today,” she tells me as she unlocks the door. “Coffee and crepes tomorrow?”

I smile. “I’d like that.” I step inside.

“Sleep tight.” Savannah closes the door and I hear the lock engage. The silence is filled

by the sound of the ocean creeping in through the cracked window.

I take my first proper look around and notice the appearance of new furniture. A couch, a coffee table, a laptop. My memory foam mattress is missing, replaced by an actual bed placed in the corner of the bedroom I never acknowledged. I close the bedroom door, mainly because the door is there, and I have the option to do so.

I place myself between the sheets and drift to a loftly sleep.

And an hour later a garrot ensnares my neck and drags me out of bed. I’m pulled to my feet for masked men to strike me freely with batons. Over and over again, I feel blunt instruments abuse my ribs while a wire threatens to choke me, or worse.

My assailants drop me to the ground and in the corner of my eye, I see the same angry

little man from the security office. Warrick. His eyes all but promise me that he’ll kill me before long. He and his men leave. The sound of the front door’s lock sliding into place offers me no sense of safety.

Oh, Meredith…no wonder you ran from him…

Don’t cry…don’t cry…don’t cry…

#Weaving the Thread: From the Grey

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hookemuptowing · 9 months ago

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garrymethews-blog · 2 years ago

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visage-of-hell · 7 months ago

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The Overlord's eyes immediately lit up as her eyes fell upon the first pin the serpent produced. With a boisterous bark of a laugh, the hellhound reached over to hook Pentious around the shoulders and pull him into a friendly embrace. "Hell yeah, bi twins! Welcome to the family, Penny!" Her gaze flicked back over towards the other bouquet as a soft smile creased her muzzle. "She's gonna adore 'em, Pen, trust me on this." Glancing over her shoulder to make sure the feline in question hadn't arrived yet, her smile wilted slightly with a small sigh as she took advantage of her close proximity to murmur lowly, "It's not my story to tell, but ... Jynx struggled a lot in life being authentically who she is. And in the end, it cost her everything. It really means a lot to her, bein' able to finally be herself without fear. And you showing support for that is real touching, man." The Overlord gave the snake's shoulder an affectionate squeeze, that soft smile returning in earnest. At that exact moment, Insidia arrived with drinks in tow, setting the glasses down in front of the two demons with a grin of her own. "Aaaaaand enjoy!" "Appreciate it, Sidi." The hellhound picked up her glass, holding it aloft to initiate a toast. "To bein' ourselves!"

It never ceased to but a genuine heartfelt smile on the hellhound's face to hear Pentious ramble on about anything he found interesting--it was just so utterly endearing. It was little wonder Jynx was so fond of him. The goat-like cherub returned a flirty wink as she leaned against the counter, waiting to be given a drink order. "Good t'see ya, doll. Lookin' sharp as always." Giving the snake's request a moment of thought, Visage scratched lightly at her chin. "Hmmm ... a surprise, eh? Alright. Get us a couple Blue Moons Rising, Sidi. May as well stick with a common theme, seein' as how it's the club's signature drink." "You got it! Comin' right up, loves." As the cherub got to work, the Overlord fondly caressed the vivid blue petals of one of the roses as she spoke. "So how're things goin' at the hotel, Pen? Everyone doing alright? I feel bad that I've been too busy to swing by."

#Threads: TeethSharpAndShe'sReadyToGo #sirserpentine #Don't mind me just casually throwing in major exposition dumps in idle conversation LOL

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tato-acm · 2 years ago

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domingo - 23. 10. 2022

gwyn moodboard: dressing up as a Vampire for Halloween 🧛🏻‍♀️ singing Mary on a Cross by Ghost

>> favorite gwyn fancast: kennedy walsh (11/?)

*House of Wind Gang + Halloween party*

Cassian: *dressed as a pirate* so, are we ready or wha- *gapes at Nesta in her costume*

Nesta: *puting on red lipstick, smirks at his awed face* we’re just waiting for Gwyn, she’s almost ready-

Gwyn: *singing from her bedroom* you go down just like holy mary…

Cassian: *goes to hug Nes from behind, one of his hands playing with a long golden brown lock of her hair* you know, I think we should just celebrate halloween at home-

Nesta: *swats his arms away* No. Em and Mor are already there and Az will get here soon-*looks over Cassian’s shoulder* speaking of our chaperone…

Azriel: *strolls in, his black cape swaying behind him* Good evening. My shadows-

Nesta: *smirks* With Gwyn.

Azriel: *chuckles* As I suspected.

Cassian: Let me guess- Berdara is going as a priestess again… *grins smugly*

Nesta: *grins* not at all…

Gwyn: *coming down the hallway, singing with the shadows in tow* not just another bloody mary- Oh, hey! We’re all ready! *hugs Nes and borrows her red lipstick*

Cassian: *frowns as he checks out her costume* what are you supposed to be?

Gwyn: I’m Aleera! *points at her fake fangs*

Cassian: Who?

Nesta: *rolls her eyes* Em, Gwyn and I are going as dracula’s brides: Verona, Aleera and *points at herself* Marishka. We watched that movie yesterday, how did you not figure out?

Cassian: Oh, I forgot their names. I was focused on their- *grins at Nesta’s death glare* performances. *leans in* And so were you as I remember, Nes- *gets pushed*

Gwyn: *sees Az fussing with his cape and smirks* here, Shadowsinger, let me tie it for you. I’m experienced with ribbons, you know? Valkyrie and all that. *wags eyebrows and grins, looking up at him, teal eyes bright with mischief*

Azriel: *looks at the knot Gwyn’s done, leans in, hooks her hair behind an ear and whispers* I think I taught you that one last night… You’ve always been such a fast learner. *chuckles as she gets goosebumps and blushes bright red, shoving him away*

Cassian: *grins* and you are supposed to be…

Azriel: *smirks* I’m Dracula. They are my brides. *hooks arms around Gwyn and Nes*

Cassian: *glares and turns to Nes* WHY WAS I NOT DRACULA. WE ARE LITERALLY MARRIED-

based on this post / this art comissioned by @yazthebookish

#gwyn moodboard #house of wind gang #nesta archeron #gwyn berdara #cassian #azriel shadowsinger #gwyneth berdara #gwyn x kenny #nessian #gwynesta #emorie #gwynriel

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datawyrms · 4 years ago

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Ghostly Mystery Tour

For Phic Fight 2021! dey’s lovely prompt c:

On Ao3

Maddie and Jack had fully prepared for their adventure into the Ghost Zone—or so they thought. The fuel on Specter Speeder had fizzled out about a mile in. They're stuck. At least, until Phantom comes by, offering help.

“I just don’t understand it Maddie, I swear I charged it just this morning!” Jack’s voice managed to be louder than his frantic jabbing at the fuel gauge in the enclosed space, the sickly green glow outside making him look ill instead of agitated.

“I’m sure you did honey, but we need to think of a plan.” Maddie was already trying to think of what they could use. They weren’t too far away from the portal home, with how quickly the Speeder ran out of power. They had plenty of gear and weaponry packed in for their research trip, but the Specter Speeder wasn’t powered with something they could just toss in a gas can and bring along. “Maybe we can hook some of the ropes to the floating land masses and tow it?”

“Oh! Great idea!” Jack brightened, shoving the previous problem aside, hands now occupied with measuring the distance of the nearby rocks. “The sooner we get moving, the sooner we can get back to work!”

The problem about how safe it actually was to breathe in the air when in the realm of the dead had been accounted for, but if they had to waste the air tanks just to get back- well they wouldn’t get to have nearly the amount of time to actually explore on foot, let alone gathering samples. They could learn so much about the ectoplasmic terrors from the world they clawed out of, weaknesses they didn’t need to fear on Earth even! So to have their expedition, a trip that had been months in the making derailed like this in mere moments hurt. At least Jack could keep his eyes forward, his positive attitude the only thing keeping her from screaming from the absolute unfairness of it all. “Just run the best options past me before you open the hatch, okay darling?”

“You betcha!”

She was still going to enable the Fenton Child Safety Lock as a precaution, he could get a little over eager when he saw an opportunity. It was just a matter of what tools could be repurposed into a makeshift claw or skewer to actually keep hold of the rocks. What would be the smallest loss?

The sound of something hitting the roof of the speeder halted her thoughts, turning to look out of the windows, drawing up her hood in case they’d be fighting so soon. Even Jack had stopped with his mental calculations, pulling a weapon from under the seat. “Company already? Guess we’ll show em what for, eh honey?”

“Well it is the Ghost Zone, they’re probably braver here. Not that it’ll be any problem.” A little boasting could help keep morale up, even if the situation was less than ideal. Stranded with a ghost already trying to take advantage, typical.

“Well one little zap with this baby and it’ll scoot right on back!”

If the ghost could hear them, maybe it would be frightened off just by their voices. Whatever had hit them hadn’t shown itself near the window, or hit their vehicle again. It didn’t feel right. There might be no evidence for whatever it was lurking around, but sometimes you had to follow your intuition. Jack was inquisitive, but didn’t ask out loud as his wife stood to knock the ceiling herself.

“Sooo are we doing knock knock jokes, or do you need a tow?”

She should have known. Of all the ghosts, it would have to be the one that always managed to get her hackles up, pretending to be helpful so people trusted him. A ghost that even tried to have a human name to fit in, not that she’d ever call this thing ‘Danny’. It was an insult to her baby boy, quite frankly. “What are you up to now?”

“Asking you if you need this thing moved. Duh,” the ghost snorted, the metal clanking as he knocked it again. “Talking at you from the roof feels dumb, you gonna shoot if I go to the front?”

“Depends on what you do, ghost scum!” Jack had looked pensive for a moment, but spoke up quickly on spotting Maddie reaching for a notebook. He just had to give her time to think it over, and he was great at distractions.

“Is scum what you call all people who help you out, or am I just your favourite?” A white haired head appeared at the top of their window, looking down with an amused smirk at the pair. Still playing innocent when they were at a disadvantage.

“You’re a ghost ‘claiming’ to want to help.”

That earned a frown, though the ghost stopped half hiding to float in front of their stranded speeder. “Riiiight. Put it that way, whatever,” he paused, as if studying their faces. His green eyes lingered on the weapon, notably so even as he went back to jabbering. “I’ve got some stuff to do, but I can drag the s-that thing back to the portal. So?”

The hunters shared a glance, unsure how to handle it. Phantom liked to claim he liked humans and protecting them, but he was a ghost. There had to be something he wanted out of them in return. Or might get violent if refused in the wrong way. At least he shouldn’t be able to see the quickly scrawled message to Jack. ‘You play the doubtful one, I’ll pretend to trust him- it’ll underestimate us’

“As if, spooky! Jack Fenton doesn’t need any ghost’s help!”

The ghost bought the open hostility without a second thought, eyes rolling to a sky that wasn’t here. “Really? I heard tow trucks were expensive out of state! Can’t imagine the out of dimension costs.”

It was going to be difficult to stay civil when it would be so much easier to just demand the ghost stop playing around. “We’re listening. So what do you want?”

“Awwww Mads, we don’t need this punk’s help! He doesn’t even have toes!”

The passion Jack had put into his moping managed to baffle the ghost. “Wait, what? Of course I do! No, stop, why does that matter? I know tows and toes are different things! I’m not that bad of a student, sheesh.” He seemed quite thrown, which was good. If the ghost forgot what the plan had been he might just get lost.

“Yeah, and you don’t have either Phantom!” Her husband managed to keep from laughing, but the shake in his shoulders showed it was a near thing.

Phantom glanced down at the black wispy tail that made up his legs, muttering something. “Well okay I don’t right now, but I normally do!”

It was a bit fascinating that Jack had distracted the ghost from his goal so completely. They’d have to think about an invention that could replicate the effect. “Can we focus please? I already said I’d listen to what you wanted.”

“Oh! Right, sorry,” he coughed, a strangely human expression of embarrassment. “I don’t actually need anything? I just have some stuff to do so you’d need to wait a bit.”

Oh right. Sure, the most dangerous ghost in town wanted to help the ghost hunters that wanted to destroy him ‘just because’. Just wait here while he goes to get some friends to attack them! Honestly, did ghosts think they were stupid? “Then why not tell us when you’re done? We’re not moving very quickly.”

“Cus he wants to make us think we’re safe before WHAM! Outnumbered by cowardly ghosts!” Jack expressed her true feelings effortlessly. “Not that it’d help em!”

“No way, you think I’d leave you guys here where anyone can try something?” The ghost still seemed confused, eyebrows raised and arms crossed. “You guys are here to study or whatever anyway, right? So you can look around while I get my errands done. And you know, you don’t get attacked. Most of the little guys leave me alone.”

As if that was a surprise! A ghost of Phantom’s strength could destroy smaller and weaker entities without effort. Perhaps it was a subtle threat slipping through his mask of ‘helpful child’. The idea of going deeper into the Ghost Zone, completely at his mercy was...well absolutely idiotic. Even if they could probably overcome him...being able to still get some studies done would make it not a complete waste of a trip. “So you think it’s likely we’ll be attacked here, so close to the portal?”

“Yeah, by him!” Jack looked tempted to grab his weapon, but refrained. “So what if we say no, huh?”

“Then I guess you can float here? Up to you, I guess.”

It was strange, to see the cocky ghost a bit hesitant. Even if there was an obvious threat he wasn’t mentioning. “Well if you could pull the Speeder, you could take it even if we don’t want you to.”

“I think that’s called kidnapping.” Phantom’s cocky smirk returned “Which is weird, you’re not kids! Adultnapping? Nah, that sounds dumb.”

“Ah cut the innocent act, we’re not falling for it!”

“Hey, I said it’s up to you! Either you agree to come along and I get you back home, or I just leave you guys to do whatever you plan to do. Even if yes, I could totally just drag the ship anyway. I’m not, because I’m trying to help, remember?” A hint of frustration slid past the confidence at ‘remember’, but the ghost folding his arms behind his head as if kicking back to relax did defang most of the threat. “I don’t have all day here.”

“We don’t have all day either Phantom. We have family to get back to, and no idea how long you plan to be ‘on errands’.” Maddie pointed out, still unsure what they should do. Trusting him was stupid, but he had showed his hand. Refusal might be met with the same result anyway, but ‘agreeing’ might trick the ghost into thinking they fell for his ‘trustworthy’ act.

“Like an hour or two? Not too long.”

“Well I’d use my Fenton Stopwatch! So don’t think you can pretend it’s a shorter time than it is, ghost!”

“Yeah yeah, you do that D-Jack,” he stumbled over the ghost hunter’s name, but otherwise didn’t move from relaxing. “It’s not gonna kill you to trust me for a bit.”

Even though it very much could kill them. He really was a smug bit of ectoplasm, thinking he blended in with humans well enough to be considered one. “So only a few hours, and you won’t stop us from researching or taking samples? Or lead us to a trap?”

“If I wanted people to get threatened by ghosts, I could just take some days off. No trouble, cross my heart. I’d swear to die but I got the jump on that bit,” he snorted at his own joke, but otherwise left the family to consider.

It was just safer to say ‘yes’ so the ghost thought they were fools. It had nothing to do with wanting to salvage something out of this disaster of an expedition. “Yes. We’ll accept your help, this time.”

“And you aren’t getting any thanks until we’re home, got it?” Good, ghost hunter, bad ghost hunter. An easy enough trick. Even if she wished Jack was the ‘trusting’ one. Yelling would feel nice.

“Yeeeah, kinda expected that too. Rude.” The ghost only shrugged before flying up and out of sight. She half expected to hear the ghost grab the Speeder, but they only really noticed when they started moving. Moving very, very quickly.

She couldn’t help it, her curiosity tamped down some of the fear she should be feeling, pointing out interesting landmasses as they passed, Jack just as enthusiastic to discuss what caused them, if the ghost built them or they were simply generated when a ghost squirmed into existence. A great castle that seemed familiar, an island with some sort of skull as a decoration and thousands of doors. Most ghosts they only could get sparing glimpses at, even when carrying an entire vehicle the ghost boy was fast. Ridiculously so. She thought it was his small figure that contributed to how quickly the pest could move- how the ghost could just vanish out of range in moments. That most of the power behind his physical attacks came from the speed they were delivered with instead of raw strength. Clearly that was an incorrect hypothesis, moving this quickly and carrying so much extra weight without any real difficulty. They slowed near what seemed to be another castle, though it was much less foreboding looking then the other one.

That sinking dread returned after they landed. She had some landmarks, but this much distance would be a big ask to get back. That, and this castle seemed more...occupied, judging by some humanoid ghosts loitering near the gates. One even waved. To them, or the ghost carrying them?

“Okayyy so. Ground rules? Don’t shoot anyone. None of these guys even go through the portal, they’re not the fighting type. Other than that? Have fun, I guess?” He’d stopped floating, standing on the ground beside their stalled craft. He didn’t look as if preparing to fight, which is what she’d assumed the ghost meant by ‘errands’. So what was he up to?

“We won’t do anything if they don’t.” A lie, honestly, but the ghost nodded.

“Wait, what’s that stuff for?” White gloves pointed at the masks the ghost hunters were pulling from under the seats. “Like you can hear me, there’s air out here.”

“It might be safe for ghosts, but we aren’t ghosts.”

Phantom opened his mouth as if to protest before shutting it with a frown. Strange, it was hard to get him to shut up most of the time.

“Nice try, we’re not gonna choke on ghost air today, Phantom!” Jack chuckled, adjusting his mask before popping open the hatch.

“I wasn’t expecting you to- oh whatever. Just don’t embarrass me,” he sounded like a sulking kid, only glancing at them for a moment before kicking off the ground to fly closer to the castle. Off to fight whoever ‘owned’ this area, perhaps?

“Well look at that! Regular plants!” Jack shook her from her pondering, crouched over what looked like a tended to flower bed near the walls. “Well, ghost plants that aren’t trying to attack. Think we should sketch em for the kids?”

“Well Jazz has been more interested in ghosts lately, I suppose.” It was interesting, but she was more curious about the ghost meandering past the walls. They seemed docile, almost like people just walking and apparently talking with one another. Not attempting to fight for territory or resources. Perhaps they were just repeating the memories of their lives over and over? Yet none of them had reacted badly to Phantom zipping past either. A different breed of ghost, perhaps? Or ghosts often had ‘kings’ that kept the lesser ones from squabbling. The large brute of a ghost that stole the town had claimed to be a king of sorts, and this was another castle...but she didn’t want to test anything by getting their attention. They might only act savagely towards humans, being jealous of those still alive after all.

“Yeah, she has! Danno might not like em, but that goth chick he’s eyeing might like em too!” He was already sketching away, quickly getting the basics. He’d fill in the details from memory back home. “You want to try seeing if those ones talk? Not sure how the ghost kid thinks we could embarrass him, ha!”

“Oh he was probably just trying to insult us. He likes to pretend to be a teenager,” she waved that question away, double checking her weapon was easy to reach in case of an emergency. No reason to make their predicament worse by being unprepared. While still considering to go near those ghosts instead of safely observing from a distance. Jack’s enthusiasm was too infectious, really, but that’s how they made so many discoveries!

The ghosts didn’t object to her moving closer, but she kept off the busier paths to be safe. So many stalls of what seemed to be goods, clothing and paintings, rugs and nick knacks. Well, the ghosts didn’t need anything to live, so it would make sense for them to prioritize other items first, but the art was strange. What did the dead know of creativity? Were these all recreations of something found in life? No, some of the paintings had the green skies of the Ghost Zone, implying at least some ‘new’ thought. They were strange, very unlike the wild animals that often attacked the town, or the showy inhuman mimics that tried to claim world domination. They just looked like greener, more transparent people. Barely any of them even floated much. They’d need new categories, they broke too many rules that stayed true on Earth.

“Oh that’s a lovely shade of blue! I wish I could make something like it.” The voice echoed, but it wasn’t growling or mocking. In fact, the ghost woman who had paused beside the hunter was smiling warmly, despite the dead red eyes. “Are you just visiting for a bit?”

“We’re mostly stuck going wherever the ghost boy is taking us, our ship broke down,” Maddie struggled not to frown, her natural inclination to get away from the still potentially dangerous ghost strong with so many fights. She could tell it the truth, in a sense. Phantom was far more likely to be dangerous then this waif of a woman. How she could move in so many ruffles was baffling.

“Oh dear! Well if he’s any trouble you can let Dorthea know, she’s a caring ruler. A human helped her get her rightful throne back, so I’m sure she’d be happy to help!” The ghost tittered a little, as if expecting that to be obvious.

So the ghost did know she was human? Far more alarming was the idea some other human had been dragged this far from home, possibly trapped. Maybe this would turn into a rescue mission. Unless it was too late for them, a distinct possibility. “Oh really? How did that happen?”

“Oh I don’t really know the details, but it was a human that inspired our good Queen that she didn’t need to fear that tyrant and she could fight back. I wish I’d seen it!”

It was disquieting how human the ghost sounded, a friendly sort of gossip. If only she had a way to record it. “The human got back home after helping, right?”

“Well I assume so, she had no intentions of staying here very long, that’s for sure!” She laughed easily, apparently blind to Maddie’s confusion and apprehension, or just unable to see it past the mask and goggles. “I’m fairly sure Sir Phantom took her back, you could ask him.”

Sir? That town terrorizing scoundrel was respected around here? And had been taking humans out of the ghost zone? Probably because he made whoever it was get here in the first place, just to rescue them. Was that why he was here? To stage some new act with this ghost queen? “Right, I might do that.” Would she? This morning she hadn’t expected to talk to ghosts, let alone multiple.

“Oh! If you see any of those angry blobs you can just run back towards the guards and they’ll deal with it. It’s their job, and they’re quite good at it. I actually considered doing that job for a bit, but I like looking after the plants more. Maybe I’ll switch in a decade or two!” The ghost kept talking, apparently taking Maddie’s lack of further questions as permission to keep chattering.

“Can’t you deal with them yourself?” Attacking ghost blobs was something she knew about, and if this ghost was strong enough to mimic humans, shouldn’t it be able to deal with the much less sophisticated tactics of blobs?

“Me? Oh no, I’m not not trained. Do you still have lions on the other side? It would be like trying to fight one of those with a stick!” She laughed, but not unkindly.

“You’re both ghosts though, aren’t you?” Perhaps they differentiated themselves by name in the Ghost Zone? It would lend some evidence to the ‘different breeds’ of ghost hypothesis she was rapidly stringing together.

She tapped at her chin for a moment at the question. “I suppose we are, but they’re more like animals. They might have always been animals, or never alive at all! It’s perfectly safe here though, they usually fight more among themselves.”

Well that was fascinating. Some ghosts didn’t instinctively know how to fight and had to be taught? Yet didn’t consider themselves completely separated from the more animalistic ectoplasmic terrors. Perhaps the more ‘domestic’ setting here made the ghosts less feral and more reliant on their previous memories. Well, the ghost could be lying, but she couldn’t see the benefit she’d gain from deception here. “So you’re kind of stuck here then? We saw a lot of those outside of this place.”

“No no, we’ve got safer ways to travel than just flying around! Not all of us are that brave, dear. Though I don’t think I’d want to stay somewhere else very long anyway. Here it’s safe, all my friends are here and we have one of the largest markets in the whole Ghost Zone. Other ghosts come to us!” There was a hint of pride as she spoke about her ‘home’, gesturing over to some of the stalls Maddie hadn't had time to look at before getting interrupted. “I was really hoping to get something from the seven armed bloke over there, but he’s not very interested in my clothing. Maybe next time.”

Said ‘bloke’ had far too many eyes to go with the arms, and a collection of honestly terrifying little statues with strange designs that made her head hurt if she looked at it too long. A clear outsider to the more human ones, but not causing a stir. So much for constantly fighting out groups, but they barely had anything in common either! Not to mention engaging in some kind of simplistic trading. “So this happens often?”

“Pretty much. It’s fun to make new things, but you get bored of just your own stuff after a few centuries you know? So we swap and find new things.”

Well of course, it’s not like the ghosts needed to trade for something vital to existence. Swapping ‘things’ made more sense in that context. So why weren’t any trying to trade strength or favours? Or simply taking what they wanted? Was it related to having a queen? She had so many questions that knowing what ones needed to be asked was next to impossible. “I suppose you would. How can you tell if a ghost that comes is peaceful?”

“Asking!” She laughed again, apparently finding the question funny. So they didn’t deal with constant attacks from spectres like Phantom trying to ‘take over?’ Why?

“Oh geeze, I’m so sorry if she said anything about trying to-” Phantom’s voice interrupted her thoughts, the ghost suddenly floating beside the other ghost and sputtering.

“Sorry? She’s been perfectly lovely! Haven’t you- oh I’m so rude, I didn’t even get your name!” the ghost tisked at herself, once again strangely apologetic.

“Wait, she has?” His doubtful tone made the ghost hunter scowl. As if he had any room to judge them.

“We’re scientists, not uncontrollable monsters.” Like him. She was fairly sure he caught the implication when the boy muttered something she couldn’t hear.

“Cool. Anyway, got another stop, then I’ll get you two back home.” He still hovered, glancing between the two of them a few times. “Oh. Maddie, that’s her name.”

“Lovely speaking with you Maddie! Had a good trip back, I’m Guenivier if you’re ever in the area again,” she smiled and gave another wave before somehow drifting back into the crowd without displacing even a bit of that dress.

“Who said you can give out my name?” Maddie hissed, once certain the other ghost was out of earshot.

He leaned back on teenager mannerisms, scoffing and heading away. “Because she wanted to know and thinks you aren’t a total ghost hater? It’s not gonna hurt anything.”

“How can I know you don’t have a way to locate people by name?”

He was rolling his eyes again as if she was being ridiculous. “You live in a house with a giant glowing sign. Not exactly subtle.”

“That isn’t in the ghost zone.”

“It’s attached to the ghost zone, it totally counts.”

It really was like arguing with a teenager when he bantered on like this. “Just don’t do it again.”

“Yes ma’am. Sheesh.” He hopped on top of the speeder, kicking his heels against the side. “Hey Jack, you coming?”

“Coming!” he bellowed back, jogging over from the patch of plants she’d left him at. However, he wasn’t just carrying his notebook, but a folded glowing bit of cloth. Some sort of tapestry judging by all the stitching? “Just wanted to get a few more lines done-” he broke off after spotting his wife, apparently reminded that he shouldn’t be so chummy with the ghost. “I mean I leave when I want to, you can’t boss Fentons around!”

“Oh come onnn, can you pretend you don’t hate me for like five minutes? I’m not even doing anything!” Phantom complained, flopping backwards onto the Speeder. “You were totally having a good time”.

“How did you get that, dear?” Maddie chose to ignore their sulking captor and instead look at what Jack managed to gather besides sketches.

“Oh, one of the ghosties liked my pictures and asked to trade for one! So I gave em a page for this! We can study how they made it back home, neat huh?”

Apparently he hadn’t been too worried about it being a trap, but a picture he’d just sketched wasn’t a big ask for something that could teach them a lot about the ghosts in here, so it was a good trade nonetheless. “You did great sweetie. Just make sure to store it safely, just in case.”

“Already on it sweet cheeks!” He was indeed, already pulling out a large sample bag to store their find before opening the hatch again.

“Ew. I changed my mind, go back to threatening me. Sappy is worse.”

Well, at least the ghost regretted his actions a bit. He’d be more sorry if he tried anything, but this did just seem to be something to sooth that hero complex it had. So far, anyway. She was tempted to ask the ghost what it had been up to at the castle, but it didn’t really matter. He’d just lie anyway, he clearly wasn’t the same sort of ghost as the weaker ones back there.

“Ha, he crumples in the face of our love Madds!” Jack laughed, hugging his wife and they got comfortable back in the speeder. “You think he’d take us back home if I said how much I love ya?”

“I so don’t need to hear this.” He was muffled, apparently still flopped on the speeder. He didn’t add anything before the Speeder lifted from the ground and resumed speeding through the strange green expanse.

“Clearly he buys his own teenager delusion.” Maddie mused, content to rest against Jack and look through his sketches. “Did they seem strangely lifelike to you too?”

“Oh sure! They just talked and didn’t even seem interested in going to the human world! Even though one was very jealous of how bright my jumpsuit is.” He leaned a bit to flick a few pages forward. “I sketched a couple and got their names, so we can see if we can look em up. See if they’re similar to their old selves according to history and all.”

“That’s a good idea. I didn’t get a complete name, but apparently they have jobs? Not like the wilder ghosts, and they do have a queen…” she paused, remembering the ‘human’ Phantom apparently ‘helped home. “Hey! You did help someone home from the ghost zone before, did you?”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, she’s back safe. Wasn’t even a whole day.” He sounded distracted, or at least surprised by the question.

It could be a valuable lead. That, and the human might need help after such an experience. Who knew how ecto contaminated they might be! “Who was it?”

“How should I know? Just because I’m in town a lot doesn’t mean I know everyone’s name.”

She frowned, glancing at Jack who only shrugged. So he hadn’t heard that story, only her. “You know ours.”

“Because you shout them at me and shoot at me a lot? Pretty easy to remember!”

“Ghost kid’s got a point.” Jack admitted, patting her on the shoulder. “We’ll just find who it is ourselves! Just an extra project.”

“What, and just make their life weird again by bringing up ghost stuff? Leave em alone.”

Well now they absolutely had to look into it, if Phantom wasn’t keen on the idea. Better to let him think they agreed though. “True, it could just lead you back to them.”

“Hey! This is all you, not me!”

Jack chuckled. “You’re really good at riling him up. Almost sounds like our Danny like that, getting all touchy about fun family activities!”

“Well he probably copies behaviour from local teenagers,” she didn't like that comparison though. Their children were nothing like life destroying ghosts. It was better to turn her attention to the passing green and how the amount of doors seemed to dwindle as masses of ice started to become the most prominent detail. That made more sense, actually. Phantom had started using ice in addition to ectoblasts, if he came from somewhere with this sort of climate it seemed less out of place with his other abilities. Even if he was otherwise ill suited to snow and ice with how he insisted on looking like a kid.

The next stop felt more like a mistake, with only hills of untouched white powder and ice to see, but the crunch of snow below confirmed they were no longer moving. Good thing they came prepared with heated coats!

“Not a whole lot around here! If it wasn’t for all the green we could pretend we were in Alaska.” Jack chattered as he shrugged a coat on, still apparently too excited to look around to keep his suspicion up. “They don’t all like castles, or maybe it’s a hidden one!”

He better not be thinking Santa had an ice castle. That was probably what he was thinking of, but she didn’t really want to bring up their annual argument at the moment. He could be wrong today, there were more important things to do. “You do realize it’s a frozen wasteland you’ve stranded us on?”

“It’s not that cold.” Phantom objected, circling the Speeder idly.

“Easy for a ghost to say, you’re always cold ghost kid!”

He stopped at that, glancing back at Jack. “It's not that bad, is it?”

“Only because we brought warm clothing. Jumpsuits aren’t enough for the living.” Maddie huffed, looking at the snowfields to find anything worth looking at. The structures of ice were somewhat interesting, but not inherently ghostly.

“Well you guys can stay here, I guess.” The ghost bit at his lip, playing up the concern now that they pointed out a frozen wasteland was cold. Honestly, how did anyone fall for Phantom’s act if he made mistakes like this? “I don’t think Frostbite’s people come out this far…”

“Oh, are they dangerous? We can take any of your little ghostly pals!”

Phantom looked as if Jack suggested exploding a building. “No! Don’t fight any of them! They just look scary, okay? Just ignore them, if any show up.” He didn’t wait for a response before flying off this time, apparently in much more of a hurry this time.

“Sounds like he’s worried about what we can do to his little pals, huh?” Jack elbowed his wife with a grin. “Well, maybe we can find something weird about the ice here!”

It was better to try getting some of the ghost ice instead of doing nothing, though she doubted it would be very different from regular ice, beyond the ectocontamination. Now what would a ghost think is ‘scary looking’? He hadn’t given such a warning when close to all of the other ghosts, after all. It was a bit of a mystery, and none of the ice here had any identifying marks or hints of another odd little ghost ‘civilization’. ‘Frostbite’ wasn’t much of a name either, perhaps they were more like the wild sort that came to Amity?

“Oh hoh! Look at this!” Jack yelled out, pointing to something below him as he waved her over.

A large, clawed footprint left in the snow, and fairly deep. So something monstrous after all, as expected. “Maybe we can get a cast of it?” They had supplies for it, but she wasn’t certain if it would work in the ice correctly. The tracks didn’t go for long, but following them wasn’t a very tantalizing idea. Better to keep a distance and be well armed if they wanted to tangle with whatever left this. It wasn’t as distracting as the previous stop, but the sound of crunches increasing in volume had the couple back on edge and wary.

“Seriously, we should just go-”

It sounded like the ghost boy was near wherever the crunches were coming from, which didn’t improve her mood one iota.

“Nonsense! I have been asking to meet them for how long?” A deep, growling and carrying voice came in response as Maddie readied a weapon.

“Yeah, that’s the problem. You don’t want to, trust me.”

“Seems he doesn’t have a very high opinion of ghost hunters, eh Mads?” Jack was less noticeably readied, still half crouched near the footprint, but his hand hovered where a weapon was concealed. She focused on her breathing as the sound grew louder, eyes narrowed as she spotted a large figure cresting the nearby hill. With the little white haired ghost boy completely at ease near it. Nothing like his regular behaviour, let alone the talking. Why would this huge beast know of them?

“What did I say about not shooting people?” Phantom actually seemed to blush on seeing her holding the weapon, smacking his face. “Okay, you saw them, bye now!”

The large furred creature ignored how the smaller ghost pushed at their shoulder, instead waving with a horrific ice claw, bones gleaming from within as it seemed to rip at the very air. “Well our first meeting was hardly perfect either, I can manage.”

“Yeah but I can’t just pull a ‘won’t shoot a big yeti’ icicle out of their jumpsuits!”

For a human loving ghost, Phantom was certainly very concerned about this giant horned monster being harmed by ‘mere humans’. More proof of his act, at least. Though the large creature did have a cloak of some sort and clothing. He spoke well, if you ignored the fanged mouth and growls. A strange contradiction of appearance and intent. That wasn’t a normal thing for ghosts either, you could gather a decent amount about one by how they looked. So why was this one chatting and apparently interested in seeing two humans? “So, you’re the ‘Frostbite’ he mentioned?” She hazarded a guess, but wasn’t going to put the gun away.

It showed its fangs, maw wide and unnerving. “Yes, I am! It is an honour to meet you” The furry head bowed slightly, as if trying a sort of nod of respect. “Your work assisted the Great One in vanquishing Pariah Dark, we all owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Please don’t call me that. Especially in front of them!” the green eyed ghost practically squawked, somehow flushing even harder when he didn’t even have blood.

Maddie’s mind almost flipped over from the sheer confusion of what this terrifying ghost said. They had ‘helped’ vanquish something? More likely, Phantom had stolen something. So why did this ghost still give them credit? That wasn’t even starting to touch why the ghost boy would be considered great in any aspect. “Assisted him? Do you mean with that ghost who took our town into the Ghost Zone?” She wasn’t sure if that was what the ‘king’ ghost was called, but it made more sense than anything else she could think of.

“Indeed. The King of All Ghosts would have sent the infinite realms into chaos and conflict. Of course we are grateful for your help in preventing that.”

“That’s when you stole the Ecto Skeleton!” Jack spoke up, no longer tense. “You never brought it back.”

“That’s not my fault, that thing almost wasted me! It was gone once I woke up!” The boy objected, but seemed to settle down when the larger ghost ruffled his hair. “I wanted to bring it back.”

“I’m sure now they understand how vitally important that technology was, for your world and ours.” The ghost’s yellow eyes watched them expectantly, the unnerving void of pointed daggers thankfully closed now.

“Well it did get Amity back where it belonged.” Losing the Ecto Skeleton had been a blow, but an acceptable one to get back to normal. The fact that more ghosts seemed to know and care about their part of it was somewhat unnerving. She very much doubted Phantom just ‘lost’ it either. Jack suffered from the demands of the suit, but the ghost was just ectoplasm and electricity. Quite unlikely he could be drained that much, it wasn’t meant for ghosts to use in the first place.

“Your world? Doesn’t the kid live here?” Jack asked, making his wife blink. She hadn’t noticed that odd phrasing.

“No, no. The Great One prefers the human world and his friends. How are they doing?”

He froze up, eyes flicking to the hunters and back to the yeti. “Fine. They’re great.” He darted closer to the two hunters, gesturing at them to move. “Okay let’s go.”

How much interacting was this ghost doing with humans to have ‘friends’ it told other ghosts about? They could be in danger, or used as targets! “No no, we’d love to hear about your friends.”

“Nope, you don’t, gotta get home right? Big hurry, don’t trust me, remember?” He was practically pleading with them.

Frostbite’s ears twitched as he tilted his head. “Don’t trust you? Surely they’re the ones who taught your friends how to drive that craft of yours?”

Phantom had the gall to turn invisible.

“We were unaware anyone other than us was using it, actually.” Maddie didn’t bother to keep the frost from her voice.

“Ah, well at least the good news is I already knew how to make a replacement battery for it when the Great One came asking for help.” His tail twitched, as one of the great claws scratched at his furry chest. “It should be good as new once you can install it.”

So not only was this ghost stealing technology and bringing humans to the ghost zone, it was teaching other ghosts how it worked! The second that ghost was in their grasp, he’d have some serious answering to do. “Do all of you call him that?” It was the only question she could ask without wishing to spit acid, quite frankly.

“All of the Far Frozen recognize him as such, but not all ghosts are the same. He should be proud of the title, a savour of two worlds.”

“Frostbite I’m begging you, stop! It’s embarrassing!” The ghost dropped his invisibility, still looking more like a flustered kid instead of the heroics seeking fame junkie he was.

“Well if it helps your relationship with these ghost hunters, I think it is important that they know.”

“Yeah no. Let’s not.”

It felt like there was something the two ghosts weren’t saying. That, and the fact Phantom didn’t seem to like being hailed as a hero here in the Ghost Zone didn’t make sense. Why all the grandstanding in Amity then?

“Well we’ll be glad for the lift home. You shouldn’t steal from us, kid.” Jack tried a stern approach, and the ghost actually flinched from the rebuke.

“You’re not the only ones who want to map this place out, that’s all,” he didn’t really seem to be answering them, more talking to himself before launching himself at the Speeder again. “You can shoot at me about it back home or whatever.”

“Travel safely! Do try and explore your other half more often, Great one. You’re always welcome here.” His great furry head watched them all easily, seeking out the ghost hunters eyes as well. "I understand you are less interested, but you are welcome to see the realities of my home as well. It may surprise you, in a good way."

She desperately wanted to ask what that monster of a ghost meant by that, but managed to hold her tongue. If all the ghosts here saw Phantom as some sort of godlike hero, chewing him out here wasn’t safe. Jack’s small nod of agreement and warm hug helped, but it couldn’t stop her mind churning. They’d seen and hurt so much, and none of it made any sense! This Frostbite just threw in several more wrenches in the works with only a few sentences, but with how agitated Phantom was getting now wasn’t the time to push their luck. Perhaps when the shoe was on the other foot, and the boy needed their assistance.

He didn’t speak up or grumble this time as they left the frozen land behind. Though that might be them as well,m sitting close together and considering the notes and samples they had taken. That and the huge list of questions Jack had scrawled down in the margins of a sketch of Frostbite. How could a ghost like Phantom truly manage to stay in the human world most of the time? Did it have to do with this ‘other half’ that ghost had mentioned? Would knowing what it was reveal a weakness in the ghost? So many questions, but no answers. Why had Phantom even let them speak to any ghosts, considering how badly he’d reacted to some of the information given? He couldn’t genuinely be wanting to help.

The inviting glow of the portal appeared sooner than either of them could expect, the ghost dropping the ship on the lab floor with a loud clunk.

“See? Home. No ‘evil plan’” he floated into view, and she was fairly sure he only did so to make those air quotes with his hands.

“So you say, ghost kid. Don’t think we won’t be checking for tricks!”

“Yeah sure,” he shrugged, grinning after a moment. “Oh hey, by the way, you do know what the Speeder is powered with, right?”

Maddie didn’t actually know how to take that question. “Of course we do, we built it!”

“Uh huh.” His grin widened as he kicked back, legs vanishing into that strange tail. “All you had to do was take the cover off. It’s the Ghost Zone! There’s ectoplasm everywhere! I just had Frostbite make a backup.”

...Had they really- They had. They’d been dragged around by a ghost for no reason at all! “Why you little-”

He kept laughing before turning and getting out of the way. “Thanks for flying with Phantom Zone Tours! I’m out.” A jaunty wave and he was gone, leaving two baffled ghost hunters behind.

“I think some fudge is in order after that!”

She couldn’t say he was wrong. Maybe fudge could make sense of that whole affair. All that for a prank? It didn’t add up. They’d have a lot of work to do.

#Danny Phantom #phic fight 2021 #Maddie Fenton #jack fenton #hey look a fun one!#tho they are kinda mean about poor danny-boy #but hey minimal angst! woo!#Team Ghost

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jadelynlace · 3 years ago

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When You’re Unmatched Art / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

[you can find the reference for the tattoo Ivar did here. He thought he was being slick, but he most certainly was not. Ivar, your feelings are showing!]

catch up on the porno, I mean series, here.

requested by: @quantumlocked310 ♡

author’s note: thanks to this post, you’ll all be subjected to the written requests. brief mentions of smut under the cut, and love sick Ivar.

synopsis: Ivar finally figures out how to design your first tattoo.

✎

For this to be Ivar’s passion—his mortal life’s calling—he could not, for all of the seconds in the year, figure out how to design your tattoo. There had never, in his professional life, been a client that had given him complete and utter reign. No simple idea, no nudge in a specific direction, hint of any realm no where on the forefront. You told him to design you a tattoo to take up space on your thigh. And that was it. Even after he declined, saying there must be some idea you had, you shook your head and give him control. Total, and utter control. And it was almost too good to be true.

Ivar knew he was screwed, when an entire sketchbook’s worth of pages went torn, crumpled and tossed into the garbage can with failed ideas. Even Sigurd offered no help—not that he was the artistic hand Ivar needed, he was the needle pusher and piercer. Music selector and unruly greeter. Floki only offered his normal words of wisdom, a way of not answering the question but instead making Ivar look deep within himself. “Don’t think about it much, Ivar. Just let your heart and your mind run freely together.” Great. No help. Both of them were caged in a muddled pile of muck and mud and dead leaves and Ivar couldn’t pull them out.

Through every outing the band of brothers went on, you in tow more often than not, Ivar would be at the receiving end of your questions—how he was coming along with it. You had no deadline, you understood his craft took time, but you were far too excited to see. Then came the first hook up—Ivar driving you home because you were too many martinis in, you inviting him up but he declined because it “wasn’t a good idea, princess” and you told him you “weren’t his fucking princess” and he drove around the block twice before finally knocking on your door. Weight against the frame with his temple kissing it, apologizing playfully for his nickname and you invited him in. A game of truth or dare later, Ivar asked you how drunk you were when it was his turn. And you told him you were sober enough to make decisions, clear ones, and then he dared you to kiss him. You felt like a high schooler again. When it was your turn to ask him and he had picked truth, your one question was the end of the game:

“If I asked you to fuck me right now, would you?”

“In a god damn heart beat.”

He was more than screwed when you wouldn’t leave his mind, after you rocked his world and he used your name on his tongue to get himself off the next time his left hand was needed. And then he texted you, asking how your day was, that was it. And after a conversation, playful but real, he was over at your apartment with take out and beer and you two watched true crime and Ivar told you he had seen this one and tried to have you guess before the show told you. When you were right he said you were smart, when he silently figured out an equation in his head, how many liters to grams to degrees, or whatever the hell it was, you almost dropped your beer. He wrote it out for you to show you, a near different language across the page through algebra, and you told him he was smart. The tattoo idea clicked then. The minute Ivar realized he caught feelings, the tattoo idea became so visible he drew it in almost an hour.

There was never a nervousness with him when it came to the day of appointments, even with the most picky of his clientele, Ivar took it as it was gifted because he loved his craft too much to have these types of petty things take up hatred in his heart. But you walked through the shop, shortest of shorts on, a pair of flowing pants in your bag for the event that session went longer and nipped off into the chilling night time air, and both a coffee for yourself and a Red Bull for Ivar. He nearly wanted to throw the ink onto the floor because he was scared that once you saw the design, you’d laugh, you’d call him something pathetic and walk out, and it would be the last he’d see of you. Instead he handed you the artwork, and your eyes scanned the image for almost five minutes, mouth agape and holding it as if it were a map to the unknown, hiding gold and jewels and you asked him if you could keep the sketch. Even with it forever on your skin you nearly begged him for the original artwork, saying something about how you wanted to frame it. You’d never seen Ivar blush before, but you were sure he did when you said that.

The session wasn’t short—it was almost his full day’s work of hourly long needle dabs, buzzing and brotherly bickering between him and Sigurd. Intensive talks between you and him, explain to him the less than glamorous parts of your job, the funnier parts and the teenage humor of the men you worked with. Hvitserk’s track record for receiving the majority of patient vomit on every call and you watched Ivar laugh, smile more than you had known him too and you wondered if it was because of the machine in his gloved hand or if it was you.

Sigurd ducked out right before lunch, picking up with the three of you had ordered and your skin received the welcome break from the on-going buzz. You were quick to kiss Ivar once, lingering lips on his to thank him and he looked shocked for a moment, worrisome that his brother would see before he tossed the fear aside, shoving his tongue down your throat. When it was all said and done, dawned with the artwork on your flesh you couldn’t stop the smile. Neither could Ivar. He’d promised the sketch after he photocopied it for his portfolio and you went home with the sore leg but a full heart. He showed up late, just shy of midnight after cleaning up the day’s worth of work, buying a frame and bringing dinner for the two of you to eat. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of it, even in its red and swollen, tender state, you loved this tattoo, and Ivar took his time treating it for you. Even after his head spent time between your thighs, one hand plastered on the bare skin and the other holding yours. Even after you rode him, artwork in his line of sight and it made him finish quickly; watching the piece on your skin, your palms on his chest as he moved your hips for you. Your head tossed back as you moaned his name when you came, the heavenly sight and you were forever marked with his skill. The after care from the sex went beyond the closeness, holding you as the television played in the background; he spread the lotion over it, his entire hand nearly able to cup your thigh as he made sure to leave no line un-slathered.

“You know I’m going to want another one before this one even heals,” You said to him, craning your neck up to look at him.

“Yeah?” Ivar asked, his hand in your hair. “Where do you think you want your next one to go?”

“On my arm, so I can see it all the time,” You replied, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Who knows, maybe I’ll just cover myself like you do,” You giggled.

“You’re perfect already,” Ivar said through a yawn, his eyes closing, head drooping against yours. “You tell me where you want ‘em, and I’ll do it—but you’re perfect already,”

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