#I have his ghost form not really aging or aging very slowly

[monsterfloofs]

Found this blog through the cute emoji challenge you do! So here’s mine!

🐺🌹🖤

Hi Anon! This story… oh man this story has been a long time coming. I have kept this note in my inbox for oh gosh… two years apparently??? I wanted to make sure that this story got made for you. Unfortunately, this request sent just as my motivation for the monster emoji maker stories left me! ;O;;; ) I do apologize for the wait. On the bright side, this… ended up being quite the story, I put a lot of love and work into this, and I really hope you enjoy it!

🥀 Briar Wolfe 🥀

Edrick (Wolf Monster) x Anonymous Reader (sfw)

Trigger Warning : Angst and light violence!

Once a thriving palace, now no more

A curse rotting on its forgotten shore.

With vines of roses, a prick of dread,

its valiant hero has lost its head.

One good heart yet remains on this stage,

the last of royalty in a thorny cage.

Between the gnarled thicket of thorns and roses lay the skeleton of a broken castle. Where there had once been music and light, now empty, the joy constricted out of its lungs by brambles that grow thicker everyday. The tall spires are a ghoulish color of oxidized bronze, the rusted greenish blue that slowly creeps into every crevice, every nook. Soon the tall sentry towers will be swallowed by thorns and roses as well. At one time, perhaps this would paint a prettier picture in the mind's eye, of somewhere lonely and enticing. Yet living here, amongst the flowers and thorns, there is no joy. The curse that settled here, has not only spread wings over the land, but also has curled itself tightly into the heart of man. A living breathing, misery.

There are nicks and notches on the columns in the throne room, scrawling across the wood until whoever scrawled them could reach no higher. The tracking of days, months, and years that have gone by. Other things are sprawled across the floor. Pots, pans, flint, firewood, books dull with age and a small bejeweled dagger. It was strange to look around and see home, yet also realize it was a ghost of what had been. I shook out the map in my hands, staring at the places in the castle that had been drawn and the red marks I had made later as I ran out of possible exits, until lastly. . . was the courtyard.

The courtyard could lead to a potential escape, with food dwindling and supplies running out, it was one of the easier exits to take, except for one problem.

I blink, glancing up as a forlorn howl makes me shudder.

Yes. One problem, one very big problem.

I rose to my feet cautiously and tiptoed to one of the broken windows. My heart squeezed in my chest as I took a deep breath. The shambling form appeared by the broken fountain outside, his nose up in the air and snuffling, looking for prey. His eyesight is long gone, with thorns overgrown around his face, the spiders web of vines across him giving him an additional severity to the armor he wore. A tattered cloak dragging behind him as he began to limp his way through the courtyard.

“Edrick.” I whispered in a short breath. Gods, everytime I looked upon him my heart convulsed with pain. Edrick with the amber eyes and fluffy ears I used to play with when we were just children. I, a spoiled child and he, whose father before him was a knight. Edrick, who followed in his fathers footsteps, bathed in golden light on the day he kneeled before the throne to be knighted. Edrick whose tail would wag with joy, even though it caused him to be embarrassed.

Edrick, now this shambled rabid beast who snapped and snarled. Who pounced on those too weak to fight back. A perversion to everything he once stood for.

I mourned the loss of my friend for as long as the curse has been on this land. While I had made many sacrifices to survive now, I could never bring myself to face Edrick. Too many memories. The realization that I had to choose my own survival over a loved one, made my heart feel as though it had begun to rot inside my chest.

I told myself again and again, a tome from the wizards dreamhold might be able to aid me to break this curse, and save Edrick from his fate. Yet the tower was on the other side of the courtyard, and the loop of problems came back full circle. From what I had observed, Edrick was blind from the crowny vines across his face, and used his nose to make up for this lack of sight. While that perhaps might give me the smallest glimmers of hope, his sense of smell was more acute than a human’s could ever be. Back from that onslaught of memories I watch him now, sniffing- lumbering back and forth while he makes a slow but steady zig zag towards the window.

I cautiously stepped back, folding up the map and putting it into my satchel. I stayed quiet as I tip toe back to my belongings, I retrieve the dagger from its place on the floor. I reclaim the flint and not much else. If I took too many things it would only slow me down, but once I arrived at the other side, I would have to scout for new resources.

Dear sweet Edrick, I hope you forgive me.

I crept along the throne room, watching Edrick shamble alongside me, his mouth open and panting, his chest heaving greedily. I pulled old clothes from the satchel, gave one last glance to the figure outside before slamming the back of the dagger into the window. Edricks ears shot up, and he gave a scream of triumph as I threw my old clothes out the broken window. Hearing the cloth being shredded apart, I ran for the door. Pushed my back into the sturdy wood, arms strained, it opened stubbornly and I sprinted out onto the cobbled path. I heard another scream soon enough, this one enraged and bloodthirsty. I jumped the fountain and stumbled as I heard the loud snap of teeth from behind. Just a breath of air away from me, I felt that great head lunge and miss, tears spilled from my eyes as I continued to run.

With a strength I didn’t know I possessed had overtaken me, and the snapping jaws were gone as the door to the tower closed with a deep shudder.

I slid onto the floor, in a heap, shoulders jerked as the throb of my heartbreak squeezed, pulsated from my throat. I gasped, and clutched my throat with two hands, an attempt to stifle the sounds that threatened to break free. I rocked slowly back and forth, teeth clenched, another hum of pain and heartbreak skittered from me.

I want Edrick back, my sweet Edrick, the man I had wanted to marry.

It took me a while to calm myself down, I breathed deep garbled breaths that made my lungs ache with the effort.

I will find a way to fix this. I have to.

My legs shook but I rose to my feet, I replaced my dagger into my satchel, numb fingers fumbling in striking the flint. My hands shook as I made attempt after attempt, then finally, a spark of fire ignited one of torches on the wall. With a dim orange light the darkness around me receded ever so slightly, I could make out the foggy steps that spiraled around the core of the stone tower.

“May the Goddess light my path.” I whisper softly, letting my flint drop into my satchel as I take the torch with both hands, and carefully ease it from its place upon the wall.

If I could make it to the top. I may be able to find something that could help. But what if there is no cure? As far as I could remember, this new life had foggily overtaken the other, hazy halcyon days now a phantom of my old life. The curse began and Chivall, the royal advisor to the king, had immediately set about trying to procure a solution. He had been locked away for days within the tower. As the thorns slowly choked life from the palace. As fights began to break out, as the palace grounds became an awful chess board, the tower remained a silent sentinel. He can't still be alive can he? Perhaps if Chivall is no longer here, at the very least, his studies still may be. I can't believe whatever entity is plaguing the Kingdom wouldn't destroy his work. I can't give up hope now. I am one step closer to a solution. One step closer.

The slow ascend with my whirling thoughts left my legs shaky, and my breathing shallow. I stood facing the door, pausing to reclaim by breath before my fingers and palm slid flat against the dark wood. I braced my arms and slowly pushed it open. A slow high wheeze as it swung on unused hinges.

The room was deserted, there were signs of a struggle with overturned papers and chairs. Many of the wizards' curiosities were left unscathed gathering dust. Except for the beautiful glass bird who had been one of his favorite curios. It sat broken in a corner, one wing still somewhat intact. The feathers fanned open as if it had been knocked out of the air from mid flight. The room held a heaviness swathed in the air, with a sour smell that pressed uncomfortably against the back of the throat. There were dark brown stains on the floor, someone had been forcibly dragged from the tower. Though where they had gone was not known. I step over the dried blood, with my gaze swiveling around the room. It was not ransacked, many things were left as it was when it had been while occupied. So perhaps, there was still a small glimmer of hope to be had.

I light a few of the other torches within the room, before settling the one in my hand into a metal wall sconce and replacing the unlit torch onto a table stacked with books. I turned over the scattered pages to reveal they are blank, then I began to pull open drawers, reaching an arms deep into the cabinets with fingers splayed searching for hidden panels.

Perhaps they had been taken before they could find a solution. Perhaps there is no solution to be had.

I shook the stray thought away and continued the search. Bending over to take a look at the undersides of drawers, precariously perched on a chair as I pull books from a high shelf. I kept my ears tuned into my surroundings, listening for any sounds that would give me cause to beat a hurried retreat.

I resolve my search to stand in the middle of the room, empty handed. "There's nothing here." I let myself whisper those words, the words that leaden my chest and make my breath struggle to escape. I close my eyes, squeezing them tightly as I feel the world fragment and go dark around me.

And even if there was something to be found. Would I even be able to identify it?

There is a soft coo of a dove that causes me to start at the sound, eyes flying open. I look up to the rafters and see nothing. It is silent for a beat before I hear new sounds, a scraping across the floor, that has my hand flying to my satchel. My eyes land on the glass bird as it attempts to move, its large opalescent eyes staring up at me.

The bird is enchanted, I never knew.

I grab a cloth to pad my hands and carefully attempt to right the creature, it's one wing brokenly trying to tuck itself against the bird's body. Warbling weakly as it nestles into my hands. Poor creature. It's master is gone and without them it will surely lose what magick it has left.

"I am sorry I cannot help you," I whisper softly to the bird. "I have no magick to aid you."

The glassy feathers lift up in a comfortable way and their eyes slowly close, settling down into a comfortable nap. Then, before my eyes, the area within the glass turns a rainbow of prismatic colors before the bird's form starts to melt in my hands. Changing and contorting, reshaping itself to become a broken wizard's staff, with the opalescent eyes becoming a round orb of shifting color that resides at the very top.

My heart starts beating faster, hands trembling as I hold this new found object. An object that may very well change the tides of the castle's predicament. If only I knew how to utilize it. I feel more and more perplexed watching the staff with anticipation to see if any new revelations come with its new form. Yet the staff remains silent, its unearthly presence making my hand tingle with strange energy.

I have never held any kind of magickal implement before. I had been curious about magick truly, but was not allowed to study such things. Magick was for those who could wield it, and those who did not have the gift would never dare to try. My plan was short sighted at best, but now I could truly feel the scope of its foolishness. I was far out of my depth yet, it was the only option I could think of to be a potential balm.

"I. . . do not know how to utilize your gift." I chose to speak earnestly, talking to the staff as if it were a close companion. "I know not of these things, but I know your old master was a wise and loving creature. One who had been trying to break this curse, please. . ." I pause hesitating, "Dear staff, lend me your wisdom so that I may finish what he started."

There is a whoosh of wind that scatters papers into a vortex. The wall sconces fire turning blue and flaring up towards the ceiling. Standing in the eye of the storm I grip the staff with both hands, eyes as round as saucers as the room rights itself. Papers settle back into neat piles, chairs right itself with invisible hands, the table flipping back onto its feet. I gawk at the room, the room I remember, with its perfectly precarious stack of books and curios shining and dusted. A trick? A jump in time? Or simply magick doing what it does best. I had no answers. Yet I ran to the wizards desk as I saw papers in a neat stack, one hand spreading them across the table.

Diagrams I could not read, but clever letters that talked about the possibility to enchant an item to be used to severe the rampant magick from its host. It's a dark and powerful kind of spell. Chivall had written in their looping writing. Not only can said curse breaker be used to cut curses and sever spells, it can be used in various other terrible ways. It can steal the magick from others by cutting off the hand of a fellow magickian. It is a last resort, and I am hesitant to bring such an object into being. Only if I know that I can destroy it once its grisly task is over do I even dare to consider this. If it fell into the hands of someone who has naught a thought for anyone but themselves, I shudder to think what kind of monster would be created then.

My eyebrows furrow. Letting those words sink in. Dangerous and a solution not to be taken lightly, but I did not see any other way. "Can this be made still?" I asked the staff. I looked back to read and reread the passage. It cuts curses and severs spells. Such wording sounds like a blade. I hesitantly reach for my satchel and free the dagger from it's confines. Placing it upon the table. "Will this do?"

There is a spark of light from the staff once more, a brightness that makes me twist my head away and close my eyes. The lines of ink upon the paper turning gold and shimmering. As the light fades my eyes flicker to the dagger. The golden blade is now a brilliant molten red, heat radiating off of it in waves. As it dulls back to its original coloration the staff seems to crumble within my hand. Ribbons of white prismatic color flaking off as it coils in upon itself. The magick object shifts yet again, until it is a small white opalescent pendant that softly falls into my palm. I take a deep uneasy breath.

Fingers slowly curl around the gem, pressing my forehead against my fingers. “Thank you for your gift.” I murmur softly, for a moment the world is at a stand still. I stare from the necklace to the golden dagger on the table. I bow my head and respectfully let the silver chain drop around my shoulders, the white opalescent gem glinting a fiery blue as it rests against my collar bone. It still feels strange, a thrum that makes my skin prickle as my thumb worries against the stone. Then, with a hesitant touch, I hesitantly tap the blade of the dagger. It is cool to the touch, despite being molten red only moments ago. Fingers sliding cautiously around its handle before their grip tightens and my knuckles bulge.

The tower room is left behind, pristine and silent. Looking down to the stairs below, from where I stand, it is like a gaping maw with crooked teeth leading me back down, down, down.

What if I fail? Or worse yet, what if I have to kill him? I can see my hands, my hands, my hands. My hands and the hilt of the dagger gleaming. The blade plunged into his chest. The strangled gasping of breath. Gods what if I have to kill him. Could I live with myself? Could I bare to live with myself if I did? I don't know, I don't know. He wants to kill me. He attacked me, chased me. He doesn't know me anymore. Is that true? Or course it is. If he loved me, like before he would have stopped. Why does he not remember me? Why does he not remember? I don’t understand. I just don’t. Could I live with myself if [ I open the door. ] I had to kill him? Perhaps I could then take the blade and end my own existence as well. Then at the very least perhaps we could find each other once more. Gods, I can't bear to think about that. I can't think about that. Stop it! Stop it! You can't do this to yourself! But the blade gleams wickedly and blood pools onto the ground. My knees are soaked, my face is splattered. His hand reaches for me. Stop it. His hand reaches for me before it falls. Stop it. It falls to the ground and stills. Stop it. There is nothing I can do. There is nothing I can do. All I can do is watch. I won't let that happen. How can you stop it? I won't let that happen, I won't, I won't, I won't let that happen. How can you stop it?

I move as if within a dream, stepping back into the light of the outside world. The courtyard is grey. An abysmal, haunting grey, where phantoms of the past hour chasing each other in my mind. Yet, there are no signs of life here. There is no bird song, no sounds other than my footsteps clicking on stone. I do not hear Edrick, and my senses are strung so tightly they are at risk of fraying. I hold the dagger to my breast with both hands. Both hands clench so tightly that they prickle and ache. The only thing grounding myself to this moment, this space of time, the ache. I look left and then right, pivoting on my heel in a slow circle. No sign. There is no sign of him, and no sign of where he would have gone. I start moving slowly, my heart beating in my throat. My eyes locked on the stone edge of what I could see. I turned the corner and I see his looming shape lumbering like a bear towards me. Chest panting, mouth open, excited.

"Edrick," I rasp past the lump in my throat, watching his lip peel back and show those rows of teeth. I swallow hard, as my whole body shakes with nerves. "Plea-Please Edrick. Come to your senses, I don't want to fight you, I-I love you."

It was absolute mockery, the sneer of that wide split mouth. Then he lunged, without reply. My chest rising and falling quaking all over. I unsheath the dagger and plead to whatever Goddess is watching that my hand strikes true. I turn tail and run, hoping that the fountain will be enough of an obstacle that it will buy me more time. Then the world goes sideways. The ground rushing up to meet me. I have just enough time to turn, to twist onto my back as Edrick's maw sunk savagely into my leg. Vision blurring at the edges there is a high dull scream, a sound in my throat that I barely recognize as it sounds so far away. Seeing pops of color behind my eyes. I slip the dagger between the vines that crown his eyes and pull. The vines snapping in the blades wake.

Edrick reels backwards, jaw slack as he immediately lets go of me. His big furry hands fly to his face, which in my hazy vision I catch a glimpse of red where his eyes should be. All along his form, the vines begin to shrivel and grey, the deep saturated blood colored roses crumple and wither into blacked husks. Edrick stumbles, teetering on the brink before he collapses to the ground. My hand shakes so much that my fingers cannot keep a hold of my blade. I begin to crawl towards him on hands and knees, blade dropped and forgotten. "Edrick?" My throat is so tight that I can barely manage to make the words escape me.

"My. . . love?" His voice is ragged, and hasn't been used in a very long time. "My eyes, what has happened to my eyes?" A shudder runs through him, and his face lifts out of his hands, nose scenting the air. I freeze in place, blinking back tears.

"Why do I smell blood?"

I make a strangled sound, and Edrick unsteadily gets to his feet, nose twitching, fluffy eyebrows drawn together. "Is. . . are you hurt? Who has done this to you?"

That being the turning point in which I cry. I finally, finally can let myself cry. The fear, the pain, the relief, a torrent of emotions I can no longer push back for the sake of survival. Edricks hands outstretched as he slowly makes his way back towards me. One steady foot patting its way across the tile before he takes a step. He moves wearily, and unsure, one searching step after another, he finds the rim of the fountain, using it to feel his way to me. I look at his face, his eyes, and cry even harder. Desperately grabbing his hand and holding it tightly.

"What has happened?" Edrick whispers, his own voice tight and unsure. He crouches and I painfully push myself up to sit on the stone ledge. My leg burning from the bite.

"Do you not remember?" I force the words out, behind a heaving breath. "No. . ." He replies softly before giving a growl. I freeze, before gently taking his other paw to stop him from swiping at his eyes.

"D-don't, you'll make it worse," I hesitate, before saying, "Something. . . has gored your eyes. . ." He is quiet, processing the information, a hand straying to his cheek before his fingers clench. I reach up, cupping his furry cheeks in my hands, my forehead resting against his.

"What was it?" He rasps, and my heart breaks, at the emotion that colors his voice.

"I don't truly know. . . A spell of some kind. A similar spell that has woven its way across the castle ground." Ed growls and I jolt without meaning to.

"I can't remember, why can't I remember?" He shakes his head from side to side, as if willing the fog in his mind to clear. "Why do you smell. . . so afraid?"

I swallow and feel ashamed. What should I say? What can I say? I purse my lips together, squeeze my eyes shut. "A lot of things have changed, since you've been away."

Edrick tilts his head, "I don't understand."

"Edrick. . ." I say, my voice a hoarse whisper. "I think we are the only two left alive in the castle."

Edrick tenses, and I release a shaky breath. "How can that be?" He asks, instead of responding right away, I wrap my arms around him, and hold him closer. "I am not sure myself," suddenly I feel as if I am lead. "The palace. . . is no longer safe. It has fallen to ruin while you have been gone. The castle is overgrown with. . . these briar vines and roses. There have been dangers lurking in the castle, at one point the vines had a will of their own, the guards were dragged away, people began to disappear until there weren't many of us left."

His arms wrap around me as well, and we stay huddled together for what feels like hours. I wished Edrick and I could stay together like this for eons more. Mourn our past lives, our losses, lick our wounds. It isn't safe to do so, not yet. Not while this labyrinth of danger was the cage we reside. I relent and gently pull away.

"Wait, wait right here," I squeeze their hand before going to search the grounds. The bite causes me to limp, but I can still walk, a blessing in its own right. I find a broken spear, one without its blade. Making my way back I give it to Edrick, pressing it to his palm and folding his large fingers around it. He takes it in his hands.

"What is this. . .?"

"To help you feel your way. Tapping the cobbles with the staff to make sure the space is safe to tread."

I take his free paw, to kiss his knuckles, "And I shall be your eyes." Edricks tufted ears are up and alert. I struggle to bend down and reach for the dagger at my feet, resting at the fountain to cut my sleeve into ribbons.

"You have changed," Edrick said softly. "You have always been clever, ever since we were children, but where is the coquette I once knew?" I took a deep breath, and hesitated on what to say.

"For a long time I was convinced I had lost you." The dots of white that marked his brows knit together. I nervously put my arms past his great head, softly tying the makeshift bandage around his poor eyes.

"The past fears I had," I run my hand up and down his arm as I spoke. "Pales in comparison to these last months, and if we make it out alive. . . I will carry you myself to the chapel." Edrick grins at that, ferocious teeth pulled back. It makes me tense, but I refuse to let go of him. "Then let us see to that quickly my love, I can already hear those bells… Tell me what I must do."

We may be battered, but we are not yet beaten.

[ri-afan]

I need a Misunderstanding trope where Phantom is put with one of the ‘kid’ groups because everyone assumes he’s a teen, but Phantom (he’s, like, 28) thinks he’s just like… co-managing/supervising the group with another Justice League member.

Asked if he’s in school thinking high school? He says yes, thinking of college where he’s going for his graduate degree. His grumbles over homework and time management skills cements it.

ICE contact? Frostbite. Yeah, that’s really his name. (Jazz talked him out of putting her because if it’s an emergency then they likely need medical history and support.) Here’s a device to actually reach him. His parents? Uhhh, nah, I would put my sister second.

It just goes on.

The guy snarks, puns, and throws jokes, clearly up-to-date with internet culture. He’s a casual dude, loves video games, burgers, and space. He’s kinda short and a little lanky, but he’s stupid strong (like he both forgets he is strong and doesn’t know his strength at times).

Phantom’s checking all the boxes as a teen hero both visually and on vibes with the League so they put him there. Danny’s touched that they think he’s responsible enough to put him in charge of the kids, so he does his best.

(Batman finds out about the appointment after it’s approved, but before he says anything he sees how much the teens open up around Phantom and… well… if they didn’t do their homework to see that the Phantom persona has been active for 14 years with pop-ups through history then that’s not really his problem, is it? He might miss that Phantom doesn’t realise this for a while…whoops.)

[arolesbianism]

Thinks oh so hard abt the spiraling upwards clan founders, especially the birchclan founders. Silly lil kitties who's pasts are drenched in blood with the primary regret of not drawing it sooner

[inkoutsidethelines]

Thinking about how I would write an adult Scooby-Doo series, because I think it can be done.

The first thing I’d do is make the characters actually be adults.  Still young, but adults, in the mid to late 20s range.  Mystery Inc. is a private detective type business that they run together.  In this universe, the supernatural/ghosts/etc are real, but not necessarily common, so when they take on a case, the culprit might be a person disguised as a monster, or it might actually be a real ghost.  The stakes can be higher; sometimes a bad guy is legitimately trying to kill them.  Sometimes the mystery they’re trying to solve is a murder.  Sometimes they actually get hurt on their cases.

Fred: the core of Fred’s character should be that he’s incredibly kind.  Like, give a stranger the shirt off his back kind.  The “Fred can’t talk to potential clients because he might take a case for free and we need to eat” kind.  He’s an honest and good person and sometimes gets himself into trouble because he assumes other people are too.  While he’s not very good at reading people or noticing ulterior motives, he’s brilliant when it comes to mechanical or engineering type stuff, so he’s the one who keeps the mystery machine running, builds their gadgets, and of course, designs the traps.

Daphne: she comes from old money, and her parents absolutely despise her life choices, to the point where they haven’t officially disowned her, but they have basically cut her off, so she doesn’t actually have access to any family money.  Growing up wealthy has granted her a variety of skills, including speaking multiple languages, horseback riding, and fencing.  She’s very into fashion and jewelry (even if she can’t afford it anymore) and has extensive knowledge of both that can occasionally provide a vital clue in a case. And even though her parents have cut her off, Daphne still has a wide network of contacts she can ask for favors sometimes, because she’s personable, and people tend to like her.  Daphne is also very emotionally intelligent, and is usually the one who can spot when someone is lying to them.

Side note - I ship Fred and Daphne, so I think I would start them off as an established couple for this universe.  Dating, engaged, married, I don’t care.  They are stupidly in love, ride or die for each other.  There’s no will they, won’t they, no worries about cheating.  They are in a healthy, happy, loving relationship, and no one (not even Daphne’s disapproving parents) are going to mess that up for them.

Velma: she is the forensics nerd who sometimes gets super excited about the wrong thing at the wrong time (”He was mummified in seconds? That’s so cool!” “Velma!  His wife is standing right there!” “Oh.  Sorry.”).  She’s not purposely insensitive, she just gets laser focused on her work and forgets to filter herself sometimes.  She’s also the one who can get so fixated on solving whatever mystery they’re working on, she’s willing to bend or maybe break laws.  Is breaking and entering really so bad?  Not if it gets them answers.

Shaggy: he is still the comic relief, but he’s the comic relief by being the only person in the group that actually has common sense.  He manages the business’s finances, he’s the only one who knows how to cook, and the others tease him for being a coward sometimes, but Shaggy maintains that if a ghost with an axe is coming for you, running is the only sensible option.  He should also have a range of random knowledge that sounds useless, but sometimes saves the day (ex ventriloquism, origami, the history of spoons, etc).

Scooby: as this is a universe where supernatural creatures exist, Scooby is an ancient eldritch type being that took a shine to Shaggy when he was a kid, and took the form of a talking dog to befriend and hang out with him.  Aside from the talking dog bit and not aging, he never uses his powers in a way that anyone notices.  The audience is not told upfront that Scooby is an ancient eldritch being; it should slowly be hinted at throughout the series so the audience put it together, but the characters never realize it.  Scooby genuinely considers Shaggy to be his best friend, and cares about the rest of the gang too.

[mynameisjag]

For @ace-in-disgrace and their prompt: Danny gets mistaken as the love child of the disasters known as Wolverine and Deadpool.

Okay, it was not Danny's fault, he swears!

He was just experimenting with his ice, playing around with some of the younger yetis in the Far Frozen for fun. So shaping his ice to cover his hands to copy the paws of the others and seeing how well he could cut through solid hard frozen ice was just a game. The rough housing was to be expected, everyone tossing each other to see how far they could be thrown was fun.

Being picked up and tossed at the right exact moment a portal opened up was not fun or expected and he blamed Clockwork. The entity had to be responsible somehow for him not being able to enjoy a day of hanging out with Frostbite and the others.

Landing right in the middle of a what looked like a swat happening in an abandoned warehouse, armored people instantly aiming their rifles at him as he stood up wasn’t even surprising given his luck.

Fair though, he was currently looking more on the feral side to match his playmates then his normal ghost form.

“Hey, what’s with hostility? Can’t someone just pop in somewhere without-“, and he was shot in the shoulder, cutting his sentence off, “rude.”

It was just a regular bullet, so it was easy for his form to just…push it out and heal the hole up.

One of the men reached up to touch a device attached on his ear, “Unknown possible mutant has breached the facilities, age around 12-15, regeneration showed, animal like features-“

“You know it’s really rude to talk about someone like that to their face, no manners at all.”

“Unfortunately satirical.”

There was a crash from above as red and yellow forms busted through the glass, the guns swinging their aim at the two men landed.

“Sassiness is always welcomed!”, the red man had his own guns out and was already firing as he talked.

Danny had decided to dodge over to a pile of crates as all the attention was on the new intruders, eyes wide as an arc blood barely missed him as the one in yellow unsheathed long blades from his knuckles.

He glanced at his own hands, he couldn’t make a working gun from ice but…concentrating…he slowly watched as ice built up into copies, looking very much like it was growing from his skin.

An armored body was flung his way and he instinctual reacted…there were now two halves of a one man and he was covered in the viscera.

He froze…did he…oh…oh no…he had to go, he had to go now.

“Ope, looks like someone's first kill! Look at you Jack Frost,” the red guy with guns was now standing above him on a bigger crate, waving down at the teen, “awe, tiny puppy claws!”

Danny took a swing at the crate, watching as it collapsed and the man fell, laughing the entire time he went down.

He quickly turned to run, only to run into a wide chest where he promptly bounced off and landed ass first on the floor, “What in the-I have literally ran into steel walls softer then you.”

Claw man snorted as he reached down and picked Danny up by the scruff, “You alright kid?”

Said kid just hissed at him.

Claws was chuckling, “Cute, now put back your claws, I think it’s time for a chat.”

“Is it finally our turn for the found family and misunderstandings trope,” the red man was back and had swaggered up to the other two, an arm being thrown over his partners shoulders, “Hi, there and welcome, I’m Deadpool and this is Wolverine and we’re your new dads.”

“No.”

“No?”

Danny smiled, all sharp teeth, “No,” and promptly went invisible and intangible, escaping out of the warehouse while he could, leaving the other two behind.

He had to find a portal home.

Wade went limp, using Logan as a brace, “But I wanted to pull a ‘Batman’…”

The response was a snort and Wolverine sniffing his own hand, growling as he took the child’s scent in, “Don’t know what your talking about but, I can track him down, we probably need to before more of these fucks show up and get their hands on him.”

Hope you enjoyed it!

[python333]

soft spot — python333

— — — —

synopsis you've been having a bad day, and ghost feels like being extra nice to you. plot twist you're an age regressor and him being so nice is NOT helping.

relationships platonic agere cg!ghost & gn little!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 6.7k.

warnings a victorious reference, age regressor reader, usage of c/n [call sign/code name], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself]

note please feel free to attack me as much as you want if this is inaccurate. i don't even care if it's not constructive criticism. i am begging for everyone's thoughts and opinions on this!! this is also the longest oneshot i think i've ever written!

“Having fun there?” 

You turn in your seat and find Ghost leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and one eye slightly wider than the other—an indication that his eyebrow is raised. 

“Not really,” You answer, setting down your gun. You’d been disassembling it, trying to take your mind off of the slowly growing headache that’s been building up for the past few hours. You don’t think it’s a migraine or anything, but it still bothers you greatly. 

“Yeah, no, I can tell,” Ghost chuckles, pushing himself off of the door frame and walking over to you. He eyes your gun for a moment, the magazine already removed as well as any live rounds left in the rifle ejected, and the bolt locked to the rear. You were only maybe a quarter of the way through your disassembly, even though you started around thirty minutes ago. 

For some reason, you woke up upset today. You were too tired, you felt awfully sluggish, and there was a throbbing pain clustered in the back of your eyebrows. So, in short—you were reasonably very upset. It showed visibly in the way your eyes twitched every so often, and in the way you felt the need to pinch the bridge of your nose to distract you from the pain that was still building up behind your brows. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, leaning on the table. 

“I have this headache that won’t go away,” You respond, sighing as you move your gaze from your gun to Ghost. You can barely see it, but from his eyes you can tell that his face scrunches up beneath his mask. He knows a thing or two about bad headaches, being someone who frequently gets migraines himself. 

“Have you taken any meds for it?” You shake your head ‘no’. Ghost holds up a single finger in a ‘one moment’ motion and rummages through the pockets on his tactical vest for a moment, before he pulls out a small bottle of ibuprofen no bigger than his palm. He hands it to you. 

“Here.” You blink at it for a moment. 

“Thanks,” You take the bottle gingerly and Ghost nods, watching you as you struggle with the child-proof lid for a second before getting it open. You shake out a small tablet, one the size of a low-dosage aspirin, and pop it into your mouth. You don’t have much of an issue dry-swallowing it, and it only takes one attempt before you successfully swallow the tablet.

“You’ve been feeling pretty bad this whole week, haven’t you?” Ghost frowns underneath his mask. 

You think for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I guess. I think it’s mostly just stress.” 

You know it’s not just stress. 

For a while now, you’ve used something called ‘age regression’ as a form of stress relief. You don’t know exactly when it started, but you do know that it was before you were recruited for the 141. And originally, you made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t regress while on base, and you kept that promise for maybe a month before you broke it. 

You think it was Ghost that was the trigger, actually. You can vividly remember the first time you regressed while on base; you had just finished talking to Ghost, and he called you something—you think he called you something similar to ‘kid’—that made a flip in your mind switch immediately. You can remember excusing yourself from the conversation quickly, leaving your lieutenant slightly confused but otherwise unbothered by the strange action. 

And, worst of all, you can remember being in your quarters and practically burrowing under your blankets. You were curled up into a fetal position, trying to fight the urge to suck on your thumb or at least chew on something, but ultimately lost the fight and succumbed to your urges. You spent maybe a few hours like that, wide awake when you just wanted to try and sleep it away, thinking about that interaction you had with Ghost over and over again. 

You’re not stupid. You know that Ghost has some sort of soft spot for you—albeit, you don’t know exactly how soft that soft spot is, but it’s definitely soft. Soft enough that he goes the tiniest bit easier on you compared to other recruits, soft enough that he spares you more time than he does for others, and the most obvious of all—he initiates most of your conversations. 

Contrary to popular belief, he’s not the scary super-soldier most people think of him as. Sure, maybe he is kind of scary, and maybe his mask does jumpscare you when you’re doing missions in particularly dark spaces sometimes, but other than that he’s not scary in the slightest. If anything, he’s awkward. Awkward enough that he’s almost never the first person to talk to someone—except for you, of course. You don’t know why he acts so differently around you, but you don’t complain about it. 

“That’s rough,” Ghost looks down at you with concerned, empathetic eyes, “Sorry you’re so stressed. Mind me askin’ why?” 

“I don’t, but I also don’t know why I’m so stressed,” You huff out, even though you know the answer completely. You stand up, “I think it’s just me being sleep deprived. I’ve been having the tiniest bit of trouble falling asleep lately.” 

“You should’ve told me earlier,” Ghost tuts, “I have melatonin.” 

You give him a confused look. “You do?” 

“‘Course I do.” 

You blink at him for a moment before sighing, “Could I have some then?” 

“What’s the magic word?” You give him an unimpressed look, ignoring the way the words make your stomach twist, and his eyes crinkle in a way that lets you know that he’s grinning under his mask. 

“Could I please have some melatonin?” 

“The magic word was lotion, but I’ll let it slide,” Ghost hums, “There’s some in my office. I’ll grab it for you later.” 

“M’kay,” You look over at the door, unintentionally zoning out as you do. Your vision goes unfocused as the throbbing pain behind your eyebrows grows and something else grows inside of you. 

Jesus. Why can’t you choose any other time to get the urge to slip into a younger mentality? Why does your headache have to make everything worse for you? Why does Ghost have to be so nice and helpful? 

“Hey,” Ghost frowns, tapping a finger on your shoulder to snap you out of whatever trance you’re in, “[c/n]?” 

Oh God. 

Your eyes—that you try desperately to keep neutral—meet Ghost’s, his eyes soft and his eyebrows dipped downwards in a confused manner. His eyes are searching, flitting over you, trying to find something. The way he looks at you makes you want to squirm, and you can’t help but just slightly shuffle in place. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, voice as concerned as his look. That should be the breaking point for you, but you remain as big as you can be, and nod affirmatively. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You try to assure him, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel, “I think I’m just a little tired.” 

Ghost doesn’t look convinced. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder, the act like a hammer putting another dent in the wall you had put up. The leather of his glove is warm even through the thick material of your shirt, and it feels like hot metal against your cold skin, the clothing covering your shoulder be damned. 

“You can tell me if you’re not okay,” He tells you—what is he doing? Does he know something I don’t?—while his thumb starts rubbing circles into your shoulder, “I feel like you’re more than a little tired.” 

You stay silent for a little bit. You don’t know how to explain yourself, the words seeming to liquify and leak right out of you, making you speechless. He seems to notice this, sighing and letting his hand slip down to your hand, holding it and giving it a quick squeeze. 

“I think,” He looks around for a moment before turning back to you, “that we should head to my office so that nobody can bother us, and then you can tell me all about how you’re feeling right now. Does that sound okay?” 

You nod wordlessly, not trusting yourself to talk with how heavy your tongue feels, and you let Ghost lead you back to his office. It’s only a hallway away, but that’s still enough time to overthink everything that could possibly happen. How does he know something’s wrong? What gave it away? Did I do something bad? What did I do? Wh—

The creak of his office door opening snaps you out of your thoughts, and Ghost steps aside to let you enter his office first. Hesitantly, you take a few steps inside, and you hear the door click shut behind you as Ghost walks in. He takes your hand again, making you look at him as he guides you to a chair. 

You sit in the chair that’s in front of his desk, and he quickly drags out the chair that’s behind it so that it’s right next to yours. He sits down. 

He’s looking at you expectantly. 

“Uh.” You’re not sure what to say. He’s looking at you so reassuringly, it’s hard to keep yourself sitting upright. 

“I know something’s wrong,” Ghost says, leaning forward the tiniest bit, “I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.” 

He’s got to have at least some idea of what you’re experiencing, You think, trying to form some sort of explanation, He’s being so… weird? 

You swear there’s some other word you could use, but your vocabulary feels so limited, and you would mentally curse if you could because you know that now your explanation is gonna sound weird. You can’t use the words you want, you’re gonna be forced to use simple words, ones that can’t convey exactly how you feel. Words that—and it physically pained you to admit this—were childish. 

You can explain your situation. Just, now it would be more… blunt. And short. And also you’d feel like killing yourself afterwards. You won’t, obviously, but you can predict that you’ll come very close to doing so.

Okay, I have to say something because Ghost is looking more and more worried the longer I stay silent. 

“I feel…” You trail off for a moment, trying to get your thoughts in order for the next two seconds to actually say something that makes sense, before continuing in a far less confident tone, “… small.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. Ew. Ew. Ew. What. Why? Why that word? It leaves a sour taste on your tongue and yet you can’t think of any other word that would better suit how you feel. Still. Ew. 

Your thoughts are a jumbled mess ranging from fleeting thoughts of disgust to thoughts lodged in the back of your mind begging you to go anywhere else just so that you can stop having to have this conversation. This conversation requires words bigger than you have access to, and a sort of control over yourself that you can’t grasp. You can feel your hands twitching, wanting something to hold onto, anything to keep you distracted from the overwhelming urge to just regress. 

Ghost blinks. He didn’t expect that answer. 

“Small?” He repeats in a questioning tone, eyebrows furrowed, “I mean, compared to me, I guess you’re kind of short—” 

“No, no, not like short small,” You try to clarify, feeling just slightly discouraged by Ghost’s confused words, “Like…” 

You struggle to find the words that properly describe how you feel, only finding words like small and little in your current vocabulary. Your findings are making you increasingly upset, and you can feel your face start to grow hot with frustration and embarrassment. 

Oh my God. 

“Like…?” Ghost nudges your knee with his, trying to encourage you to talk, “I’m not leaving until you tell me.” 

There’s still a level of care in his words, no matter how confused he seems, and that adds all the more struggle to your predicament. Not only do you not want to tell him, but you can’t describe how you feel in a way that’s acceptable for someone your age to describe anything. At least, not in a way that you deem acceptable for yourself to describe anything. 

You’re far too old to be describing yourself as small. 

“[c/n]?” Ghost nudges you again, and you blink at him. Your eyes are flickering all over his mask, going anywhere but his eyes, since eye contact with anyone would make everything significantly worse for you right now. 

“It’s just—” You try to take a deep breath but your breath hitches. Everything is starting to make you feel so frustrated, and you’re starting to think that you might just throw a tantrum if you can’t do at least one thing right. You try to find the words you want to use but your throat is disobediently closing on you. Your mind feels like straight mush, and the quickly softening look that Ghost is giving you isn’t helping you at all. 

To your horror, in your inexplicable inability to talk in the way you normally do, you let out a small whine. It sounds obnoxious to your ears, and worst of all, sounds like something a little kid would do. 

You put your head in your hands, the quickly reddening skin of your cheeks getting cooled by the cold of your palms as you try and hide your face from Ghost. You can picture how he looks right now—somehow more confused than earlier, possibly annoyed, weirded out—and all those mental images make you bite your tongue to prevent another noise. 

“What was that?” You don’t answer him. 

To your non-answer, Ghost sighs, and you think, This is it, this is where he kicks me out of his office, oh my God I’m gonna get dishonorably discharged and he’s gonna give me a really mean look on my way out—

“Look at me.” You shake your head negatively. 

“Why not?” He sounds so confused, it makes you want to cry. There’s still a level of worry in his voice, and it adds to the fog that builds up in your brain. 

You move your face just slightly up so that your eyes peek out from above your fingertips, your hands covering the rest of your face. Ghost reaches out both of his hands, and ever so gently removes your hands from your face, uncovering your red cheeks and your lips—the lower of which quivers, like you’re about to cry. He notices this quickly, and you can practically feel the level of his worry shoot up. 

He doesn’t say anything, instead just holding your hands in his for a moment, before he sets them down into your lap. He looks at you, concerned, and asks, “Is it hard to talk right now?” 

You nod. His gaze shifts to his computer, and then back to you. 

“I’m gonna go look a few things up really quick, okay? I’ll just be right over there,” He nods over to the space behind his computer, “and I’ll be right back here in a few seconds.” 

You reluctantly nod again, and Ghost gets up from his seat. He grabs the back of the chair and drags it back around behind his desk, sitting down in it and powering on his monitor. It turns on almost immediately, much to his relief, and he goes to his browser and searches up a few things. You can’t tell what he’s searching up, only hearing the clacking of keys and the occasional final click that indicates that he’s hit the enter button. 

He stays there for maybe a minute or two. It’s a long few minutes, and you can feel yourself slipping more and more the longer he stays at his computer. And the more you feel yourself slipping into that younger mindset, the more you start to crave Ghost’s attention. 

The way his eyes are glued to his computer starts to irritate you. You’re aware that he’s doing something important, he must be, because why would he be so intent on looking something up otherwise, but still—you manage to feel the tiniest bit jealous of the computer. You know you’re too far gone when you can’t find it within yourself to realize that you’re jealous of a computer. 

Your eyes linger on him and he must notice this because he looks up from the screen of his monitor and looks over at you. As if he can read your mind, he reassures you, “Just a few more seconds.” 

But you said you were gonna be back in a few seconds a few minutes ago. 

You don’t voice your thoughts. Instead, you nod, because God forbid you annoy Ghost with your need for attention now when he’s being so patient with you. He looks at you for another moment before going back to his computer and looking something else up, this time with a little more fervor. 

Another few seconds pass and, true to his word this time, Ghost stops and gets up from his chair. He walks over to you, and your eyes follow him intently. He kneels down in front of you.

He looks hesitant to say something to you. That’s a first. That adds to the exponentially growing blob of fear that lives inside your mind, one of the only things that’s still prominent in the fog that conquers your brain. 

“Are you…” You feel like you know what he’s gonna ask you. You’re bracing yourself for the question, and he looks like he’s bracing himself just to ask it. 

“How, uh,” He’s trying to find the right wording, and you’ve never been able to relate to him harder than you do in this moment, “How… do you feel right now? How old?” 

How old? You don’t really like that question. As much as you like that you’re now getting attention, you’re starting to remember how little you actually enjoy this type of attention. The question is pretty vague, but at the same time so specific, and you’re almost ashamed to know exactly what the answer is. Or, at least, you would feel ashamed if there was room in your mind to feel so. 

“You said you feel small, right? Not like short small, just small?” He sounds more unsure of himself now, and you don’t think you like seeing him so reluctant to say something, “I looked up what it means to feel like that. Took some time, but I got to some person’s… website, and the person who wrote it was talkin’ about feeling like that. Something about regression, feeling a little bit younger than usual?” 

He’s being so awkward about it, and while you typically find his awkwardness funny, now it’s anything but that. 

“Uhm,” Your voice comes out as a mumble and you see Ghost perk up at it. You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you’re silent again, before you get over your embarrassment for a quick two seconds and force yourself to say, “Four.” 

“Four?” Ghost asks, before quickly realizing, “Right. Four. You feel four?” 

You nod, and your hands instinctively start moving back up to cover your face. Ghost swiftly grabs them, keeping his grip gentle as he keeps them from reaching your face. 

“Hey, don’t try to hide again,” He says, tone softening as he holds your hands, “everything’s fine, okay? Do you— what, uh— do you need me to do anything? Do you want me to leave you alo—”

“No!” You quickly answer, a little surprised by your own volume, before you clear your throat and answer in a much more quiet voice, “Don’t leave me alone.” 

“Okay, okay,” Ghost’s thumbs rub across the back of your hands, a soothing gesture that makes you the tiniest bit more relaxed, “what do you need?” 

You sniffle, and you can see an immediate look of panic cross Ghost’s eyes. You don’t know how well he is with crying children, and don’t want to impose such a situation on him, but you also can’t stop the tears that begin to well up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Hey, don’t cry,” He borderline begs, “everything’s gonna be okay, okay? Please do not cry. Take a deep breath.” 

You try to take a deep breath, you really do, but your breath just hitches and gets caught in your throat. It only makes you more distressed, adding to the urge you have to just disappear. Ghost notices your failed deep breathing and lets go of one of your hands, before taking the other and holding it to his chest.

You can just barely feel his heartbeat, his thick tactical vest and gear in the way of it, but you can still feel it. Ghost takes a deep breath, holding it for a second or two before slowly exhaling. 

“You copy me, okay?” He tells you, his words an order but his tone suggesting otherwise. He takes another deep breath, this time hoping you’ll follow his lead, and you do. 

You try to breathe with him, your hand on his chest helping, but your breath keeps getting caught in your throat. Ghost notices this, but continues his breathing anyway, hoping you’ll catch on soon. You do, thankfully—after a few more attempted breaths, you finally manage one almost identical to Ghost’s. The next few after that go similarly, and that’s when Ghost decides you’re alright to take your hand off of his chest. 

“I need you to tell me what to do,” He says, keeping your hand in his hold, “or at least tell me how all of this works. I want to help you.”

 You really don’t want to tell him what you need right now, but you also don’t think you have a choice. 

Wordlessly, you stand up from your seat, balance just slightly off-center before you quickly get your footing right. Ghost watches you, not moving, before you tug on his hand to try and urge him to get up as well. He obliges, getting up. 

“What—” You interrupt him by taking another step forward and letting your head thump right into his chest, ignoring the itchy uncomfortable feeling of his vest against your face. You don’t bother to wrap your arms around him to at least try and form some sort of hug, preferring to just smush yourself into him and hope for the best. 

After a moment of stunned silence, he wraps his arms around you. 

“You mind if we move behind my desk so I can look up some more stuff on all of this?” He asks, voice quiet, “Unless you want to just tell me?” 

“Desk,” You simply mumble into his vest, making him nod. 

“Alright, but you’re gonna have to stop hugging me for a second,” Ghost warns you. You reluctantly step away, and Ghost smiles softly down at you, bringing his hands away from your back and instead holding one of yours. 

He leads you behind his desk, and lets go of your hand before sitting down in his chair. Pausing, he quickly realizes you have nowhere to sit, and thinks for a moment before getting back up. He drags his chair just slightly to the side and looks back at you. 

“Sit down,” He nods to the chair, “It’s only gonna be a minute or two, alright?” 

You nod, hesitantly moving to sit in the chair, not really liking how far away from Ghost it is. It's not that far, You try to rationalize, I’m gonna be fine. 

Ghost can see your hesitation and tries to work as quickly as he can, grateful that he didn’t turn his computer off earlier, typing away on his keyboard. You don’t care to see what he’s looking up, more focused on looking at the time on his monitor. 21:44. 21:45. The time ticks by and even though it’s only been a few seconds you already want Ghost’s attention again. His attention has actually turned into good attention, and that’s the type of attention you’ve been craving for the past week. 

The clock reads 21:47 once Ghost is done, and he powers his monitor off this time, the small whirring the device makes dying down to a low hum before going completely silent. He turns to you, and somehow can sense that you need more attention. 

“Am I not paying enough attention to you?” He teases you, making you conflicted on whether you should be annoyed by the teasing or happy you’re finally getting attention. As if he can read your mind, he chuckles, and kneels down to your level. 

“I’m gonna give you as much attention as you need, alright?” He promises, “I just need you to stay in this room.” 

— 

Ghost watches you nod non-verbally, and it only adds to his softening expression. 

He’s always had a soft spot for kids. He knows that you aren’t technically a kid, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still see you as one. You’re young for someone in the military, much less someone in this 141, and now that he’s found out that you’re an age regressor, that you’re a little—well, that doesn’t help how he sees you at all. 

He thinks that maybe the reason he has such a soft spot for kids is a few encounters he’s had with them in the past. He’s seen far too many in compromising positions while on missions; positions like being held hostage, being held as prisoner, or just generally being mistreated or even just living in bad conditions. 

He looks at you, and he just sees another one of those kids. 

He sees how you act around him. He’s not stupid. When he talks to you, you’re actually engaged in the conversation, compared to when anyone else tries to talk to you—maybe excluding Price, or Soap, or Gaz, heavy on that maybe—you’re more likely than not brushing them off every chance you get. You’re standoffish with everyone else, but with him, you’ll always accept any conversation he initiates. 

He can also see the way you look at him. It’s like you’re looking at your idol, or your savior, the way you look up at him. He can see that curious glint in your eyes when he tells you about a recent mission, or when he tells you anything, really. He can see when you try to mimic how he holds his weapons, and when you try to copy his techniques. 

He remembers catching you one day in the shooting range trying to mimic how he aims at the targets—looking through your scope with one eye closed, the other focused only on the dot centered on the scope, taking a deep breath in and out before shooting, and keeping the gun exactly like that even seconds after the shot’s been fired. 

In fact, the copying has gone from guns to melee weapons recently. Ghost swings only his forearm when he uses a knife, thumb resting on the very end of the knife’s handle, and entire arm stiff as he does. He does a slow windup when behind someone, a fast one on the off-chance that he’s in front, and buries the weapon to the hilt in whoever’s flesh he’s penetrated. He’s already seen you do the same on a recent mission. Not only that, but he caught you using a knife almost identical to his. 

And now, you’re still looking at him like that—except, different. Sort of like how a kid might look up to their parents. 

“What do you feel like doing, kiddo?” He asks, hoping the pet name isn’t too much. 

From the way your eyes light up, he suspects it isn't. 

“Mmm…” You hum, thinking for a moment, before requesting, “Coloring?” 

“Coloring, huh?” Ghost looks around for some blank paper and some sort of marker or pen thick enough to act as one, but can only find some highlighters. He turns to you, frowning, “Sorry, but I don’t think I have any paper, kid. Anything else you wanna do?”

You shake your head, and Ghost is just about ready to jump off of a bridge before you point to his arm and repeat, “Coloring.” 

He looks at his arm for a second, confused, before he remembers a conversation the two of you had a month or so ago. 

“If you ever wanna get tattoos, I know a guy in Brighton,” Ghost said, reclining his chair back so that he can lay down in it. You were sitting across from him in front of his desk, fiddling with one of his pens. 

“Good to know,” You hummed, “You have any tattoos?” 

“Yeah,” You perked up at his admission, and he sat up for a second to roll up the sleeve of his shirt. He wasn’t wearing his usual gear, only one of those standard issue army-green shirts. 

“Here,” He pointed to a large tattoo covering his whole arm like a sleeve, a few designs you could point out to yourself being a skull, a few Roman numerals, and some kind of scythe. 

“Very emo,” You commented, making Ghost snort, “I like it.” 

“I’m glad,” He rolled his sleeve back down. 

There’s a lot of blank space in the tattoo, despite it being a sleeve, and he can already tell that you mean you want to color in that space. He thinks about it for a moment, a fleeting thought of is that even safe? crossing his mind before he ultimately decides that he doesn’t care and would rather kill himself than see you disappointed because he denied your request, his own health be damned. 

“Alright,” He hums, grabbing a few highlighters from a mesh cup on his desk in the colors pink, yellow, and blue, “Go for it.” 

You give him a small smile and if he cared about if he’d get ink poisoning two seconds ago, he sure as hell doesn’t care now. You gingerly grab the highlighters from his hand, your grabbing not too secure and sort of clumsy but secure enough that the markers stay in your hand.

You hold them with both hands, and it makes Ghost realize how small your hands are—sure, you could hold the highlighters with one hand, but he’s glad you aren’t because now he can admire just how small you are as a whole. 

You set the yellow and blue down on his desk, making sure they don’t roll off for a moment before uncapping the pink and hesitantly holding out a hand for Ghost’s arm. He rolls up his sleeve and obediently holds out his arm for you, watching curiously as you press the cold tip of the highlighter to his skin. You’re starting by coloring in the skull a neon pink, much to his amusement, and you’re starting in the dead center of its forehead. 

You’re so much more quiet than you usually are when you’re little, and you’re so much more hesitant, it makes Ghost want to just wrap you in a blanket and keep you safe and in his sight forever. 

Your tongue slightly pokes out from between your lips as you concentrate on coloring in Ghost’s tattoo, making him grin beneath his mask. The ink of the highlighter doesn’t stay within the black bounds of his tattoos at all, but he doesn’t care one bit, and he doesn’t think you care either. You finish up the skull quickly, and move onto the scythe that’s right next to it, this time capping the pink highlighter and grabbing the yellow. 

Ghost is pretty sure this is gonna stain his skin for a day or two, but he couldn’t care less.

He can’t help but notice how much more relaxed you look in your regressed state. More at peace, he should say. There’s no longer a hunch in your shoulders, your eyes aren’t twitching from your headache, and you’re not bouncing your leg like you usually do when you’re sitting down somewhere. It’s like any anxieties you had pre-regression had evaporated, like slipping into a younger mentality had taken away most of your worries, if not all of them. 

He also can’t help but wish he could see you like this more often. Not necessarily the regressed part, but the relaxed part. Well, maybe the regressed part too. You’re being such a sweetheart right now, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to live through this experience. 

“You having fun there, darling?” Ghost asks, his grin evident in his voice. The corners of your lips quirk up at the pet name and you nod silently, and now Ghost is starting to think you’re actually trying to kill him. You’re being so uncharacteristically shy, and you’re being so quiet, and you’re just being so sweet. 

It seems you’ve moved onto the blue highlighter now, coloring in the last bit of his tattoo. He doesn’t think he’ll ever wash it off—or, at least, he wouldn’t if he had a choice. He knows that he has to shower sometime soon, but surely he can put that off for a bit, right?

Once you’re finished with your coloring, you cap the highlighter, and set it down next to the others you’ve discarded. You turn Ghost’s arm the tiniest bit towards him so that he can see your work better. 

“‘s it good?” You ask quietly, watching intently for Ghost’s reaction. He looks over your coloring job and hums approvingly. 

“It’s amazing, I love it,” He assures you, smiling down softly at you, “You did great.” 

You seem to preen at the praise, and you take your hand off of Ghost’s arm, moving to put in your lap. You’re keeping yourself very contained, Ghost notices, Why? 

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when he hears you yawn, and you quickly move to cover your mouth as you do. He’s reminded that it’s almost twenty-two hundred, and while that usually wouldn’t be an issue for him, it’s an issue for you. You originally came to the 141 as someone who had a sleep schedule almost as fucked up at Ghost’s, but soon developed a habit of going to sleep somewhat early considering the training you had in the morning. So, now you get tired anywhere from eighteen-hundred to twenty-one hundred. After that, your only goal is to find somewhere to sleep. 

“Sleepy?” You nod tiredly, making Ghost coo, Ghost, the man who quite literally haunts some people’s nightmares, coos at you, “Aw, of course you are, sweetheart. Pretty sure it’s way past your bedtime by now.” 

“Nuh uh,” You deny, making Ghost chuckle. 

“‘Nuh uh’?” He asks, amused, “What d’you mean ‘nuh uh’?” 

“No b’dtime,” You shortly elaborate. 

“Ohhh, okay,” Ghost feigns realization, “You think you’re too big for a bedtime, huh?” 

“Mhm. Way too big.”

“I dunno about ‘way’ too big,” Ghost hums, checking to see if the highlighter on his arm has dried before he pulls his sleeve back down. “You seem pretty little to me.” 

“No,” You whine, dragging out the ‘o’, “Not lil’.” 

“Hmm… you sure, kiddo?” Ghost asks, “So if I ask you if you need to go to bed, you’re gonna say ‘no’?” 

That makes you hesitate, and Ghost almost thinks he’s won, before your own pettiness wins and you nod affirmatively. He raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Alright, well, you’ve gotta sleep at some point,” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. 

You think this over for a second, and he watches as you look over him for a moment before looking down at his lap, then looking back up at him. He can already tell there’s some sort of plan forming in your mind.  Wordlessly, you get up, and Ghost does nothing to stop you as you decide to just plop yourself down into his lap. You straddle his thighs, moving until you’re sitting comfortably on him, and then let yourself slump forward so that your face is resting in the crook of his neck. It takes him a moment to process what just happened, before he laughs lightly and wraps both of his arms around you to keep you in place. 

“Oh, okay,” He grins, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you just wanna cuddle with me until you fall asleep? Is that what this is?” 

He feels you nod against his neck, and his grin grows as he rubs one hand against your back, trying to soothe you to sleep. He doesn’t say anything else, not wanting to distract you from your attempts to sleep anymore, simply letting you stay slumped against him. Your breathing wasn’t too fast-paced to begin with, but as you relax even more in his arms, he can feel your breathing even out. 

You’re falling asleep fairly quickly, and the only complaint he has is that he didn’t get to spend nearly as much time as he wanted to with you while you were awake and regressed. 

Once he’s sure you’re barely awake, he murmurs, “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?” 

— 

You don’t know how long it’s been since you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by the slight rustling of clothes, and then you feel yourself moving up. 

Your mind still feels foggy and you can tell you’re still somewhat in that younger mindset of yours, but now you’re significantly less bothered by it than you were before. You’re awake enough to be aware of what’s happening, always having been a light-sleeper, but not awake enough to know exactly what’s happening. You don’t dare open your eyes, and try to keep your breathing even—though that isn’t much of a challenge. 

That headache that had been building up earlier has fully disappeared, thank God, and you no longer feel the tension in your shoulder that you’d been unconsciously carrying. 

You can sort of feel someone’s arms snaked under your back, and you know that you’re being moved somewhere. Quickly, you remember that it’s Ghost carrying you, and that you had fallen asleep on him, much to your embarrassment. Or, at least, it would be much to your embarrassment if you had the mental capacity to feel embarrassed about that right now. But you feel so comfy and so safe that it really doesn’t matter to you right now. 

You can hear the clicking of Ghost’s boots against the concrete floors of the hallway, and he’s carrying you off somewhere; you imagine that somewhere to be your sleeping quarters. He’s walking pretty fast, not hurriedly but still at a somewhat fast pace. 

Soon, he reaches a stopping point where he has to awkwardly put one leg up to support your back on his thigh as he quickly reaches one arm out to turn the knob of the door to your sleeping quarters and pulls that arm right back to support your back again. He sighs as he puts his foot back down, kicking open the door and walking in. 

He’s quick to reach your bed, and he pauses as he considers what to do. You can practically hear him thinking, wondering how he’s gonna get you under the covers while he’s still carrying you, and for a second you think about showing him you’re awake so that things are easier for him before he sets you down on the bed. 

He pulls the covers up and stops when he reaches the part your body covers, and picks you back up, before dropping you right back off where the blankets have been pulled away. He pulls the covers back over you. 

After a few moments, you think he’s left the room, before you hear the rustling of fabric and feel him leaning down. He gently presses his lips to your forehead and pulls away after a second or two, before quietly mumbling, “Night, kiddo.”

He stays there for a moment before you hear his footsteps leave the room, and then the door clicking shut behind him as he leaves the room entirely. 

You’re quick to fall asleep after that.

[fandomfuntimem]

More dp x dc and/or just dp stuff i would like to see more of.

(This time just stuff i think would be fun)

Danny gets more animalistic and ghostly in ghost form over time:

I've always loved the joke "from the day we are born we are slowly dying" and since this guy is half dead, he slowly looks more like a ghost when in his ghost form.

As for the animalistic thing. I dont mean legit growling or purring. I mean him having painted ears that move around and pin back when mad. Maybe a tail (tails are fun for expressing emotions). Pupils that dilate and slit. Stuff like that. He just gets more funky with time.

Constantine and Danny actually get along:

They're both tired, magical, and have seen some shit. If they are both adults when meeting they can be drinking buddies or something idk.

If Constantine met Danny as a teen tho i imagine he wouldn't look down on Danny or get too annoyed with him. He would treat him as an equal. He recognises and magic users are different, and Danny has been dealing with the magical bullshit all alone. This kid deserves some respect damn it! Infact it would be funny if the JL interacted with them at the same time and realized they were actually both really similer. Similer facial expressions and exhausted attitudes.

Danny is just stupidly calm in the face of horrific things:

I tried to find that meme with the "well that just happened" thing but couldnt find it.

But yeah. Mans is used to it.

Danny is more conflicted about where he belongs:

Too alive to be dead, too dead to be alive. Poor guy is practicly the town punching bag and ghosts always target him for what he is. He feels like he never belongs. It should be expressed more often. Like maybe he feels free and happy as Phantom, but he also knows that as Danny he's who his family and friends love and care about. Make him conflicted.

In a dp x dc context. I feel like at first you think he would fit in amoungst the heros. But he's too young to interract with the adult heros, but too experienced and powerful to interact with the younger heros. He struggles to fit in and he has to work through that. That also circles back to the Constantine point. I dont know much about the magic users in dc, but i can image theres a very large veriety of them all ranging in species and age. So maybe he belongs most with them, cuz to them he's just another acultist.

THERE NEEDS TO BE MORE FLUFF!:

STOP THE TORTURE, STOP THE HURT, LET THERE JUST BE FAMILIAL FLUFF!!!!!! LET THERE BE HEALING!!!! PROCESSING GRIEF AND EMOTIONS!!!!!!!!! LET THEM BE HAPPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[forsworned]

I NEED more Elias Walker content before I die😫😫💀

God Knows I Tried ft. Elias Walker

Synopsis: Your daddy issues are raging and your long-time 'victim' has been none other than your superior and captain, Elias Walker. After a failed attempt to capture and kill Rorke, you go to "comfort" him, but he seems to have other plans for you.

Author's Note: AND GUESS WHAT I WILL PROVIDE FOR YOU, I'M GLAD WE'RE REVIVING GHOSTS IN THE FORM OF DROOLING OVER DILFS BC LORD KNOWS I NEED SOME MORE MCDADDY CLUB LOVIN

Tags: NSFW, Daddy Issues, Age Gap, Power Dynamics, Reader has long hair???

Elias ruffles his fingers through his silver hair after he removes his distressed and worn mask, setting it down on his desk as he sharply inhales. He hadn't gotten to Rorke on time and that pissed him off, and rightfully so. The bastard had been getting away every damn time. His body is tense and he feels as though his anger is brimming from within, bubbling to the surface and he yearns to do something about it.

So when you come rapping on his door, ripping him away from his inner turmoil, and he hears the pleasant sound of your voice through the small crack asking, "Can I come in?" He is more than willing to oblige.

His body completely faces you now, beaconing you over, and taking in your figure in your all-black tactical uniform. It fits you like a second skin, but his intense gaze shifts to your smooth visage. The moonlight catches in your teeth when you greet him. "Can I speak to you for a moment, Sir?"

He raises a brow at you. "Somethin' on your mind, Sergeant?"

Truthfully, you had no idea why you came in. You just found yourself walking back to his office rather than your bunk. After today's failure, you want nothing more than to comfort him. You slowly step forward, just a few feet away from him. "Was just checkin' on you...?"

God, you were so stupid. Checking in? Come on...

A flash of amusement etches into his features, he tilts his head as he studies your expression. "Checkin' in?" He leans his palms against his wooden desk.

"Yeah, I mean--I know this is something very close to you..."

Oh. My. God. Would you shut the everliving fuck up!?

He sighs and turns to the night sky. The moon is full, and its luminance brings a sense of calm to him. He chuckles at your obvious statement, but he doesn't chide you about it. Something about you makes the hardass in him a little soft. "Suppose so."

You swallow and fiddle with the leather on your gloves, waiting to think of something, anything else to add to the conversation, but your mind is coming up blank.

"Tell me, Sergeant--why did you really come into my office?"

Your heart drops to your ass, and your stomach does the thing. Not the hot-and-sexy-thing, but the oh-shit-I-just-got caught thing.

Elias is a sharp man; follows his intuition, checks every corner he treks, and was raised by plain-spoken folk. He can see through most people and unfortunately, you're most people. You wear your heart on your sleeve, your gaze lingers longer than usual and although it may not be obvious to others, you imitate most of his behaviorisms.

Where you used to take your coffee sweet and milky, you now take black. The way you now drink sparkling water over soda. Your go-to music is The Eagles and Creed over Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift (though you still did listen to them, it was seldom). Even your eating habits have changed drastically from avid fast food eater to health nut, although that seems more like a get in shape sorta ordeal due to your fast-paced, rigorous work environment. Either way, you have definitely been picking up on a lot of things that he actively does.

You avert your gaze to your fatigued boots. "I don't know."

"Step forward, soldier." He commands, and you oblige. Not because he commanded it, but because you want to be nearer to him. To take in the scent of gunpowder and the leftover aroma of his aftershave.

You're a foot away from him now, hands tucked behind your back, eyes forward. His dark eyes size you up, and you feel the sweat forming on the nape of your neck. 

"Eyes up." His fingers tap under your chin and your lip quivers a bit when you meet his gaze. "You gonna tell me what's really on your mind?"

He taps on your chin once more. "And don't lie to me."

You swallow thickly. "It's not...appropriate."

He clicks his tongue and a half smile appears on his lips. "That right?"

You nod. "Yes, sir."

"I want to hear it."

But he sees the trepidation that overcomes your features. It’s been so painfully obvious to him. Your little crush. It was endearing, cute, mere puppy love, but he would be lying to himself if he hadn’t thought of molding your walls with his girthy cock. He usually tiptoes around it, but the mission from earlier is bringing on an itch that he can’t quite scratch. Not even a Playboy mag could get him right anymore.

He sighs. "You're not my bud to blossom, sweetheart." Brushing the strands out of your face. You tremble at his touch, yet you lean into it. God, he could do anything to you and you'd let him.

"But I'd let you." You grasp his hand. His eyes ream in surprise, but the building arousal jostles up his spine. He may think that blossom is not for him, but he's intently observing how your desire stirs, seeping into your veins. His breath spreads out your petals, the smell of your perfume permeating, intoxicating him.

Your lips part open and his thumb slips in, your saliva coating his gunpowder-stained skin draws an involuntary groan from him. He wants to devour you, but he can't. You're too sweet, too decadent, too fresh. He needs to take his time to savor you. It's wrong, but he can't help himself. Especially when you look up at him with those pretty, perfect doe eyes with his fingers in your mouth.

Your free hand palms at his crotch. It's intrepid, daring how forward you are about your fiery fervor for him. He cocks an eyebrow at you, but he doesn't halt your actions.

"That's a big weapon you're slingin' there, sir." You smirk up at him, squeezing his member over his trousers. "Can I cock it?"

He chuckles at your cheekiness. He wants to disarm you, wipe off everything on his desk, and throw you up there. And you'd be so easy to lift too...

But he's shocked when your lips lock with his, a dauntless action on your part. A subordinate fraternizing with her superior? It's enough to get you locked up, and dishonorably charged, but this wasn't the minor leagues anymore. You were hunting for bigger fish. Something that's beyond the crumbling American government outside these four walls. There's a spark between the both of you that you've been waiting to ignite in him, and he can no longer suppress his deepest hunger pains for his carnal needs.

And soon he is swiping away at the stacks of papers and stationery that lines his desk, hoisting you up to sit that pretty ass on his mahogany counter. A gruff moan escapes his lips as you collide once more, and you're practically clawing at his chest. His tongue slips between your lips wanting to collect yours as your teeth clash in desperate need for each other's solace.

His hands grasp at your wrists, slowing you down, wanting to relish in your taste, your smell, your touch, and the way you moan when he dips his head in the crook of your neck to sensually kiss at your sweet spot. Perspiration builds at the base of his forehead as he slowly unzips your fleece, revealing more of your skin and he kisses at your sternum. Your fingers thread through his silver hair and your breaths become labored at his hot touch.

He wants to build as much anticipation as possible before he takes all of you, all of what you'll allow him at least. Impatiently, your arms cross over your chest, pinching at the hem and smoothly peeling off the skin-tight fabric, leaving you only in your tactical bra. Elias pauses for a second. He loves to appreciate the finer things in life.

His fingers caress your disheveled plait from the top to where your hair tie keeps it bound and he gently removes it. You analyze the lust and admiration in his features as he carefully unweaves your hair.

You watch as his Adam's apple oscillates. "You're beautiful." He susurrates, carding his fingers through your hair. Your heart stammers against your chest when you notice how he looks at you. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your collarbone to the strap of your bra, and slides either side off of your shoulder to reveal your naked breasts. Your nipples instantly harden from the chill in the room, and he gulps before reaching out to squeeze your left one.

To say it had been a while was simply an understatement. The touch of a woman has been lost on him since the death of his wife. So soft, so supple. He pinches at your bud and you involuntarily arch your back and whine out. The guilt he feels dissipates the second his lips latch onto your nipple and you shudder as his tongue swirls around the sensitive skin. "Captain...!"

He gently hushes and kisses your lips tenderly, then your cheek, your jaw as he cops another feel, grabbing two handfuls of your tits while he sucks on your neck. One of his hands glides over the expanse of your abdomen, to unbuckle your belt and unzip your trousers--

"Dad?"

Shit, he left the office unlocked. But it's too late. His boys are stepping through the door, although it's not long before their eyes ream at your half-naked form, legs spread with their father between them. Hesh quickly shuts the door and you both glance down, feeling the guilt skulk into your minds.

"I should go--" Elias sputters, and you nod as you scramble to put your clothes back on. Now this was humiliating. Being caught by his sons fraternizing with their father is just the icing on the cake of it all. You straighten your hair and fix your collar as you begin to head out the door, but his hand catches your wrist bringing you back flush against his chest.

"Don't think I'm lettin' them scare you off." He caresses your cheek, with thumb and you sigh, cheeks still warm with embarrassment. "I ain't done with you yet, sweetheart. Got that?"

He raises his brows at you and you nod. "Yes, sir."

He kisses you softly and your heart skips a beat. "Go on, now." He gestures toward the door. "I'll deal with those two."

Your lashes flutter up at him and you feel warmth all over. He smiles at you, kissing your wrist and it's no wonder you keep forgetting to leave. His gaze, his aura it's alluring and you keep pulling back in for more.

He chuckles at the hearts in your eyes. "That's an order, soldier."

You straighten at his words and nod before rushing out the door, ensuring you hear the click as you close it and quickly get to your quarters. A feeling of heaviness weighs on your shoulders as soon as you shut your door. How were you going to face Hesh and Logan?

[mandoriana]

I Could Be Pretty (funny) by grayskiesandstars

Charles deserved perfection. Edwin wasn’t perfection, no matter how hard he tried to get things completely right every time. How could he be perfection?

He wasn’t even pretty.

~~~

or: Charles likes to draw. Edwin likes to write. They both believe that they are unworthy of each other.

The Case of the Looping Boy by NobleDragon

When Edwin escapes Hell for the first time, in the year of 1989 in his schools basement, he never thought he would be a detective. In fact, he never thought that his first case would be something he would ever solve nor be something that he would never tell of.

Edwin never thought that he would have to solve a ghost looping his own death over and over, ending with the boy dying from the cold and thrown stones in St. Hilarion's dusty attic.

Terrible at keeping secrets (5+1) by ASingularSadSoggyPringle

AKA 5 Times someone finds out Edwin is a demon, and 1 time he tells everyone.

Edwin crawls out of Hell on the day Charles Rowland dies- it ties Edwin to him in a way he can't explain, or admit to Charles, at risk of exposing himself as not what he seems. He doesn't want to lie, but he doesn't want to lose those closest to him, either. Too bad he's terrible at keeping secrets, and it seems they already know.

i'm not free at all (my heart is like a haunted house) by halffulljampot

“Are you okay m’am?”

Beatrice Payne looks up to see a young man, a young ghost in fact, standing in front of her. She has seen the decades slowly turn since her death and so would guess, based on the ghost’s attire, that he originates from the 1980s. He really is very young. A similar age to her son when she lost him.

*****

Five times that Beatrice Payne and Charles Rowland talk about Edwin without knowing it and one time they do.

Become So Numb by snowkatze

Charles never manages to convince the Night Nurse to let him rescue Edwin.

boyfriend jacket by skadii

Five times Charles gave Edwin his jacket and one time Edwin stole it.

You said, “I’ll never leave you alone” by Aster_Flower114

A 2 part fic where Edwin and Charles both have to turn into their orb forms to recharge their energy. The story of Orbwin and Chorb.

a world without you (isn't meant for me) by fairest

When Charles finally finds him after what feels like hours of searching in the endless stretches of hallway, he is not expecting a second boy.

Or,

Simon accepts Edwin's offer.

The Case of the Living Ghost by Creepypasta_fander

When a spell goes wrong on a case, Edwin finds himself living again. Despite his best attempts to find a solution to this problem before the night is out, he must eventually succumb to the functions of a normal, living body

back to back they faced each other by ShanaStoryteller

The Night Nurse has a theory about Charles.

Everyone has favorites

[vladdyissues]

I like the idea of "halfa's ghost form changes with their personality". First of all, it looks the age halfa feels himself/herself (so, yes, I doubt that Phantom is forever 14). I guess, Danny will get a full knight armor and, maybe, some stuff like a cape.

As for Vlad, I have more headcanons (but I should warn you, I see his hair as long and loose which is better for bitter broken lonely soul). The first change should has happened after "Masters of All Time": Vlad was at full force all the time to heal yourself, preventing ecto-acne symptoms, but since he is cured, his ghost form is in normal state, Plasmius' eyes aren't the whole red anymore, it's human-alike but still red, maybe, there're some pink inclusions.

At the start of Vlad's redemption arc he must develop his creative skill (ecto-constructions, weapons that works on his pink ectoplasm), trying new forms. Slowly but surely he will approach to his dream - to raise a child - he will learn how to create a life. It will take decades or even centuries but soon he will learn to make something beautiful and durable. Something like this will add to the ghost form, something like a… pink rose's tucked behind the ear.

And the last change in Plasmius' look I see is breezy hairstyle which is formed after the mutual love confession of Vlad and Danny.

I'm sorry if these hcs sound too corny for Vlad but after all I see the bitter broken lonely man who develops by love and the young halfa into the beautiful burning soul but still bitter-sweet because he can't forget what he comes through. (I love him)

No no no, these headcanons are great! Beautiful, actually. (I firmly believe there's no such thing as a "corny" headcanon. That's like saying only certain hopes and dreams have value while others are worthless—and what are headcanons but our hopes and dreams for stories and the characters within them?)

Evolving ghost forms, especially for halfas—who, unlike spectral entities, are still changing and aging—makes a lot of sense. And the idea of Vlad having long, flowing biseinen hair is very appealing 🌹

You also brought up a fantastic point about Vlad's ecto-acne being cured in Masters of All Time and how that would affect him going forward. I have a pile of headcanons about that myself but I'll make a separate post about it since it's more general meta.

But yes, imagine if Vlad was allowed to be more than a 2-dimensional cartoon villain, and curing his ecto-acne removed a terrible, irritating thorn from his side. When one is no longer suffering or in chronic pain—or living in fear of the next flare-up—imagine the difference that would make mentally and emotionally.

How could Vlad possibly be unchanged after that? The Fentons cured him. (Okay, it was more Danny discovering the cause and Maddie developing the vaccine, but still, it was their combined efforts that ultimately saved him.) If there was going to be a turning point for Vlad's character, that would have been the place to start, just like you said.

And hey, we can still dream that's what really happened, right? 🔮

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

i’ve got you

plum, chapter nineteen 

warnings: Joel Miller x reader, smut, MILD SPOILERS for the last of us (both games and the hbo series), timeline wise this is set in between the first and second game (so when they live in Jackson), age gap (20 years), rape recovery, ptsd, kissing, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, dirty talk, love confession

word count: 1301

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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“Hey, are you okay?” Joel asked as he felt your body suddenly stiffen up in his lap. 

“I-…” you exhaled slowly, focusing your jittery vision on his warm eyes, “this just got very real all of a sudden…”

“Yeah…” his wide palm moved gently over your bare back, his respectful gaze staying on your face and not drifting down to soak up the distracting vision of your collective nude forms moulded against each other, “do you wanna stop?”

“No,” you shook your head lightly. 

“Do you wanna do something else? Because you know I’m fine, we don’t have to do this.”

“No, I really really want to, I just-…” your eyes drifted down to stare at his shoulder while you spoke sincerely, “I wanna stay here with you and not have my mind wander off and get confused…”

“I want you to stay here too, more than anything,” his fingers tangled themselves in your hair, bringing your eyes back up to meet his, “what can I do? What can I do to help?”

“I don’t know…” you offered him a shy shrug, “I guess you could try and remind me? Help keep me focused on this, on you…”

“Okay,” he agreed softly, his thumb swiping over your flushed cheek, “well you’re right here with me, there is no one else, just you and me, plum.” 

“Yeah,” you exhaled, your shoulders relaxing under his comforting touch. 

“And you know that I’ve got you, right? No matter what, no matter how, I’ve got you.”

Feeling a soft smile warm up your face, you echoed, “you’ve got me,” and absentmindedly rolled your hips once more against his own, rubbing your leaking cunt all over the underside of his length as it stood proud. 

Leaning in to steal a chased kiss, you sneaked your hand down between your forms and ghosted your fingers over his girth. Joel sucked in a breath as you slowly gained more confidence, dancing your fingertips over his slick stained dick. 

With a hand rooted on his chest as an anchor, you needily began to buck your hips against him, your weeping folds enveloping his cock as you rocked against him.  

“Fuck,” Joel hissed in pleasure, his nose bumping lightly against your own as he commented on the slick sounds accompanying every desperate rock, “you’re so wet.”

Brows knitted together you let your head drop down and hide in the crook of his neck, your whimpers vibrating against his skin and as you felt the fire inside of you begin to grow out of control, and so did the confession that irrepressibly flowed from your blissful lips. 

“I love you.” 

You instantly froze up, feeling your swollen clit throb against his hard cock. 

“Oh my god…” he breathed, sounding utterly amazed. 

“I-…” you continued to hide, “oh god, I’m sorry… I-, I’m sorry…”

“No, hey, hey,” his hands found your neck and gently pulled you back, “why are you sorry, huh?” he searched your averted gaze. 

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“You didn’t mean it?”

“No, I just didn’t mean to blurt it out like that!” completely mortified, you brought your hands up to shield your face.

“…so you-”

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“Plum,” you felt his thumbs swipe over the backs of your hands, begging them to reveal your face to him, “please stop apologizing for telling me the best thing you could ever say to me,” holding your breath, you slowly let your fingers fall down. Sucking in a gasp of air, he gazed into your nervous eyes and uttered earnestly, “I love you too.”

Feeling lightheaded, you breathed, “what?”

“I love you,” he repeated with a small chuckle as the words sank in. 

“You-… you do?”

“Yeah, of course I do, I mean, how could I not-,” but he didn’t get to gush any further as you feverishly grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss, an amazed giggle soon interrupting your adoring lips. 

“I love you,” you smiled, planting a dozen pecks all over his face, his arms wrapping around you and enveloping you in warmth as he contentedly rocked the both of you lightly in his embrace. 

“I love you,” he beamed as you gently raised your hips up and grabbed his twitching length, aligning it with your entrance, “I lo-… love-… holy shit,” he cursed as you slowly sank down on his fat girth.

The sensation of him stretching you out had a confusing cocktail of emotions flooding your system. It both felt so beyond amazing because it was him, it was Joel, but it also had your body trembling with the assault of tainted memories. 

Your wide eyes eventually locked on his as you stilled in his lap, letting the warmth of his kind eyes ground you as you breathed, sounding like you were sucking in your very first breath, “Joel,” your chest rose and fell rapidly as your vision washed over his face. 

One arm staying safely around your torso, the other hand drifted up to the side of your head, “yeah, it’s me, it’s just me,” lovingly taming your wild hair as you steadied your fevered breath. 

Feeling your body relax under his touch, your fluttering eyes darkened as you instinctively rolled your hips, “Joel,” watching his face contort beautifully as you grinded in his lap, letting his cock nuzzle in that much deeper. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” the arm that was tangled around you snaked down so that the hand could supportively grip your backside, “keep saying my name, just like that,” you desperately picked up the pace, moaning intoxicatedly at the sound of his deep voice, “it’s just me, I’ve got you.”

Half of the time when his name left your lips, the mantra sounded utterly incoherent as your moans drowned it out, leaving the whispered prayer completely unrecognizable. 

Asking for permission with his gaze, he kept his eyes locked on yours as he lowered his head down enough to bury it in the swell of your tit, feeling his hot tongue swipe across your skin as his cock stretched you out so intoxicatingly. 

With one hand firmly aiding your fevered pace, the other one stayed right where your bodies met, swirling your swollen clit with a firmness that made it difficult for you to keep your hazy eyes open. 

“Joel,” you let him take over as you neared the end, surprising you with how effortlessly he bounced you in his lap, sloppy wet sounds filling the living room as your skin slapped against each other with every needy thrust, your juices undoubtedly dripping down onto the couch at this point. “Joel,” you whimpered as you clambered down around him, nearly choking his dick to death as you came on his cock.

Your thighs trembled violently as he let out a string of beautifully lewd moans, holding you there and fucking your spasming pussy just a few more times before he pulled you back just enough for him to yank out his angry cock, pumping it quickly in his tight fist, his forearm flexing under the strain as hot ropes of cum spilt out and painted your heaving belly. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, breathing heavy as he pulled you in to kiss your cheek. Draping both of his arms around you and holding you close, you felt his heartbeat thump against your chest as you slowly regained composure of your own ragged breathing. “You okay, Y/n?” 

“I-… I think so…” you blinked back at him, completely starry-eyed, “oh my god, I love you.”

“I love you,” he couldn’t help the relieved, breathy chuckle that bubbled out of him, “fuck, I’m so proud of you. You-, you’re-…” his eyes flicked across your face, his brain visibly melting at the way you looked back at him right now, “christ, I love you…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[rottedghuleh]

Ghost Headcanons!!

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, I've been sick lately with COVID and recently had a lack of motivation but here's some headcanons about the Papas and the Ghouls that I had written down!

Headcanons of Ghost because I've been in the fandom long enough and I feel like if I say my Mouthwashing headcanons in my other server, I'd get beheaded for having an opinion or something. And because I've held onto these for such a long time.

PAPA'S

- It's obvious that Nihil was a bit of man whore, I'm pretty sure that Secondo and Terzo have different mother's but the same dad. Copia is Seestor's baby boy, and I'm surprised not many people noticed it earlier especially when Tobias' mask for Copia got a nose job and his nose looked just like her's. I feel like Copia was probably babied growing up and was tried to be kept from the Ministry until he got older, mostly because of Seestor being afraid of how things would end for Copia.

- Primo, I'm pretty sure it was confirmed by Tobias, is about 80 years old. I think possibly that Primo is Nihil's brother. Mostly because of age. Primo probably helped take care of Secondo and Terzo whenever Nihil was being a deadbeat, but that's a maybe because Primo was more as seen as the "evil" one and he did say he would throw a brick at a panda's face for money in a interview for a magazine.

- Secondo and Terzo probably make fun of Nihil, more like a father-son bond of just picking on eachother.

- Most people think Terzo is more flamboyant than other's but I feel like from what I've seen in old interviews, he's actually more reserved than his on stage persona. I feel like he prefers to remain quiet, keeps not as much contact with the Ghouls unless needed.

- A small one that I kinda just came up with, Copia secretly smokes when Seestor isn't around because he is afraid he'd get in trouble if she saw. It started off as a joke in Chapter 12: Ghost Goes Hollywood. Then he started to do it more the more stressed he would start to get.

Ghouls

- They roam the Ministry late at night. They prefer to be nocturnal to avoid being seen in daylight. This usually ends up scared the shit out of Copia on late nights when he hears them up.

- Ghouls are more animalistic. They have three different forms. Humanoid, the most commonly seen and can often be uncomfortable for them to be on in stage which is why sometimes the Ghouls would be "feral" on stage which has been seen in many clips. Their "feral" stage, which is a more animalistic form they take on. Think of them as big, elemental demon cats that can either be very angry or very clingy. They tend not to talk much or be vocal. They would communicate with huffs, growls, purrs, or clicks (kinda like Predator). Then the most least common form, which is only seen when first summoned, is elemental. Each Ghoul is usually assigned with a element. Like Mountain is Earth, Cumulus is sky, so on forth. When Ghouls are first summoned, they are pure, raw, elemental energy that needs to be tamed over time.

- When they get angry, their elemental form can slowly peek out. Example, fire Ghouls would get hot and breathe smoke. I really haven't put much thought into the other elements yet but I know I want to come up with ideas for them later on.

- Ghouls live a long time. Even some of Nihil's Ghouls still roams the Ministry, but the newer, younger Ghouls know to stay away from them just in case. The oldest of the most recent era is Mountain. When asked about his age, the response is usually "just an age."

- Another thing I thought of is if they find a partner, they stay partners with them for life. If the partner does die, the other will not move on to a new one and will mourn for sometimes years by hiding away. Each element of Ghoul have a different custom for doing things. Either by mourning, celebrating a new life, or partner rituals.

[yellowbunnydreams]

The Blood Runs Thicker (part 17) ~vampire!William Afton x F! Reader~

~I have many plans for this series still! I wanted to thank everybody for their continued support.~

Tag-List; @ruh--roh-raggy @randymeeksisafinalgirl @sleepy---head @robin-the-enby @hungrhay @likoplays @slxsher-whxre @nicolezghostz @spiderlilytengu @yondus-girl @puppetstr1ings

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Want more or something different? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

CW:Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - ??), graphic acts of violence, biting, knife-play, blood, blood-drinking/licking, mention of dead children, anaemia. Mentions of torture. Drama/Angst. Possessive behaviour. Descriptions of a medical nature and disability.

Charlie's words still rang softly in your ear by the time you crawled into bed.

You hadn't quite believed that you had heard them, you asked the half-ghost what she had meant, but had only been met with silence in return. You supposed she had made her request, and it was time for you to enact it before William decided you were leaving to where-ever the next stop on his little road-trip was.

The vampire hadn't crawled into the large bed with you, but rather, Henry had given you separate rooms. You supposed it made sense, since he was probably very unsure of who exactly you were and how you were acquainted with William Afton, but you felt a little hurt that you hadn't been stood up for by William, that he hadn't said 'we're together'. This was the first time you'd seen the vampire get emotional though, uncomfortable, you had seen him confused and afraid when Michael and Elizabeth arrived, but even then he came back out swinging.

This was the first time he had really been vulnerable.

Getting up, you sighed and ran your fingers through your hair, taking a deep breath before slowly standing up and stretching your back. Padding out into the dark hallway, only the soft beep and whine of Charlie's medical devices to accompany the low lighting as you made your way down the stairs and to the kitchen, hoping to grab a glass of water and take it back up with you.

Instead, you found Henry Emily in his kitchen, fridge door open as he poked around inside it. His face ghostly in the blue LED from inside as he glanced up, eyes unfocused for a moment before he seemed to gain some clarity and smile at you.

"You're up late, young miss." Chuckling as you rubbed the back of your neck and gestured somewhat loosely to himself.

"Same could be said for you, Mr. Emily."

"Please, call me Henry. I appologise for not telling you you could earlier. I just..." he seemed lost for words as you both looked at each other for a moment before you piped up.

"Had a lot on your mind?" The older man smiled and nodded his greying curled head.

"Yes. Probably the best way to put it. Please, take a seat, I'll make some proper tea." Your stomach turned at the thought of more incipid tea, and you shook your head lightly. Henry chuckling as he moved carefully to one wall and flicked on the light switch, taking your sight for a few blinks. "At least let me make you proper tea, I realised after you went up to see Charlie how bad it was. I'm surprised you drank it at all."

Your shoulders relaxed an unknown tension in them. Despite the fact that Henry had seemed so full of rage and sorrow before, he felt more like a dad now as he shuffled around the kitchen and boiled some water in a kettle on the stove. The warm light of the aged kitchen making you think to your grandparents house that you used to visit when you were small. Somebody was always in there, making something that smelt great, and the light was always some form of sickly yellow.

He placed a mug down after a few moments and he held ones in his frail hands too, the banding across his knuckles telling you that despite his age, he was once a strong man. Perhaps not as strong as William looked, but he seemed to have been healthy and fit, once upon a time. Sipping the new drink, you were pleasantly surprised that it had a spice to it, sipping it again and your brow furrowing as you realised that there was cinnamon in the tea.

"Oh, I must have used the cinnamon sugar! I'm so sorry, I can make it again, it's how Charlie likes....liked...it." his lips pursed as he trailed off, the years catching up with him once again as you reached your hand out and gently held onto one of his cooler ones.

"It's nice...It seems like Charlie has some good taste." Henry smiled and he chuckled softly, his thumb idly stroking over your knuckles and you weren't sure whether he was trying to soothe himself or you. But you were sure that in that moment, but you felt like you really were being soothed by a parent.

"Yes, I know I'm biased since she's my little girl, but she was always a special girl." Swallowing thickly, he glanced up at you and held onto your hands with both of his, giving you a warm smile. "I wish she could see William again one more time, she adored him growing up."

You weren't sure how to react. You knew that William had killed probably killed children before thanks to the ghosts of Freddy's that seemed to haunt the animatronics, but they had never mentioned knowing him. This felt different. You weren't sure that Afton was capable of leaving somebody alive unless they owed him something, but Charlie...He seemed almost surprised that she was alive, like he hadn't expected her to be.

And then there was her request.

"I'm sure they were close." A tactful response, rather than the thoughts that wanted to spill from your lips.

"They were...and I know William would want to kill the bastard that did this to her." There was something icy in his voice that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and your heart begin to race in your chest. Despite his initial anger at William, the confusion, the hurt, he still sounded somewhat warm beneath it all.

"P-Pardon?"

"They said it was an animal attack, but Charlie had barely an defensive wounds. I love her, but she was a trusting child." The venom slowly creeped into his voice as his grip tightened on your hands, his knuckles turning white as you realised that despite looking older he had maintained quite a lot of his strength.

"Henry..." The older man's eyes began to well up with tears, loosening his grip on you as you stood and came around the kitchen table, gently hugging him to your side and soothing his curly hair as he began to cry silently.

"Will..He was my best friend..And he disappeared when I needed him, and then he turned up and I just..."

"I get it, it must be hard to see him after all this time." You didn't get it though, you had assumed initially that perhaps William had maintained contact with the man he had brought the both of you to. But all you were finding was that William Afton left people broken in his wake, even before he was a monster.

Henry clung to you like your life depended on it. Like he couldn't bear to lose another daughter. Your t-shirt that you had changed into for bed was stained with tears before he seemed to take a few shaking breaths and look up at you. Frowning as he seemed to notice something whilst looking into your face, flinching slightly when his hand reached up and brushed against your ear. You'd forgotten that Will had bitten your ear whilst at the mall on the way to visit Henry, and you could feel the small puncture in the skin and cartilage catching on his rough fingertips. Heart racing in your chest as he seemed to notice the faint scarring on the inside of your wrist, the four pointed bite mark on your neck from where Will had bitten you during your 'thanks' for saving him.

Suddenly, why Will had wanted you to wear a turtle-neck made sense.

"I'm very clumsy! Don't know how Will puts up with me." Chuckling nervously as you reached up to rub your shoulder, inadvertently touching where Michael had nearly drained you dry what felt like a lifetime ago, but really may have only been weeks. Swallowing down the nerves, you offered Henry a large smile, watching the old man blink in confusion before giving you a soft, concerned smile back.

"Will...Has always been unique." He said, making you furrow your brow in confusion, watching as Henry gently patted your arm and stroked it for a moment. "As long as you're being safe. Maybe eat some broccoli? You're looking a bit anaemic."

Henry stood slowly, holding onto you and the table for support before he grabbed his tea and made his way towards the stairs, slowly sipping at the warm drink and leaving you standing in his kitchen, the yellow light casting what felt like a sickly glow onto you as you picked up your own drink and took a few more sips before taking it up stairs with you.

His comment had shaken you slightly, and you couldn't help the sinking feeling that Henry Emily knew more than he was letting on.

In the morning, you could hear pottering about downstairs and so you headed down. Glancing into Charlie's room and noticing she had been moved out of bed and dressed, loose comfy clothes that wouldn't hinder her care as she stared wordlessly at the TV playing some kids programme. You could vaguely make out the ghost lingering nearby to her body, prompting you to go inside and change the channel over to something a little more her age before heading back to your room when you realised you should cover up again.

'Thank you.'

You got changed quickly, finding the pile of clothes you had left on the floor and giving them a quick sniff before pulling them back on. Padding back down the stairs, you noticed Henry pottering about once again. He seemed calmer this morning, unlike what was really a precious few hours ago, and that concerned you greatly. His curly head turned towards you and he had that same fatherly smile on his face as he lifted a pan filled with bacon, eggs and what smelt like fried bread.

"Morning sunshine! I've made breakfast for you." You were clearly over thinking, perhaps he was substituting you for Charlie in his mind, but you didn't blame him. You'd spotted photos of his family in the lounge before, a happy one, a wife with blonde hair and a bright smile. Charlie beaming at the camera. You'd also noted the obituary, paper yellowed with age and sun exposure, tucked behind a photo of his wife.

"Oh, thank you Henry, you didn't have to." Sitting down at the breakfast table, you went to sit with your back to the door, but Henry shook his head and gestured to the seat on the left. The one that looked the least worn down.

"I did! It's been a while since I've been able to cook for somebody and I have to get you to try this. Sorry about the chair, my mother always said bad things happened to people who sit in doorways." It seemed like a strange superstition, but you supposed that there were many cultures and personal experiences that shaped them.

You were just happy to oblige as Henry piled your plate up with fried goods that William would never let you eat in a million years, and poured you some apple juice.

The bacon and eggs were even arranged into a smiley face on your plate.

You heard footsteps coming through the house and turned your head to see William entering the kitchen, his hair perfectly slicked back and wearing his shirt that he'd had on the day before, minus the sweater. His golden aviators sat a little low on his nose as he pushed them up, Henry giving him the same warm smile. You noticed then that there were only two plates of food dished up, and you felt an intense guilt in your stomach that Henry could probably only afford to feed you and William since Charlie undoubtedly had expensive medical bills. His smile fading as he gestured to William's glasses with a frown.

"You've got something on them." Will frowned back and you saw his eyes moving about like he was looking for the dirt that Henry had pointed out.

"Where?"

"Right there, don't you see it?" Will shook his head and reached up to pick his glasses off of his face, squinting as he held them up to the light.

"Might as well clean them, but I can't see shit on them." Sighing as he moved his glasses to the bottom of his shirt, untucking one corner from his waistband and moving to clean them with the fabric. You couldn't help but smile, they were like an old married couple in their own way, and part of you wished that you had known them back in the days of Freddy's so you could see them working together.

That thought was broken when a pan went sailing at William's head.

You heard Afton swear as the heavy 'thunk' of the cast iron hitting him square in the face, blinking rapidly and stumbling back as with surprising grace and speed for an old man, Henry Emily vaulted part of the table and landed on top of his old business partner. Pounding into him with a flurry of fists and fury, you could hear the meaty 'thud' of flesh hitting flesh already.

It took you a few seconds to react to it all, brain short-circuiting as you tried to process what was happening. William's hands moved up and he was scrambling to push off Henry, but you could hear the sound getting wetter and noticed a bit of blood splattering across the tiled floor. A cold spot behind you told you that Charlie had decided to come and watch as you managed to peel yourself off of the chair and rush forwards.

"Henry!" Calling his name as you wrapped your arms around his torso and tried to pull him off, grunting at the unexpected work-out of trying to remove a very angry human man off of the vampire. You could hear William growling and his hands flailed, legs scrambling for purchase on the floor as Henry began to slow down, landing a few more blows before sitting back on his heels. Breathing laboured.

Will's face was swollen and you could see there was the start of two rapidly developing black eyes and a broken nose, skin mottled and bruised as you noticed the split lip and nose-bleed. Henry's knuckles were bleeding too as he stood up and headed over to the sink like nothing had just happened.

"William!" You called out, shaking his shoulders and hearing the vampire groan as one eye fluttered open. Unsteady and unfocused as he gripped onto your arm tightly enough you knew there would be more bruises later on. Shuffling so that his head rested on your lap, you looked up at Henry, eyes wide in shock and horror. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"He'll be fine." Was the calm reply, the man bringing a first aid kit down from a cabinet and opening it to retrieve some sterilised alcohol to clean his knuckles up with.

"You've beaten him, of course he's not going to be fine! Fuck I don't-"

"And yet, you're not worried enough about him to call an ambulance."

The silence that hung in the air for a beat was intensely uncomfortable, it felt almost like ozone settling around your skin. Henry was staring intently, hyper-focused on you as you realised he had caught you in a lie you didn't even know existed. You didn't know how William felt about hospitals, whether he would flag up as something not human when they performed tests, but he was still healing from the springlock failure and he was slow to heal from relatively minor wounds compared to what you'd seen from two vampires fighting.

William took a few shuddering breaths as he seemed to gain his bearings, slowly sitting up with your help and nose dripping blood as he reached for his glasses on the floor. Wiping them with a clean part of his shirt and putting them back on his nose, reaching it up and hooking two fingers into his nostrils before using the other hand to crunch it back into place. Sniffing deeply afterwards as his slowly swelling eye focused on Henry.

"Bastard, the fuck was that?" His own breathing laboured as he reeled from the ambush by his best friend.

"I've only seen those four points that your friend here has on her shoulder once before, do you know when that was?" Henry queried as he put down the alcohol and picked up some bandages, wrapping them slowly around his shaking hands to protect them.

"What marks, I don't know what you're-"

"Oh, but you do William. You know, I thought at first it might be co-incidence. Charlie gets hurt after you go missing for two days, you disappear again two weeks later after your youngest dies. Michael shortly after that along with Elizabeth. But then you come back twenty years later, and so do those marks."

It took your brain a moment to tick over, but it snapped into place all too quickly as you felt yourself blanching.

"Charlie. They were on Charlie." You whisper, watching as Henry shifted his attention from his hands to you as he nodded, with the same fatherly smile he had given you when he was serving eggs. William looked startled and you could see the gears turning in his own head as he looked at Henry. A million and one little expressions flickering across his features.

"Hers were much deeper, and a lot more jagged of course. Tore half the back of her neck out, crushed part of her spine, but the doctors said it all came down to six points of contact. Four on top, two on bottom." He picked up the plate that had been left on the table and brought it in front of him, looking at the selection of knocked over condiments and straightening them up after he had vaulted the table.

"I don't know what you're-" William began, but Henry sucked on his teeth and tutted, shaking his head at the man slowly trying to stand and supporting himself on the chair so that he could sit down.

"You do William Afton. I know what you are." The tone was so cold once again, but the cold air surrounding you didn't help either as you tried to control your shivering. William blinking slowly and unsurely up at his friend before he curled up his lip into a snarling growl. Bloody spittle coating his now very visible fangs, the double set you were more than acquainted with. Henry's expression softened a little as he watched his former business partner growling ferally. "There you are. I knew you would never tell me."

"Henry?" You asked, confused by the last bit of his statement before the older man got up and walked over to the fridge, rummaging around like he had been the night before and throwing something to William, who managed to catch it despite the fact his face was slowly reducing the swelling, leaving behind some bruised and blood-shot eyes staring angrily before his attention flickered to what was in his hand.

"I suspected something about him had changed back in eighty-seven, after Charlie was attacked, he was acting strange. Speed walking from the room if a kid so much as fell and scraped a knee, wearing sunglasses through the light-shows or if he was outside. Never taking his lunch, or if he did, I noticed there was half-chewed food in the trashcan nearby soon after." Henry explained, and you listened, realising that Henry had known something was wrong with William since the attack. He more than likely had his own suspicions about his involvement in Charlie's attack.

Hearing gulping next to you, your eyes widened as William slammed a glass bottle down onto the table, the thick claret inside clinging to the glass as you watched his face slowly returning to normal. Well, as slowly as William Afton could heal.

"So you decide to beat fuck out of me to test your stupid theory?" William growled, and Henry shrugged his shoulders, beginning to tuck into the breakfast before him.

"Oh? No, that was for Charlie, and it felt damn good." Nochelant as you stared incredulously between them, wondering why and where Henry got glass bottles of blood from, how long had he had them. "Figured it was better twenty years late than never."

"Well, at least I know you're keeping yourself in good health." Afton brought the bottle to his lips again and drank from it like it was a cold beer at a BBQ. You were still shaking and incredulous.

"Sorry, what? How would you...oh." The realisation set in as you looked at Henry, who did seem a little paler in the yellow kitchen light than you remembered being the night before. "Did you ...just so you could...?"

"Oh, yes. I know you would never have intentionally hurt Charlie, Wills, but you understand, I had to do something."

"How do you know it wasn't intentional?"

"Because of the times I caught you at the hospital despite the lights hurting your eyes, by her bedside and holding her hand. Telling her 'I will put you back together'." Henry said softly, and you watched as William stiffened before his expression softened too. The two men either side of that small kitchen table, Henry sat so he was blocking the daylight from the window behind him getting into William's bruised face. It almost looked like a halo from where you sat.

The clock in the lounge ticked by for a while as nobody said anything else. William occasionally drinking and Henry eating his breakfast, you picked at yours, heart racing as you wondered if another fight was going to break out between the two of them.

"I don't expect you to forgive me, Henry." William eventually spoke, making you jump slightly as Emily paused and looked up at him too. Raising an eyebrow as if to prompt him on, Afton sighed before continuing. "I...I didn't mean to hurt Charlie. And one day, when...when this is all done, I'll tell you my reasons. But I will hold myself to that promise."

The vampire slowly stood and began trudging back through the house, leaving you and Henry in the kitchen as you stared at his broad back. Wondering how he was going to fufil his promise, you wondered if he was going to end the fact she was trapped between life and death. Wondering how Henry would take having to bury his daughter.

"You're right. I don't forgive you. I just wish you had enough trust in me all those years ago to tell me."

William nodded his head and carried on, you stood up to go after him, but Henry gently pulled down your arm and forced you to sit.

"Leave the demon to his demons. Rest, find peace." He murmured, waiting for you to nod before he let go of your arm and you couldn't help but wonder how much of this mess was all your fault.

[fujii-draws]

Regrets

Summary: As golden orbs of light brought an end to Dusknoir’s existence; he’s confronted with a thought. One he’d long been avoiding since the day he arrived in the world of the past, and came in contact with two young, small Pokémon. The same two he’d eventually come to grow fond of, only to betray as part of his mission. As he’s forced to finally confront it in his isolation, Dusknoir finds himself coming to an epiphany. One he’d been denying for a very, very long time.

[Word count: 2130]

–––––––––––––––––––––

‘Aimilios... Ribbons...’ The ghost type melancholically lamented to himself. ‘They… did it….’

The black, paralyzed skies had begun to shift as the morning came. Rays of light hit the ghost type’s body; although numb, even he’d felt the warmth of the sun course through him. Time was finally moving again��� and all Dusknoir could do was helplessly watch as his body faded; the light bringing an end to his existence.

Dusknoir cannot describe the emotions he’s feeling. Proud…? Accomplished…? Fearful….?

Damn it all. Arceus… if only he’d realized the mistake he was making. If only he’d defied Primal Dialga and had his change of heart sooner… perhaps those two would’ve still…. The three of them could’ve been-

No.

It’s over.

He ruined it.

…Dusknoir turns his head slowly, his gaze falling on to Grovyle; the reason he decided to go against Primal Dialga’s wishes in the first place. The reason he lived; for what would perhaps be the first time in ages… Had it not been for his speech back at the icicle pillars…Dusknoir doesn’t even want to think of the calamity that would’ve ensued. He continues to stare at the slowly disappearing grass-type, almost thoughtful.

“Grovyle…”

The grass-type’s eyes meet the black specter’s pained expression.

“My M-my life… Did it shine….?”

Dusknoir wanted to hear it from Grovyle. He wouldn’t feel satisfied, or even happy hearing it from himself. The ghost’s self-hatred was deep rooted enough as it was. Especially after all of what he had done. He needed a second opinion.

“…Yes.” The lizard Pokémon smiles, softly reassuring Dusknoir in what would be his final moments. “…Extraordinarily.”

…Dusknoir, despite not believing Grovyle, chooses to do so. Offering a small smile back at his old friend. “Grovyle… Thanks to you…..”

He pauses.

“…I have no regrets.”

…Dusknoir starts to feel himself slipping away completely; his physical form fading into illuminated lights in the sky as he draws his final breath… His death is almost comforting... At least- it would’ve been, had he made peace with his unspoken feelings… towards them. Even when he’s disappearing. Even when he’s dying…

He still couldn’t tell the truth.

One regret.

He had all but one.

…And now, he’ll never see them again. Never be able to tell them how sorry he was. Never be able to tell those two how much they meant to him… what they actually meant to him.

How foolish was he…? To get attached like this…? To care so much about their futures as well as his…? ..He couldn’t even admit how much they mattered to him in his final moments… Dusknoir grunts. really is just a liar, isn’t he? And that’s all the two will remember him for. Their scornful expressions when he’d laughed at their misery during their confrontation in the future. Their looks of betrayal. Tears rolled down the eevee and riolu’s faces as they unhinged their claws and teeth at Dusknoir. To think at the time, he found their reactions simply hysterical…

——————

“YOU LIAR..!”

“W-WE TRUSTED YOU..!”

“Pray tell… who’s fault is that?” Dusknoir sneered. “Not once had I asked for your background, or your names.”

Dusknoir began to float menacingly towards Aimilios. “Last I recall, you were responsible for your own partner’s downfall.”

“I-I….”

“LEAVE HIM ALONE…!!”

——————

…Now all he feels is a sharp pain stabbing through his chest recalling that horrible memory.

If there was a heaven or hell; the latter would be awaiting him right about now.

Speaking of…

Dusknoir opens his eye, attempting to browse his uncanny surroundings. What meets the ghost-type is… emptiness?

“…What on earth..?” His eye wanders down to his body.

…He appears in what looks like a pitch-black void. Dusknoir himself would’ve blended right in with the endless abyss had it not been for the yellow outlines distinguishing the features of his silhouette-like shadow… the same exact hue of yellow lights that’d been responsible for his disappearance moments ago… it’s almost as if he’d become a ghost all over again... He’d find the circumstances slightly amusing had it not been for his current dilemma. Dusknoir stares at his golden-laced hand, before contemplating something.

‘…Perhaps..’ Dusknoir thinks to himself. ‘Perhaps… it’s better this way…’ He knows it’s selfish. He knows he’s being a coward. But… now he doesn’t have to face Ribbons and Aimilios. He doesn’t have to look at those same faces that once revered him with such adoration; now fear, in the eyes… And yet… The thought of never seeing those two again… why does the thought bring him so much unnecessary pain? They were only means to an end to begin with- so why does he even CARE?!

“…GWOOH.. GWOOOOH..!!!” The ghost-type’s head begins to throb uncontrollably; Dusknoir clutches his head; nearly identical to how he did when breaking down in the midst of Grovyle’s speech. He clutches his temple harder in a feeble attempt to satiate the pain. Why couldn’t he just stop…? He’d tried so hard to detach himself from Ribbons and Aimilios once he realized who they were... Yet like a complete and utter fool; he stayed close. So close to an eevee and riolu he was ordered to execute. Why couldn’t he just forget about those two…? It would hurt so much less. They were means to an end to begin with- so WHY?!

“B-BLAST IT..!”

He slams both of his fists on the onyx colored ground beneath him in frustration. The yellow outlines of his body begin to glow violently as he draws heavy, shallow breaths.

…Dusknoir is suddenly plagued with a memory- of those two. He… remembers the eevee and riolu smiling widely; at him no less. It was… around the time when he’d referred to them as his ‘friends’. A mere front to gain their trust. Dusknoir recounts just how overjoyed they looked… and how that happiness made something in his chest hurt for a split second. He didn’t have to give them false hope. He didn’t have to play this ruse as far as he did… and yet. There was a small, foolish part of him that genuinely enjoyed it; and an even smaller part of him that knew he’d regret it.

————————

“You mean it?!” The riolu beamed. “You’ll really help us?!”

“But of course!” Dusknoir smiled, placing a hand on his chest. “I offer you two, my full cooperation!”

Dusknoir watched as the two Pokémon whip their heads towards eachother; almost trying to confirm the other’s disbelief. They look back at him; tails wagging rapidly in unison— before Ribbons excitedly jumps onto the ghost-type. Dusknoir nearly stumbles from just how sudden it was. Despite this, he catches her with his quick reflexes.

“Thank you thank you thank you!!!” Ribbons cheered. “You have no idea how much this means to us!”

Dusknoir recollected himself; before putting a hand on each of the overjoyous Pokémon’s heads.

“I’m… glad to hear. Truly.” A lie, obviously…but even he couldn’t help but smile a little at their shared enthusiasm.

“By golly..! Huff… huff…”

All three of the Pokémon had turned their heads to the out-of-breath Bidoof. Dusknoir immediately put Ribbons and Aimilios down; a slightly embarrassed blush crossing the ghost’s face as he brushed himself off coughing, returning to his more professional, stoic-like persona.

———————————

…He didn’t have to play with their emotions. He could’ve just as easily stayed acquaintances- kept his distance- but no. He just had to enjoy spending time with them. He had to get closer to them. He had to remember their favorite foods. To enjoy laughing with them until his stomach became sore, protecting them, watching over them, loving them as if they were…

Were…

…Dusknoir can’t help but hold his hand under his eye. He… he really did care those two... As if they were his own… his own…

“….Hoh…”

His train of thought comes to a complete halt. The idea of those two? Seeing him that way? After what he had done? After the horrible things he’s said…?

“Ho..Hohohaha..! HOHOHOHA-HA-HA-HA!”

His laughter becomes more and more erratic; holding one hand under his eye as the other grips his head- his cackles echoing into the never ending void.

“HAH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAhahaa…!“

Dusknoir’s broken laughter echoes throughout the void; until there’s nothing left but silence. Both of Dusknoir’s hands now cover his face as he crumbles to the ground. A shell of what was once the ‘Great Dusknoir’… was nothing more but the husk of a broken ghost. Too selfish and weak to do the right thing; and stand by the only two Pokémon who were willing to trust him with their lives… He wishes the endless abyss he was in would just swallow him already.

“Aimilios…Ribbons…” Dusknoir’s voice cracks; calling out for the ones he’d hurt.

…They deserved so much better than him. He didn’t deserve them. And to think in the beginning, they’d been the ones who were trying to prove themselves to be worthy of him... When it’d been the other way around this entire time. How ironic.

How absolutely ironic.

…Which reminds him-

“Ribbons…!” His head shoots up in a panic; his eye filled with worry.

She had already disappeared at this point, didn’t she..? In front of Aimilios no less..? He can’t even begin to fathom how horrible it must’ve been for both of them… at such young ages… maybe if he’d assisted them on their perilous journey to Temporal Tower…. he could’ve been there to remedy the weight of their situation… but of course instead, he used it in a pathetic attempt to beg for his life. Dumping everything onto Ribbons in a last ditch effort to save his own ghostly skin… in the small desperate hope she’d finally understand why he…

…Selfish.

So selfish.

Of course his train of thought immediately went straight back to him. He can’t think about anyone’s wellbeing except for his own. His ‘self preservation’. His ‘life’. Nevermind all of the Pokémon he was going to deny the futures of. He was at risk. So they all had to pay for it. Because of his cowardice.

This was his atonement.

He deserved this.

Dusknoir closes his eye. Maybe in his next life he’ll be a decent Pokémon. One worthy of respect. Of adoration.

Of love.

.

.

.

“Gah...”

Dusknoir groans. Why does it feel so cold all of a sudden..?

Wait.. cold?

He sees… ice… and feels… wind?

‘…What..?’

He slowly gets up; using his hands to suspend himself in the air. He looks around- only to see himself back.

Back on the mountain.

He stares at his hands for an indeterminate amount of time before they begin to tremble. His expression contorted into one of self-loathing and confusion.

“W-we’re still here…” His fingers curl into fists.

“I didn’t disappear…! Wh-Why?!”

Dusknoir shouts; almost disgusted by the fact he was revived- rather than questioning how it was even possible in the first place. No. He doesn’t- He shouldn’t be here. It must’ve been some kind of mistake… That’s it. There’s no other logical explanation for why he should be still here. Perhaps the higher being that brought him back into this world will immediately realize their error, and make swift work of him.

“We… we truly are still here…” Grovyle lamented, breathing a sigh of what would be an overwhelming rush relief. Celebi begins to flutter her wings happily around the grass-type.

“Wonderful!! I don’t know why we were fading and didn’t disappear…” She twirls, overjoyous now having gained all her strength back. “…But everyone is safe!! Oh my beloved..! Isn’t this just an amazing wonderful thing?!”

Grovyle chuckles heartedly. “It is.”

Unfortunately among the three; the ghost type was not experiencing the same joy as the grass type pokemon. Dusknoir had been drowning out half of their words of cheer and relief with thoughts of contempt. Self-depricational thoughts clouded the ghost-type’s mind as he kept searching for logical answers for his revival… Everyone else made sense. But why him of all Pokémon..?!

“Why..? Wh-Why me..?” Dusknoir whispered to himself dejectedly; mirroring his words from when his Sableye ‘betrayed’ him.

The only difference being how genuine it was.

Pr- Dialga had appeared to explain the whole situation to the trio. Once that had been done, Grovyle, and Celebi walked and flew individually near the edge of the mountain to feel the sun on their skins; their accomplishments finally having been paid off, soaking in the sun…

……Dusknoir, however; had stayed in the exact spot he’d been revived. His thoughts plagued him. This was not his victory. This was not for him to enjoy. What was he to do now..? Live his life as if nothing happened..? As if he didn’t hurt countless Pokémon..? Guilt had almost immediately begun to eat away at the ghost-type. He looks down at his hands one last time... Perhaps death would’ve been too good for a despicable Pokémon such as himself. The torment of being alive, and living with what he had done seemed like a fitting and ironic enough punishment… but that wasn’t what truly scared him.

Far from it, in fact.

Without a doubt in Dusknoir’s mind; Grovyle and Celebi would want to return back to the past… perhaps not this very instant; but at a given point. And when that time finally arrives…

Dusknoir stares at the Passage of Time facing him. Almost mocking him.

…He’d have to face them.

“…” Dusknoir clenches his fists tightly; his brow furrowing.

…The mere thought of confronting those two again- No no no no no. He- he should have disappeared. Death would’ve been a mercy. He can’t face them- not again. Looking at the same two children he tried to slaughter with his bare hands mere hours ago face-to-face..? Dusknoir’s fists tremble as his terror consumes him. What would they say..? Let alone think..? They’d run at the mere sight of him. He…

He doesn’t want to scare them.

He doesn’t want to hurt them.

He..

…Now he has something else to be afraid of.

[lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love]

may I request an Danny phantom x reader I’m not sure if u see that one episode of Danny phantom d-stabilized where the reader is half ghost like Danny but she unstable in her ghost form (like in the episode Dani was) and she trying to find Danny before Vlad catches her and maybe she gets capture and Danny has to save her maybe reader slowly dying .I hope this sense

Can u add a bit fluff angst to mix aslo this romantic fic since Danny like the reader anyways I love this show sm aslo take as much time as u need no worries

Notes: I’d like to thank @supernerdycookietrashblr for the request & I hope you enjoy it! This ain’t my best work and I’d like to apologize. I’m gonna make a part 2 of this if that’s okay.

I don’t own any of the gifs/pictures used.

Warnings: Half-ghost!r is unstable, some angst, possible romantic feelings, spelling/grammatical errors, anything else I failed to mention

Word Count: TBD (give or take)

Masterlist: Click Here & Here

You have heard all about the Fenton boy, Danny. The half-ghost kid who refused power and wealth for his family. The stubborn child who couldn’t see past Jack’s idiocy. And you had to wonder: Was Danny really in the wrong? This Jack Fenton guy was his father; why is Danny defending his father so bad? If anything, it should show what kind of person he is; good.

But your “father” didn’t see it that way.

Danny’s constant rejections had started to pile up. Your “father” was beginning to lose his patience. The continual reminder that Jack Fenton had a family with the woman of your “father’s” dreams had reached its boiling point.

Your “father” was desperate in his attempts for the perfect half-ghost son. Instead of using Danny’s DNA, your “father” opted to use his own. Round two turned into another string of failures. Even you were considered a failure. Not only were you a girl, but you couldn’t even maintain your ghost half for very long.

He wasn’t very happy with that.

You’d escaped, but the longer you stayed as a ghost, flying from Wisconsin to Amity Park, the weaker you became. You saw ectoplasm starting to drip from your form; your body was destabilizing before your very eyes.

But you had to go a little further. If you didn’t, he’d find you and you’d be done for. You didn’t want to die; but if you stayed in your ghost form for too long you’d become a pile of ectoplasm. If you stopped even for a second to recuperate you’d be captured, dissected and melted down into a pile of ectoplasm. Either way, you’d be dead.

So you kept pushing, even when your vision blurred. Even when your body began to burn and your head started pounding.

And then everything went black.

When you woke up, you were lying on a bed in a room you didn’t recognize. You felt your heart drop. As desperately as you wanted to believe this was a good thing, you couldn’t for the life of you believe it. Slowly sitting up, you wince at the splitting pain going through your head.

You jumped at the sound of the bedroom door opening. The sound practically had you falling out of bed. You peered over and saw a dark-haired boy come in. He seemed about your age, with blue eyes and a leaner build. He seemed surprised and relieved to see you awake.

“Good, you’re awake,” he remarked.

“Where am I?” you stammered.

“My room.” He walked over and sat at the foot of the bed. You moved away from him. “I found you passed out just outside the city limits.”

The longer you looked at him, the more something began to click in your mind. Familiarity. But how? Why was he so familiar? You’ve never met him before—or have you? You chewed on the inside of your cheek, brows furrowing as you regarded him more closely.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I just—” Then it clicked. “You’re the ghost boy!”

He paled, eyes widening as he stood up from his bed, taking a step away as if you’d burnt him. “Who are you?” he asked shakily.

“I need your help,” you exclaimed, standing up. Your body ached, remnants of the pain you felt earlier. “Please—he’s going to kill me.”

“Who?” he asked, swallowing thickly. “Who’s going to kill you?”

“My father.” You felt a shiver run up your spine—mere thought of him making fear bubble in you. “He’s going to kill me. I didn’t turn out the way he wanted.”

His brows furrowed. You saw reluctance swirling his blue eyes, mixing with the curiosity and worry over your words.

“I’m half-ghost,” you stated. “He wanted a son but I—” You motioned to yourself. “He doesn’t want this.”

You see realization come across his face before it twists into anger.

“My father told me about you,” you added softly, “how he tried taking your morph DNA. There was another girl like me, but made from you. I’m made from him, but my ghost half is unstable. I’ll die if I stay in that form for too long.”

You see him eye you, looking for something—what it is you’re not sure. But you let him study you. You just hope whatever he finds is good, or at least lets him agree to help you.

After a long, almost drawn-out pause, he nods. “You’ll be safe here,” he states firmly. “Vlad won’t get you.”

You give him a soft smile and nod. You feel a warmth in your chest at the honesty of his words. But deep down you prepare yourself for the worst. Just as a precaution.

[camille-lachenille]

End of the Year Fic Rec

I was tagged by @echo-bleu and @dreamingthroughthenoise and it was very difficult to select only five fics for each category but here's my Must Read fanfics list, mostly Silmarillion but with a few LotR and one Hobbit. Also, I cheated at some point so you have one more fic rec as a treat

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023).

We will make this place our home by @leucisticpuffin

Summary: Elrond and Elros are sent to live with their distant cousins in a house that is crumbling slowly to pieces. They aren't especially happy about this. For Maedhros and Maglor, the twins are a rare chance to start living again.

Why you should read it: This is a whimsical, heartwarming yet bittersweet at times story about finding one’s place in a new world and what makes a family, grappling with the ghosts of the past and the pain of being a child left behind. Also the most exquisitely written modern AU (the style is just chef's kiss!) I’ve read so far, 100% recommend it!

Maglor is an Eldritch Horror by @thescrapwitch

Summary: After thousands of years singing to the sea, Maglor has become something strange and terrifying. But he still loves his family, and his family still loves him.

Why you should read it: Sometimes, family is a Half-Elf, his wife, their children, a shy and whimsical bard and the Eldritch kidnap grandfather who haunts the house; or how to write slightly creepy fluff. This series is pure heartwarming material and giving Elrond the happiness he desserves.

The Day the Horse-Lord wed the Lady of the Seas by @colinnoahmayhare (rated M)

Summary: After the War of the Ring, Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth, finds herself at the receiving end of the search for peace and prosperity by being used as a pawn in an alliance made between kings and princes. Married to the King of the Riddermark, Éomer, she has to navigate being a foreigner in a foreign country, being a Queen to a King, and to learn to live and love with a man she hardly knows.

Why you should read it: This story is an intricate, gut wrenching exploration of what happens in Rohan after the War of the Ring, featuring delightful worldbuilding, lots of politics, revenge and honour. Now with Familial TraumaTM and Couple AngstTM for extra flavour!

And the Stars Shine the Same by @runawaymun (rated M)

Summary: After the Éothéod revolt against the Wainriders, the northern tribes seek to form strong alliances with their neighbors. Lord Frumgar tasks his son Fram to lead the delegation to Imladris. With him, he brings gold, fine horses, and two young thralls chosen by his father to be given to Lord Elrond himself. Elrond is conflicted to say the least.

Why you should read it: Do you like pre-canon Third Age history? Do you like worldbuilding about a few names from the Appendixes of LotR? Do you like found family and Good Dad Elrond? Do you like complex characters learning how to live with their traumas? This story is for you! (Just mind the warnings in the tags)

The ghost you dress up as (knows how to haunt) by @deadqueernoldor (rated M)

Summary: Maedhros was not the first Finwëan to be captured and taken to Angband, nor did he remain there the longest. Ranyatinwë, twin of Caranthir, was the first.

Why you should read it: Tinwë is such a complex character, 50% spite and 50% trauma, and this whole story is so, so promising already! (Really, you should read all the Strength of our Bonds series for extra unhinged, spiteful and unrepentant kinslayer Tinwë. I support women’s rights but in Tinwë’s case I firmly support women’s wrongs). This is pure post-Angband angstfest and dysfunctional siblings caring for each other in their weird way. If angst can be a comfort story, I found it.

Recommend up to 5 single chapter fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Life in Miniature by @thescrapwitch

Summary: Turgon uses his hobby of building cities to recreate Gondolin, this time on a much smaller scale.

Why you should read it: For re-embodied Finwëan rebuilding their relationships as they work together on a miniature city; a heartwarming and really nice metaphor.

Hearth Fire by @dreamingthroughthenoise

Summary: Findis and Feanor speak before the Flight of the Noldor and share in their grief the best they can.

Why you should read it: Because there are so few stories centered around Findis and her feelings about her family and this one is so interesting and well written. Also, Findis is my Blorbo and everyone should read about her until they're consumed by the Blorbo.

your veins are empty of dust by @echo-bleu

Summary: Anairë finds her late one day in her workshop, surrounded by slabs of stone larger than her. Nerdanel is hammering forcefully at one of them, the barest hints of an elven shape already taking form in the marble. Bitter, stinging tears run down her cheeks and into her collar, and her arms ache with exhaustion.

The body is only barely sketched, but the face is already chiselled, smooth curves and angular cheekbones.

Fëanáro emerges out of the marble, looking like he’s about to take life.

Why you should read it: For a heartbreaking dive into Nerdanel's grief, her friendship with Anairë and how Nerdanel's art becomes her way to cope with loneliness and grief.

see it fall, child of war by @swanmaids

Summary: Elwing's time runs out.

Why you should read it: Because these may be the 740 most impactful words I've read about Elwing since I discovered the Silm fandom.

soldier keep on marching on (waiting on that morning sun) by songofswiftsunrise

Summary: Boromir lives. The world is the smallest bit brighter for it.

Why you should read it: Do I need a more convincing argument than what the summary says? Boromir lives and everyone is happier. I love a good fix-it and this one is very well written indeed.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies.)

The Carpenter’s Son by Zimra (rated M, warning for rape/non-con)

Summary: An untold story of conquered Dor-lómin, in which an Easterling carpenter has a child by his Hadorian slave.

Why you should read it: This story explores in a very interesting way a par of canon that is almost never mentionned (except in the Narn). The main character is attaching and I really cared for her and her son. The hindsights in the slavers' minds are chilling with their realism and this whole story is just so well written. Also, it ends on a note of hope.

And what I am needs no excuses by aurembiaux

Summary: Sam has always been in love with Frodo. It's only that it takes him forty years to realize that he is.

Why you should read it: Probably the most heartwarming and relatable self-discovery story I’ve ever read; set in England from the WWII to the 80’s, with all the social changes that happened in this time period. Featuring Supportive Dad (and Friend) Sam as the main character and a whole bunch of introspection. One of my all time comfort read!

Mark of a Warrior by starryeyedknight

Summary: After the funeral for Theoden, Merry wakes up to a problem experienced by many a young man after a night of heavy drinking. The ink on his arm doesn't appear to be washing off… 

Why you should read it: This one shot explores the relationships Merry formed with the RIders of Rohan, the grief he has in common with them and how he found his place amongst the riders, all of this with delightful humour and lightness despite the initial situation.

Dancing with my punchlines by LiveOakWithMoss (rated M)

Summary: In which the sons of Fëanor throw house parties, the beer is terrible, 20-something hipster elves act like their drama is as bad as it is in canon, and macking on cousins is fair game.

Why you should read it: If you like a good old modern AU with tons of drama of various sorts, amazing ace representation and general Finwëans shenanigans, this is the story for you.

Old Maggie Took by @deadqueernoldor

Summary: The headcanon about Maglor, second son of Fëanor, lives hidden in the Shire? Yes.

Why you should read it: My ultimate comfort read series; featuring mouth-watering descriptions of food, kidnadopted fam and Maglor being an overgrown hobbit and trolling everyone in ME and Valinor. This is fluffy, this is silly, this is prefect.

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Dreams of Doom (rated M, warning for Major Character Death)

Summary: “She runs in the dark, alone. Where her feet carry her, she knows not, and her heart is heavy with dread. Someone - something - is watching her.”

Niënor from the moment she arrives in Brethil to her death.

Why you should read it: Because this fic is my firsborn child and I am insanely proud of it, especially since I went so out of my comfort zone to write it. It features two of my obscure blorbos and I poured my soul into it.

Ice Age(s)

Summary: Ice skating through the ages, from Idril learning with her grandfather to Elrond perpetuating the familial tradition.

Why you should read it: This is a fluffy fic, mostly, and it's also a gift for the amazing @echo-bleu. I also wrote it in a sort of trance in the middle of the night, passed out the moment I posted it and had no memory whatsoever of what I had written upon waking up in the morning, yet I still love this fic dearly.

I never wanted to walk in your steps

Summary: Tilda was ten, the same age Sigrid was at her birth, and her world was collapsing more than when Smaug had destroyed Laketown.

Why you should read it: Because I privately call this fic Hobbit angstfest. I took a sad, doomed ship and asked myself "how can I make it sadder?"

ar ámen apsenë úcaremmar

Summary: Few know of Findis the Faithful, eldest daughter of Finwë, who never lost hope for her family.

Why you should read it: I took my obscure blorbo and set her in a medieval-ish AU. It's sad and a little hopeful too and there's a lot of Quenya interspaced through the story.

Quiet morning in Gondolin

Summary: Idril and Eärendil spend some time together before the city wakes up.

Why you should read it: I'll put the link to the beautiful art that inspired this ficlet and let it speak for me.

And I tag everyone I tagged in this post who hasn’t already done this fics rec tag