#i am freed from one more ghost of an ask

[originalaccountname]

happy new year!!!! when you answered my last ask, you said this:

“Asagiri is always going on about how ~mysterious~ Dazai is when he's not that complicated.”

i was wondering if you've made other posts about this, or if you'd be willing to expand on it… i love reading Dazai analyses & i’ve been doing a deep dive trying get to the core of dazai’s character motivation & inner conflicts/personal struggles, so i love hearing other people’s interpretations & ideas :)

break him down for me please!! (if you wouldn’t mind <3)

I had this plan of collecting all the interviews of Asagiri saying Dazai oh so complicated and talking about it but I ran out of steam and then.... well you saw how this ask started. The most recent Asagiri interview/talk delved into it again though!

What makes Dazai tick "hasn't been revealed" and Asagiri seems to be/think to be in the dark about it too. But to write a character with depth and consistency, you must know how they work! But not every micro detail has to be accounted for, and sometimes they might surprise you by revealing their true colours despite yourself. I get the impression that Asagiri hasn't worked out the fine details of why Dazai is the way he is, but rather how it shows and what can trigger it.

The character of Dazai was based on his namesake's struggles and his namesake's semi-autobiographical story of a character struggling with society, living and (probably) depression. I think on some level there might be a fear of intruding upon such a personal experience by giving our Dazai a definitive reason behind his own struggles, since he's so closely linked to his inspirations. However, I mostly think Asagiri's writing style makes it so leaving that part up to reader interpretation is purposeful and more fulfilling to both Asagiri and us.

Altogether, I think when Asagiri talks about Dazai being unknowable and mysterious, it's both about how he is written to keep an arm's length between himself and everyone else, and because Asagiri, as the one writing him, is keenly aware of how much of Dazai isn't shown. I believe it when they say Dazai is a tricky character to portray. Arguably, Dazai is, this way, the character that's most written like a real person, with a rich inner life that, as an outsider, you can't pretend to fully know, and that's the point.

There's a passage in 55 Minutes about how nobody has managed to understand Dazai's struggle with life. Atsushi outright asked him, and yet he couldn't remember what Dazai had told him. That was the author telling you "it's not that this issue is unaddressed, it's that you're supposed to fill in the blanks yourself".

The scariest monster is the one you can't see, and the most visceral struggle is the one you can project onto.

So Dazai is supposed to be up to reader interpretation, however he has to have some consistency and patterns and quirks to be recognizable as himself to the audience. We may never be able to say with certainty why Dazai is, but we can all come to a semblance of how Dazai is, because we're reading a story about a fictional guy written by a real person. Fan interpretations may vary, but the canon story is static. Dazai might be ~mysterious~ by design, but he's not that complicated.

[fawnpires]

AMORAL SILHOUETTES — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

༉‧₊˚ ┊ PART 2.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: infatuations with older men were morally wrong, but never applying to him.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: afab!reader, manhandling, breeding kink, pet-names, praise kink, oral sex (female receiving), size difference, creampies, reader is in her 20's, ghost is a single dad, touch-starved, domesticity, squirting.

You've seen him around the neighborhood before — towering in height, bulging biceps, and a skull balaclava sheltering the structure of whatever laid under, the structure of his concealed face. It was a known fact that you bear an attraction to him, but you just couldn't own up to it, feeling a little too shamed to be conscious about a little school-girl crush on a man much older than you. A man who was a hard-working, ex-military, single father who paid no attention to girls in the same line that you found yourself in — but was it hard not to steal a view glances whenever he was seen around the neighborhood whether it was for a few minutes or seconds despite his lack of ability to communicate with others, though it was obvious he chose not to be around others for a good waste of his time excluding his children.

So when he came strolling up the slope of your driveway and a gloved fist beating at your front door, you had thought you were in another one of your trances — molded daydreams of him; minor fantasies of Simon Riley in that same balaclava giving you all of his affection, kissing you, treating you as if you were his pretty wife — a life that you could never make a single complaint about.

Ghost — his more preferred name used on other's tongues — stands eerily underneath the giving-out light of your porch, with nothing but a set of dusky eyes and a whole lot of muscle beneath the puny fabric of a black v-neck. You, stand on the opposite side of the door and impassively stare, nonetheless avoiding the eye contact when he gapes at you for longer than intended.

"I'm assuming you're the daughter." he said, reserved, dull.

"Sure am, did you need something?"

He clears his throat. "Well, this might be a strange thing to ask — and a bit sudden," He brought his hands to tuck in his pockets. "But would you mind looking after my kids for a while? I'll pay you for every hour, just a couple days of the week."

His offer was the last thing on the brink of your mind when he happened to show up, asking you for a favor — being in his house, where he lived, with his presence ghosting around. It sounded creepy. A bit stalker-ish to think of it like that — but you played it off as an innocent favor he asks of his neighbor, just a few hours of your day taken off to go kid-watching for the man who you admired the most.

"A couple days of the week?" You repeat his words back to him.

"I'm certain."

"I mean, sure, I'll take the offer, but when do you want me to start?"

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow evening is fine, around six."

You bit your lip. "Got it. Have a good-night, Mr. Riley."

"Knew I could rely on you, thanks, doll."

A single wave was managed. No verbal good-bye, just a wave from the hand that was freed from the confines of his pocket — and a pet-name taken straight to the pinpoint of your heart. You watch as he turns his back and finds himself across the street to where he coincidentally had lived — watching as he outstretched his arms and embraced a young girl with no emotion that had intentionally been shown to the public. Doll. It was unknown if his label for you was something he did purposely or had just slipped from his masked lips.

Either way, it made you feel like cherished like never before, his doll.

The day in which Ghost's favor was asked of you passed by quickly into the day the favor was actually supposed to be performed, straight at six, right in the center of where the sky was going through modifications of warmth to a bitter cold. Much like him with more anxiousness residing in your chest, you were across the street and bound to his porch, a dress shrouding your figure up to the bottoms of your thighs. Dressing and dolling yourself up made you look like you were going more on a night-out rather than a baby-sitting shift. Unintentional was the word for it. Unintentional to be all formal when in the same proximity. You half-recover from your birthing nervousness and thump on the door gently.

"Mr. Riley, it's me." you blatantly said, the door still closed.

With your words blurted out the door seemed to open on command — aggressively, as if it were going to be discharged from the hinges. Rather than a giant of a man in the doorframe there stood a girl half the size of it, lightly-shaded blonde hair up in pigtails with a cherubic face, staring right up at you as she titled her head. Honestly, you weren't good with children, but kindness was fundamental as of that. You give her a forced smile pressed up into the corners of your mouth as if held at gunpoint, whispering a small greeting and a wave. How maternal of you.

From further into the house came footsteps, blaring footsteps, and the little girl was no longer stood two feet on the surface of the ground but lifted into her father's arms with a brief giggle. You weren't going to stand here and be blamed a liar if that didn't advance an adoration for him in the moment.

"Thank you so much for coming and apologies, it's my fault for letting you in late," he said. "Make yourself at home."

"Don't worry about it." you reassure.

Ghost's house was clean and neutral, but gave off a decent interior of a past lieutenant's home well. There were a few toys littered around, a locked exhibition cabinet of ex-military trinkets, piled-up envelopes, and one other silhouette of a little girl bearing similarities to the one in his arms. Nothing in his house gave off a girlish ambience, besides two daughters, but it was masculine; like an adequate, suburban variety of a old-fashioned farmhouse with rifles and deer heads on display replaced with military collections.

There was a microscopic chance of danger with a bunch of firearms and artillery gear laying around but as someone as wise as himself, of course he kept a lock on it. Chain, even, if he wanted to get that far into territory.

"Bedtime's at eight, food is already ordered, and you have the entire house to yourself past the eight-o-clock mark." Ghost said. He provided you with a spare key, his bared fingers brushing against yours as he placed it in the middle of your hand. "So you have plenty of time to, you know, relax."

"When will you be home?"

"Around ten, but wait up on me — I'll give your pay up before you leave."

"So I stay until ten?"

"Sure do."

"You can trust me, for sure."

"I know I do." he said.

His eyes trail over you for a minute longer before bending his knees and and allowing his daughter to be freed from his grasp, legs straightening up again as he pat your shoulder. "Thanks, kid, I'll see you later."

All of these nicknames were blurted from his mouth like nothing — first it was doll, now kid, and it just left you anticipated for what he would grant you next with. That though stuck to your mind like a nail screwed by a hammer, watching as he took his jacket and folded it in his arms, swearing that he gave you one last glance before he unlatched the door and shut it behind him — leaving you to bathe in the first touch he acted on you, his effortless terms of endearment, and the two resembling daughters he relied to be cared of.

Spiraling. You had to be spiraling.

Your hours spent with the children were calm. They had warmed up to you pretty fast and had dragged you nearly to every spot of their home. Up the stairs where their shared bedroom stood at the hall, a couple of bathrooms downstairs, a storage closet, the showcase of weaponry, and even Ghost's bedroom. They declared his room was some kind of secretive hideout, only being in there a limited amount of times, but urging you to take them in there along you. It was going to be difficult to get out of the pressuring so, having your own fun, you let them explore around his room — like you were a cool older sister, or mother, to them.

The title "Mother" exclaimed from one of the girls, ultimately leading into them repeatedly a series of them calling you variations of mom, mommy, mother, throughout the night instead of the name you had given them to call you. You weren't extremely irritated with it, you actually found it slightly adorable considering that they didn't even have a mother and latched onto you as some sort of female parent never obtained, nonetheless it was practically harmless and brought no harm down on you.

Baking cookies, some sort of role-playing they convinced you to star in, doing their hair in all sorts of girly ribbons and accessories almost made you feel like you were a little girl again — it had drained them out pretty easily but gave them a sense of girlhood, giving no offense to Ghost. A vision crossed your mind, eventually spearing your mind, that you were the real mother to these girls. A female figure to look up to and issue them a full family with a packed set of two parents. It had been drilled to you the other half of the the night, you kept a close eye on them as they had gotten ready for bed and prepared themselves under the covers.

With a deportation of reading a shabby bedtime story and a few ruffles to both of their heads, you finally had his home to yourself. Anything you wanted to do was accessible, easy-to-do, but with no danger of waking up the girls. Exhaustion was present, though, with all of your lone ideas to-do in mind you ended up on the couch. Your head tilted in one palm as you legs crossed under the skirt of your dress, the illuminations of late-night talk shows on television glowing your face in shades of dissimilar hues.

Staying up and waiting for Ghost to walk right through the front door was starting to become a challenge. Blaming his daughters for putting you in a state of pure fatigue was never the right thing to do, although it was easy to admit. Your eyelids were heavy with one more glance at the clock, which read a quarter to nine, meaning that this night could come to its finale and you could see that face of his — physically, up-close, like you did three hours ago.

As you were right at your breaking point into a slumber the doorknob trembling and echoing into the room where you were buzzed you awake. Stretching over the arm of the sofa and sloping your head to where the door was visible, knob had stopped with the commotion, the door silently opening a crack before blew open. To your relief and satisfaction it's the man who've you longed for the entire day, like a depressed stay-at-home housewife. His jacket is thrown on a nearby table as he could only stare at your laid figure over the couch, eyes squinting.

"Welcome home."

"Appreciate it. Are the girls upstairs?" Ghost asked with a finger pointing to the floor above.

"All knocked out."

"Jesus, what did all of you do?"

"Just a little girl-fun, that's all, baking — stuff like that." you said with a no-teeth grin.

"I could only thank you again for that," he sighs and pulls out a couple dollar bills stuffed in the jean of his pocket. "You don't have any idea how hard it is to get those two asleep."

"Really? They're like little angels, they loved me."

"I bet they did," he said while setting your pay on the coffee table. "Here, an entire hundred stack."

"Hundred?"

"You deserve it, do you not?"

"I'm only a part-time babysitter, Mr. Riley, not a full time worker."

"Yes, but you're a good girl, are you not? Going through all the trouble to make time for me and my kids — so I can assure you this is my pay for you, think of it as a prize."

"God, well, thank you." you said, processing his terms of good girl, heat rising to your face. "You really love those girls, don't you?"

"They're my pride and soul." he said while taking a seat next to your half-laid body, dipping the cushion of the couch. "I only want the best for them, that's why I chose you to look after them."

"Me, why?"

"It's difficult to explain, and a bit strange but — you've always reminded me of my past wife, kind and loved her kids, soft spot even for the people she didn't really know."

"I didn't know I could resemble someone so much." you said, mouth going dry.

Ghost laughs. "Yeah, she was quite beautiful too, like you."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Why wouldn't it be? Hell, love, you've got the looks any man you could fall for.

His hand comes to gently rest on your thigh and you look up at him through droopy eyelids, this didn't feel real. This couldn't be real, right? It couldn't be proved as false when his calloused fingers started rubbing tender circles into your skin, eyes of his own half-lidded and crinkling around with the tar-like paint staining skin. You and him were playing a dangerous game, pent-up tension right in here in his living room, a man by all means older and more mature than you've ever been — it was so easy to give into him so fast.

"You like that, huh?" he keeps his voice low and continues the strokes on your thigh. "You ever been touched like this, dollface?"

"No, sir."

"Mm. I liked the way you called me sir, honey. Come here, sit-up."

You balance yourself on twitching elbows and Ghost moves in between your thighs, his body weight heavy compared to your smaller physique as he lifts the cloth-edge of his balaclava for you, revealing a light stubble peppering the anatomy of his face and somewhat coarse lips that pressed up against yours. Your hands hoist to caress his face, kneading into his sinking cheekbones with each move to intensify the kiss. His pink muscle of a tongue forces your lips open and laps at every crevice of your mouth — your arms linking around his head, his fingers once at your thighs now under your skirt and massaging in circular motions at your fabric-clothed cunt. Small whimpers of shame leak into the kiss, evolving into moans, his massaging enhancing with every finished motion.

Ecstasy ran through your veins, pulsing with adrenaline and contentment. Your legs are fragile, trembling, alongside your cunt flourishing a moistness in its fiber confinement. The man of your daydreams no longer is just a fragment of your delusional head, but right where you've longed for him to be, taking and compelling you to be obedient for him. Only him, always him.

The ministrations on your veiled cunt withdraws and drags a moan from the depths of your throat. One of his hands instead crawl underneath your pushed-together legs and the other supports your back. You dive into his lips with a hunger once more and he manhandles you so delicately despite the tough behavior, you're drunk on the taste of Ghost as he works through the house up the stairs, through the hallway, and brings you into his room where you once stood earlier — the click of the lock confirms your status, you're safe as long as you're with him.

His hands pressing into the flesh of your body is loosened up as he lays you gently on the mattress as if you were created of porcelain — which did have some sense in it bearing in mind that you, essentially, were his doll of a girl by his own words. Defines of his eyes stream your body up and down, towering over you in height, yourself much more reduced and small. Fingers assist you with stripping your dress, leaving you in an arrangement of panties and bra complimenting every curve and bow of your figure. He curses mutely under his breath, huge palms cupping and kneading at your breasts, his knees resting on the bed.

Your whimpers are more pristine and clear to his naked ear. Looking through your languid-like eyes, a bulge is positioned right at his jeans, and his shirt had been ripped off of him — possibly during the time where your eyes had been closed to immerse in his touch.

"Such pretty tits, love." He said with a grunt. A deep guttural grunt.

"They're all for you, mister, always have been."

"Not mister, not even Ghost — Simon to you, and it's going to be Simon when I'm pounding into this tight little cunt of yours."

His words add on to the wet arousal staining your panties, swearing a second heartbeat could be felt, a throbbing and senseless feeling.

"You like this pair?" Ghost asks, nudging at your panties.

"Not important." you reply through short, cut breaths.

With your consent, he takes both of his hands, ripping the fabric in half. A gasp delivers from your open mouth — both at the cold air's impact on your exposed entrance and the material ripping apart. He has a look in his eyes that resembles a feral animal, one that is undomesticated and always in a repetitive state of hunger. Ghost backs you up to lay against his pillows to allow more space for him to climb on the mattress with you. He wastes no time with leaning himself down and hooking your bare legs in a hold around both arms, resting right at his broad shoulders. Those same eyes of hunger peer up at you with the bottom half still exposed from the bruising make-out session.

You feel a mushy lick bumping at your clit, causing your back to arch to the ceiling with a high-pitched moan, who knew such a motion could make you so submissive in a short span of time. The palm of your hand is instantly cupped around your mouth like a guard as Ghost continued his ministrations on your lips — no longer kitten licks but long, dragged out ones that had your eyes rolling into the back of your skull and struggling to muffle such sexual noises deprived from your mouth for the sake of his daughters fast-asleep down the hall.

"You taste like heaven," he grunts. "You're such an angel, making those sweet noises all for a guy like me."

"Only you, fuck, you feel so good." you whined, fisting the bedsheets at your sides.

"That's my girl."

The slant of his nose stimulates your clit while he proceeds with his longer, stroking tongue advances reaching deep inside your cunt. Your surroundings are heated with an addition of pure wetness, sweat, and mess clogging your brain up. His tongue provides you with a pleasure even your own fingers couldn't drive out of you, drool pools at a corner of your mouth while his grip on your legs hardens, strokes of his tongue becoming more aggressive — driving you quicker over an edge, your stomach in knots and oversensitivity. Your vision starts to blur out once you realize you can't control the sounds that he forces out of you, his tongue again and again savoring you as if you were his last meal on death row — he was desperate and willing to lap up your juices staining his face and your inner-thighs, Ghost was just as deprived as you were for him.

A thick sensation adjoins his tongue and nose, overwhelming sparks of emotion possessing you. The palm around your mouth is useless at this point, it lays flat and abandoned as a fist clutching at the sheets, moans chased out humiliatingly. You needed to come, come for him, for your own sake — but that was hard to think about when Ghost was mouth-fucking and finger-fucking you at the same exact time, much like some pornographic type video. A cliche one.

You were squeezing around whatever he stuck in you next — his tongue, his fingers, his tongue, or an combination, you were with no doubt tight and squeezed around any of his body parts.

"Fuck, you gonna come, sweetheart?" he asked, muffled with your clit puckered between his lips. "It's okay, come for me, just like that."

"Baby! Oh my go-"

Your back arches to an impossibly high rate when the knot in your stomach unties itself willingly, a wave of arousal gushing in streams on his face. Audible whines fall from your lips as you fall back right in contact with the plush of the bed. Sweat and the scent of sex reeks around you and Ghost, your chest rising with each hefty breath that is fished from your lungs. Your blurred vision is somewhat returned to its original shape, enough to make out Ghost — with his bare chest and your arousal at his face, tongue used to make said arousal transpire licking around at it, and his inked forearm. He was sticky and sweaty, a little tired, but obtained the right amount of stamina to be right inside you, just like he had wanted.

"Simon." you heaved out below, his fingers pressing into your hips. "Fuck me, please. I need you so bad, needed you ever since you've first moved here."

Ghost releases a low grunt and within a few seconds, he's messing with his belt — shakily unbuckling it and shrugging his pants to the floor. His boxers are no place of concealment, the prominent outline of his bulge protruding beyond the fabric, the sight provoking you to press your thighs together and rev-up that weakness present in your knees. He tugs at the waistband and slowly, painfully, lowers the border bordering item down — his cock almost immediately coming to press against his lower abs, at his lower stomach, really giving you the idea of how big he was. His balaclava is fully suited back on his face as the he leans down to give a final stream of soft kisses at your stomach through the mask, a hand pumping from the base of his cock to the tip.

"You want this, angel?" he groans with his pumps before he releases himself from his hand, positioning the tip of his cock right at the entrance of your swollen cunt as he provided a pre-fuck with only his tip. "Want my cock deep inside your pussy, pounding you into the mattress?"

"Oh god, I do, want you to fuck me as if I'm your wife, your pretty little housewife."

With one unforeseen jolt of his hips, he slams into you, your tight walls fondling him as if you were made for him. Your arms link around his torso as he moves his hips slowly, nails etching into the muscles of his back.

"Fucking hell, I can feel you squeezin' around me, love," he pants out, thrusts developing into a more faster pace. "This pussy is so good to me..."

"You're so fucking big, fuck."

Ghost jackhammers his cock into you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, your legs squeezing around his waist. Your mouth widens with each moan and whimper he could drain you of — he pounds into you, fucking you like an animal rabid, sinking fully inside with each thrust of his hips. There's a composure and steady rhythm he keeps, allowing him to punctuate each of his plunges with his cock kissing at your cervix, his hand moving down to your clit. His thumb rolls over the bud and correlates it with how he fucks you, your nails digging at the skin of his back.

"Want to put a baby in you," he groans as his hips rock faster, nearly knocking the breath out of you, his fingers ghosting over the imprint of his cock in your lower stomach. "We'll have a perfect lil' family together, such a pretty little mother to my kids. You would let me do that, yeah?"

He's pistoning his hips in-and-out of you, your cunt naturally squeezing around him as your whines grew in pitch. His words held so much meaning — an entire family with him? Spending a lifetime with the older man you've adored from across the street? It had sounded more like paradise, anything that you've ever wished for in life. He knew he loved you so much, and you knew you loved him as equally, so much that he could imagine your cunt all full of his seed — stomach swelling with his child.

You nod as an agreement and he grunts, thrilled at the idea of you and him birthing something so intimate with each other. A family, your family, his family. It was a scheme he never thought he would be overly-obsessing, despite his disagreement with it during his time serving the army. But he dropped it, as long as he had you, and a devoted life.

"Want that so bad-" you squeal out, the sensation of a knot in your stomach on its last support heels, each of his drilling thrusts pulling you nearly to a climax. "Wanna have your baby, yours forever." Your phrase comes out slurred as the knot is broken of the last support it was on, sending you back into another session of short paradise.

"You're so beautiful. Going to breed this pussy with all my cum, honey." He sinks into you more erratic as he feels the walls of your cunt grasp abnormally tightly around him, his head going bare and distorted, the only initial thought in-tact was to keep the flow of thrusts he had fabricated — though, said flow was quickly dismembering.

His fingers of projecting veins running up his knuckles that were conveniently gripping your hips with such a pressure molded your skin into his contact easily. Your moans coming from a thrown back head against his cologne-scented pillows merged with Ghost's persistent heavier grunts — it's almost like a choir, using two valid voices, and delivering some sort of out-of-tune melody but with a hint of great profound beauty behind it.

The sensitive nipples of your breasts rub up right against his sweat-sheen chest in company with the dog tags strewn around his neck swaying in your face. He's leaning into you and has you caged in with no escape, his flow of thrusts gone, both of you desperate for a release. His muted breathing is irregular and heavy, your legs trembling and weak encircling his waist. His name is on your tongue and it leaks into the air, chanting it like your life was depending on it at the moment — depending on him. The lewd squelching of the head of his cock kissing your cervix, his noises combined with yours, the slapping of skin-on-skin — all of it was such an erotic sight to the human eye.

His head is back resting in the expanse between your head and shoulder, balaclava raised to expose the area of his lips once again, the warmth of those lips stamping sloppy, wet kisses into your neck; you squeal out as you're driven to your breaking point, a rush of arousal pressuring from your cunt and spraying onto his lower abs while he douses his cum deep into your swollen cunt. His own high-point doesn't stop him from sneaking a few more smaller thrusts for a bit, assuring all of his seed stays remains inside you.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice breaking off, his knuckles are ghosting a shade paler than white while he keeps purchase on both sides of your hips. He's stuttering over breaths as he tries to catch up with them, eyes falling to your immobile self. Your mouth is vaguely unfastened with breaths taken, eyes nearly closed, body slightly shuddering with the collisions of his cock still felt up inside of you — leaving your filled cunt fluttering around nothing.

"Too rough on you, sweetheart?" He asks, raspy.

"I think I'm okay, besides —you made my night even better."

He chuckles, a rare vision coming from a man like himself. "I'm happy to assist with that."

"Also," you imposed a dopey grin on your lips. "You should ask me for favors more often."

[ghcstao3]

I am absolutely begging to hear more about the ghost soap DBH au, it's so cool. I will literally take anything you're willing to share

(X) ask and ye shall receive >:) i’ve already been considering writing a second full fic of a dbh au because i am. so normal. lots of rambling ahead

but for this specific AU (cw for abuse, alcoholism, mentions of death/murder) soap used to be a personal assistant android for a young, rich ceo—both at work and at home. at work, he’d do everything his function was meant for: schedule meetings, store files, , send emails, all sorts of administration. but at home, said ceo had a habit of drinking his nights away, and when he did he got angry, and suddenly soap had become his personal punching bag.

soap couldn’t run away, couldn’t quit, like the man’s previous human assistant. soap wouldn’t bruise or scratch, and anything broken was easy to repair quickly and discreetly, so it’s more than easy for the man to get away with.

when the android murders start, soap is immediately privy to it. it’s all people whisper about in the office, it’s all his boss—his owner—talks about in his drunken slurring, demeaning soap and saying he couldn’t manage that if he tried. he’s spineless, mindless as an android is meant to be. soap would never be free.

soap can’t really pinpoint his final straw, but one night he snaps. breaks through that barrier of code and fights back instead of take, take, take like he has for all these years. shoves the man away and makes sure he stays down. grabs a throw pillow from the nearby sofa and holds it over the man’s head until he goes limp; soap doesn’t care whether or not he’s dead, just that he can now escape. he digs the LED out of his temple and shoves it in his pocket, and wanders aimlessly until he remembers an address he’d once heard murmurings of, where soap could get help.

he can’t say he immediately trusts the human that greets him—a man by the name of manuel roba—but there’s some relief in seeing the android that accompanies him. the android, ghost, is bigger than most every-day androids, so soap assumes he must’ve been military or security before everything. still, soap relaxes ever so slightly in his presence.

soap doesn’t know how he goes from being told he’ll receive help to having himself set up for a full reset, trapped in roba’s grimy basement, but it’s then he feels immediately betrayed by ghost. he hardly knows the other android, but why couldn’t he have been warned? why would ghost be okay with this?

then soap is confused, when roba has turned and left and ghost lingers a moment longer before approaching soap, latching onto his wrist and transmitting a message: i can’t help you now, so i need you to escape. i know you can escape.

before soap can question him, ghost has slipped away and disappeared along with roba.

it doesn’t soften the betrayal, exactly, but the encouragement is worth enough for soap to make the effort to wriggle free. and he manages, tears the cables from where they’re connected to him, destroys the computer for good measure, and makes a run for it. it’s in escaping he finds the experiments, androids picked apart and reformed with new limbs, new additions, left with missing components. he frees them, even knowing they likely wouldn’t make it far.

the front door is locked, of course, so soap scours the house for another way out. he’s cautious enough, until he isn’t, and suddenly roba has the barrel of a shotgun fixed on his face. then just as suddenly, said barrel is being aimed back at roba, wielded by ghost. they’re locked in a standstill when the freed androids from the basement burst in through the door and clamber after roba. soap and ghost run away in the meantime, taking roba’s car and driving far away.

“why did you save me?” soap eventually asks.

“i don’t know,” is ghost’s honest answer. “but i had to.”

through more prodding is how soap learns where they’re going: a place called jericho, a refuge of only androids, one that’s been growing in size and power. ghost could sense neither of them would want to turn and leave behind the fight, so they’d join the cause instead. soap can’t say he’s displeased by this.

they commit themselves to the protests. commit themselves to sending a message, to fighting for their autonomy. gradually ghost wins back soap’s trust, and in turn they become good friends. an odd sensation soap can’t name forms at the heart of his code.

it isn’t until ghost is shot during their final battle does soap realize what it is—something humans call love. a profound sense of devotion different to the care between friends.

soap drags him to safety. desperately begs him to be okay, does his best to staunch the leaking of thirium. it’s in the nick of time another android or two intervenes and helps save ghost. death, soap is almost certain, means either complete reset or thrown in the landfill, where androids go to truly die. and he couldn’t keep on living, if either thing were to happen to ghost.

once rebooted, recalibrated, soap kisses ghost. transmits everything he feels through that contact, shares his memories and thoughts and in turn ghost does the same.

and though it may take some time—now they can finally start anew without living in fear. they can build a life together freely, and isn’t that all either of them could ever ask for.

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's Slasher Fictober Day 11: Poly Ghost Part 2 (Billy and Stu) (Pumpkin Spice)

Day 11 is here, and with day 11 comes something you will probably only see this one time during Fictober. I'm doing a part 2! A lot of you after reading the original day 3 Billy and Stu fic wanted a part 2 to that so here it is during what I have dubbed smut or pumpkin spice latte week. I hope you all enjoy part 2 <3

Go back and read part one here!

Notes: Minors DNI, Smut, Nsfw. No reader description or pronouns are used at all. This is a poly relationship fic, if you are not into that please do not read it.

Last time on Billy and Stu...

"Maybe you should spend some time with us and show us what we're missing" You smirked at him.

"Maybe I will"

Now for this weeks installment...

================================================

Billy leaned towards you at once and brought your lips together. Stu's lips still made their way up and down your neck leaving soft bites as they went as Billy's tongue probed your mouth.

Billy pulled away and stood up to remove his shirt and pants before taking his seat on the bed once more.

When his cock was freed from his pants you watched in a trance as it smacked against his stomach then bounced in the air a bit before settling.

Suddenly Stu's hands wrapped around your hips and he hoisted you onto to Billy's precum covered cock. You gasped at the feeling of being lowered onto it and filled at once.

"C'mon baby you can take it, We all know you can" Stu murmured into your ear, holding you still and not allowing you to move away from Billy. Billy put his head back to revel in the feeling as you began to move back and forth on his cock instinctively grinding on him.

You tried to give yourself some space but again Stu held you back and forced you back down into Billy. Billy's hands overtook Stu's has be starting thrusting up into you from underneath.

One of Stu's hands gripped your hair forcing your head back to connect your lips as Billy fucked into you. Stu's free hand roamed your body rubbing up and down your stomach.

Stu then lifted your legs, putting you into a spread eagle position facing Billy as his cock continued in and out of you. You look down to see where your two bodies were connected almost mesmerized by seeing Billy's entire length disappear inside you.

With both Billy and Stu slamming you onto Billy's cock, your eyes started to roll back in your head as the only coherent things you could say were begs of harder. When the drool started to come you knew then you were really fucked both figuratively and literally.

"Am I already fucking you dumb baby?" Billy asked, You couldn't even answer which seemed to only fuel his fire. At once Billy's cock was removed from you and replaced by another, Stu.

Billy and Stu switched positions , now Billy was forcing you onto Stu's while he sat in front of you on the bed and stroked his still hard cock. Neither of you had came before you got swapped to Stu so you figured it was Stu's turn to cum in you.

It wasn't long before your walls clenched around Stu milking his cock of cum while you both came together. You leaned over to take Billy into your mouth to finish him off yourself.

Once the three of you were spent, you all collapsed back onto Stu's bed with you in the middle of your two boys. Stu brough his blanket around you while Billy stroked your sweaty forehead.

"You're so good to us baby, You take us both so well" Billy cooed as you cuddled yourself down into his chest.

Stu wrapped his arms around your middle and began to spoon you.

"We both love you so much doll" Stu mumbled already falling asleep.

You smiled and hummed into Billy's chest. No place in the world you would rather be then right here with your boys.

[pedgito]

hey, im a big fan of your writing. I am also a big fan of Javier Peña, Joel and Din lmao. So can I request a story about either one of those (mostly sfw mainly because im in my feelings) that is more of a hurt/comfort angst? Maybe bottled feelings are freed, a near death experience occurs after a heated confession that didn't go well...? idk I leave it up to you if you want to write it of course. Anyways, again, love love your stories, especially the way your portray Javier. Have a nice week <3

pairing | javier pena x fem!reader

content warning | mostly sfw, arguments over commitment/relationships, mention of violence (bombing), descriptions of minor injuries and emotional distress, just lots and lots of angst [2.6k]

author’s note | this screamed javi so hard so i couldn't pass up the opportunity to write some angst for him

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3

You’ve been at it for months now, waiting for Javier to finally give in and confess to you what he’s been holding back for so long—he’s so closed off it’s impossible, his back turned to you as he grips the chair shoved into the small dining table tucked in the corner of his apartment.

This was supposed to be a one off job, spend a couple months down in Bogotá with Steve—play alongside him in the hopes of catching Escobar, settling into a mix between the three of you, realizing fairly quickly that Peña wasn’t the type of nice guy you were used to.

He was brazen, straight-forward and a little bit—scratch that, a lot of an asshole, so full of himself that it oozed out. Still, that didn’t stop you from climbing into his bed a week into your stay, breaking the one rule you had.

Never fucking sleep with your co-workers.

Look where it got you; fighting an emotionless wall of stone.

He wants you, but he can’t have you. He doesn’t want to see you with other people, but he can’t stake his claim and call you his—but god forbid you so much as consider eyeing another person, someone interested in showing you the attention you wanted, that you deserved. His jealousy is unmatched, the curl in his lip when he sees you across the room around them, the short and fleeting touches they gave to your arm in passing—from your perspective, a simple gesture between friends, but to Javier, it's a threat.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t try to show you attention—Javier was more than that, all-consuming in a way, passionate to a fault. But, he was not a lover type guy.

Still, you were naive enough to think you could change that.

“I’m not doing this anymore,” You spoke strongly, watching the tilt of his head as looks down, burning a cigarette held between his fingers, “whatever this is—we can forget about it.”

“Yeah—I’m sure the others will have a fuckin’ field day when they catch wind,” Murphy let it slip once and it’s been the constant topic of conversation, playful teasing toward you but torture on Peña who likes to keep things private, always, “always eye fucking you across the room.”

“Who cares, Javi?” You ask, feeling like you were talking to a ghost as he refused to look at you. “You don’t give a shit what’s going on here, why should I?”

And it hurts because you do.

It was innocent at first, one hookup that should’ve ended that night. But, one turned into several and eventually you were spending most night at Javier’s apartment to the extent of grabbing dinner on the way there—or, for fucks sake, cooking for the man. You knew that he loved breakfast in the mornings despite his constant refusal to eat it, how he couldn’t focus without his first cup of coffee and why he kept his gun at his bedside and the spare under the mattress.

He’s got scars, faint but visible when you lay against his chest at night—some from childhood, some not, but you wouldn’t know had you not spent the time with him and watched the vulnerability he showed when it was just you, just him after a long, stressful day trying to catch a terrifying monster and the both of you itching to burn off steam.

“You can’t ask me on a date, can’t—jesus—you can’t even look at me, Javier.” He hears the break in your voice, how hard you’re struggling to keep things together.

And you’re fuming, furious, aiming to hit him where it really hurts. You want him to feel. Feel anything.

“You like to play house and let me cook you meals, act like I’m yours when it’s convenient for you.” He twitches at that, slamming the burnt end of the cigarette into the ashtray. It’s the only real sign of emotion he’s shown all morning. “That’s all you care about. Egoísta.” (Selfish)

He slams the ashtray down roughly, ashes flying over the table. You don’t jump or flinch, not at all fazed by his outburst. You saw it too often during work when things fucked up or didn’t go his way. When he did show emotion it was intense and full body.

“I told you,” He says slowly, turning toward you now, “I don’t do this,” He punctuates slowly, fingering wagging between the both of you, “I can’t do—this.”

Clearly.

“Can’t or won’t?”

The difference is staggering, truly. You wanted an answer.

“You tell me you never want me to leave your bed, your apartment, that you want to keep me here forever because there’s nothing that makes you feel this close to home—and you can’t do this?”

He speaks it against your lips almost every night when he’s pulling you into his chest, pressing those soft lips of his against your forehead and kissing you with a tenderness reserved only for you.

Javier never answers, gaze growing more intense by the second, bound to retreat from the situation before emotions boil over—but you beat him to it, grabbing your bag and storming out without a word.

He’s never had to beg you to stay and he doesn’t realize how desperately he’d wished to ask you until a few hours later, a phone call from Steve that has his heart dropping into his stomach, the equal worry in Murphy’s voice as he relays the information.

Steve mumbles your name—hurt, bomb, Escobar written all over it, dead, so many dead.

You’re lucky to still be standing—or rather alive, forced onto a gurney lined in the aisle of some rundown Bogota hospital where the workers were running rampant, clearly on edge and scrambling to save lives.

It was minor compared to what could have been. A small concussion, some lacerations to your face and a nasty gash on your side that required some stitching. It wasn’t anything some pain medication and bandages couldn’t fix, but in that commotion you had lost all of your belongings, undoubtedly damaged beyond repair. You had been in the shopping center ten minutes prior to the explosion and you were shaken, admittedly, wondering why your life had been spared over so many others.

And you always hear about your life flashing before your eyes during a near death experience, never really believing it until it happens—and selfishly, you couldn’t think about anything but Javi.

He was a nasty parasite, the kind that sucked the life and energy out of you, took everything and gave nothing in return. You knew how he was going into things, knew he wouldn’t budge or change his ways.

But still, there was a hope that maybe he would change.

The first thing you manage to do when you find a phone is call the embassy—anyone who would answer and let them know what happened, but they were miles ahead and already fifty feet deep into investigating.

Carillo is the first to ask if you’re okay, not that it matters—but then Murphy is scrambling for the phone, a soft commotion in the background as he argues with the man until he finally lets up and hands it over.

“God, we thought you were dead. Please tell me you’re alright?” Murphy pleads, sounding just as strained and worried as you’d expect, “All your limbs, nothing missing?”

You laugh softly into the phone, the first breath of life back into after what has been a terrible day. It’s already evening, the day has come and gone and the sun is setting without a trace of anyone coming to help.

Not that you expected it—Javier wasn’t the type to get over things easily.

“Yep. Head’s still attached and everything.” And Steve can appreciate your way of coping, adding a bit of lightheartedness to a dark situation. You release a shaky breath, squeezing the plastic tighter until cracks under your grip, “Is there—I mean, they just discharged me, but I don’t have a ride.”

“Javier didn’t pick you up?” Murphy asks, sounding confused. “I told him—he should’ve…”

He trails off, cursing away from the phone as he speaks to someone distantly, “Which hospital are you at?”

You look around for any indication, reading off an unfamiliar name to Steve as he repeats it, scribbling it down on a piece of paper.

“Shit—Javi’s probably clear on the other side of town from you.” Murphy runs a tired hand through his hair, over his face. “They told us they sent everyone to the one here close by the embassy.”

Everyone.

Families searching for their missing—you couldn’t even imagine it.

“He—does Javi think I’m—“

“Shit, I don’t know. He’s been on edge since he got here this morning, we’ve been trying to figure something out, anything—he left a few hours ago when we weren’t getting answers and I just—did something happen?”

“I think I pushed him too far this morning,” You say softly, huddling closer to the wall as the halls become more crowded, louder and suffocating in a way that has your curling around yourself slightly, mindful of the pain in your side, “fuck, maybe this is karma, Steve.”

“Hey, no—don’t say that shit,” He stops you in your tracks, “Javi is…Javi, you can’t predict anything he’s gonna do. Dude’s a fuckin’ brick wall half the time.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Steve, I don’t have my phone.” You tell him, “Can you just—call him? Let him know. I need to find a cab or someone willing to drive me back to Bogota if that’s even fucking possible. I don’t even have my wallet or badge with me.”

It’s almost like a divine intervention that you hear Javier on the other end, cutting through the flurry of other voices and busy telephones ringing. He’s wrenching the phone out of Steve’s hand before he can get a word in.

“Querida,” He says soft, voice quivering slightly, “Querida, is that you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will yourself to remember how badly things ended earlier in the day, even if they didn’t feel as important now, they were still important to you.

Emotions were high now, but the fallout could be devastating.

“Yes, I’m—Javi, I’m okay. A little banged up and stuff but I’ll survive,” The silence grows as he absorbs the information, “Look, I need to go. I have to find a ride back to town.”

“Don’t move,” He says briskly, suddenly, “Fuck—I mean stay there, no te vayas. I’m coming for you.” (Do not go)

The line cuts before you have a chance to reply.

You love how well he sticks out in a crowd despite how he likes to blend in and not draw attention to himself, but he’s all tanned skin and shiny with a layer of sweat that tells you he probably ran a few blocks to get here.

You did wait, even if it was closer to a half hour before there was any sign of him, despite how upset you still were, you waited.

Of course you did.

His eyes dart around nervously before they land on you, tucked away in a corner as you cradle your side and he’s barreling toward you, scooping you up before you can protest. The small squeak you release has him pulling back like someone stabbed him with a hot brand, brows furrowed with worry.

“My side,” You mumble, shifting his hand away from the wound, watching as it falls helpless to his side again, his gaze lingering over your body, face, seeing the amount of damage you took, “hey—I’m fine, all things considered.”

Javier blinks slowly, rubbing around the side of your jaw, careful of the small bandage covering a nasty cut, that familiar pout growing on his lips. You saw it earlier, but the implication was different.

This wasn’t anger. It was worry.

“Mi amor,” He murmurs, oblivious to the commotion around you both as he looks at you, almost straight through you, “fuck—I’m so sorry.”

You breathe through your nose deeply, shaking your head as you grip his wrist for leverage, pulling him alongside you until you’re outside, away from the crowd of people and alone.

“No, I’m sorry.”

And for once, Javier is surprised.

He knows you always have a comeback poised on your tongue, the will to fight and work through any argument that surfaces, but this is defeat. It’s clear as day on your face in the way it falls, eyes softened to the point of near tears and your cheek covered in a dark bruise that makes his chest hurt.

“I don’t know why I’m forcing you to answer to something you don’t want,” That something in question was you, but it didn’t matter, “maybe we let things drag on too long. I was just—happy, I liked it. I shouldn’t have expected anything from you since you were clear from the beginning.”

Even with Javier being the first to cross the lines he drew himself, asking you to stay that one night and never going back, making mistake after mistake until it stopped feeling wrong and started to seem, well, normal. But, here you were, taking the blame like he had no wrongdoing in any of this.

“Bebita, no.” His voice is low, thumb rubbing a tender spot in the side of your neck, a soft touch that massages the ache in your muscles, head tilting into the touch as you look at him. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Oh, the irony.

“Now look at you,” He says, scanning over your face briefly, “consumes mi mente, nena.” (You consume my mind, baby)

“I can’t do halfway anymore, Javi.” It’s pure honesty, fingers finding his wrist as they wrap around delicate, using his touch as an anchor. “I need all of you.”

“Then have it,” Javier says mindlessly, without thinking and speaking instinct—it’s real, you can see it in the way his eyes widen and soften in the same instance, that pleasing look that entraps you, “tómalo.” (Take it)

The tears that sting your eyes don’t fall, but they rise, blinking rapidly to will them away and force yourself to keep composed despite hearing those words, knowing how deeply he meant them.

“Fuck, I’ll marry you if that proves anything to you, querida.” He’s being over-dramatic, but it has your insides fluttering like wildfire, “I should’ve never let you leave this morning.”

But, he was scared. Terrified of how deeply he felt for you.

“There’s so much you don’t know,” Javier explains, “so much I need to tell you but I don’t want to scare you away.”

As if he could.

“Javi, I’m with you.” You tell him steadily, “I always have been.”

Javier laughs through a sigh, breathing through his nose as he smiles for the first time that day.

“We can talk. We will.” Javier nods assuredly, “But, I want to get you home first.”

Home. He means his apartment, but it comes out that way without realizing.

He’s tender when he helps you shower, cleans your wounds up with what little first aid he has, but he manages, helping you dress in what has to be the most vulnerable moment you’ve had since meeting him.

Javier holds you for a long while after that, curled up in his lap on the sofa as he smokes away with his head leaned against the back of the cushion, rubbing a hand over your thigh softly.

“Hermosa?”

You’re nearly asleep by then, rousing with a small hum.

“After all of this,” He trails on, “when we put Escobar away and this shit is done,” He pauses, taking a short drag from the cigarette and blowing it out into the air, “I want you to come back with me.”

“To Texas?”

He nods, squeezing your leg for reassurance.

“I'm terrified of losing you here, but home—I would never let you out of my sight, I could keep you close.”

His trepidation will always be his downfall, but he knows he can’t let you go anymore. He needs you here, he’ll need you after.

“Anywhere you want, Javi. I’ll follow.”

He doesn’t have any reason not to believe you.

“Buena.” (Good.)

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[trashy-tries-writing]

Hii! 🍄Anon is back!!

You said you welcome requests for and about Ravine, right? So I was wondering if I could ask about some of the cod mens reaction to Ravine being a GOD TIER cook?🤤 Like no one would expect him to be able to make such delicious meals but when he does, one bute and you are literally sent to the Gates of heaven. Like you are GONE! Unless you think he's an absolute awful cook? Which in that case just do the opposite. I feel like there be at least one person who would eat his cooking no matter how awful it is (Cough Soap Cough).

Like most people food is the quickest way to my heart so I feel like this be an interesting situation!🍕

Anyways thanks again for liking my dumb random babbles about how cool i think Ravine is! Have a cookie for your prize! 🍪

(Omfg it’s so hard to write with no motivation, jesus 💀 Anon I am so sorry for the wait and if this is a little disappointing😰)

Hi hi 🍄Anon👋

(Thank you for the cookie 😋)

Ravine is a pretty good cook since he took many job offers he could get to earn money for his daughter’s surgery ( Oop he had a daughter?! <o< )

(Soap really be trying not to hurt anyone's feelings but his own taste buds. I feel like Gaz would leave it in his mouth and then spit it out when the cook isn’t watching🤣🤣)

It must have been a hard month for Ravine to volunteer to cook. He sees the team starting to slouch and drag their feet across the dirt like dead weights. At the end of the month they were moving around like shrimps.

Ravine made a whole list for each individual of 141; Los Vaqueros and decided to cook their favorite. (No one will ever know how he got that information.)

Soap is the first one to leave his room and follow the heavenly scent slowly filling the area, then Gaz, Alejandro and the rest.

They are surprised to see Ravine standing in the kitchen and moving around like it was the back of his hand.

The longer they stare from the doorway the more some eyes trail down his body. The sleeves of his t-shirt barely showed the skin of his arm that was hidden behind arm sleeves and his muscles bulged with every move.

Alejandro was tempted to whistle at the back view but Rudy, who had known him for a long time was shaking his head at him but didn't say a thing otherwise.

Gaz slowly steps closer to the cook, commenting how good it smells, to hide the fact he wasn't even eyeing the food in the pan but his arm sleeves that squeezed his biceps just right.

Soap leans away from the doorway to join Ravine's other side, his gaze drifting from the pan and spatula to his hands that were freed from the gloves he always wore. He licks his lips unconsciously at the gracious view gifted to his eyes.

Ravine seems to have different thoughts.

"Out."

"...Huh?"

Gaz and Soap find themselves kicked out of the kitchen with the door closed on their faces. It earns them a chuckle from the others at their expressions.

In Ravine’s eyes the kitchen was just another battlefield, one mess would trigger a second and third. Especially with the giant knives around, Ravine rather not have blood spilled.

The team find themselves at the table and they can’t believe their eyes at the various food displayed in front of them. They all subconsciously turn towards Ravine who leaves the kitchen with a plate of his own.

Rudy kindly asks him if he was going to eat with them but feels disappointed when the cook shakes his head.

He points inside the kitchen at the fridge, “Desserts.” and leaves the amazed group to eat in his room.

Ghost turns his eyes back at his plate and takes a mouthful. It felt like he was eating at a really fancy restaurant, not that he would ever go to such a place.

They serve a giant plate with one bite of food on it and then make you pay over 1000. Such a waste of money. Compared to that Ravine’s food was actually to die for and he would actually pay him that much to cook for him again.

Gaz kind of feels emotional. After such a long and rough month, homemade food was the best for the tiring heart. It was even better when the food tasted like it was cooked by a god.

With each bite, more saliva fills their mouths and a groan of satisfaction leaves them.

Soap swears he saw angels for a second.

Alejandro couldn’t stop complimenting with his mouth still full and Rudy nodded alongside him, both feeling like they were flying among the clouds, weightless and light as a feather.

Soap was the most curious about Ravine. Well, he was the one who showed his interest more verbally and visibly.

The men have so many questions and their curiosity slowly drags them to the depths.

Like is there anything Ravine couldn’t do??? The perfect soldier, a cold looking man but didn’t shy away to show kind gestures. And now they find out that he definitely worked as a chef before and now they want to know more about his life before he became a part of the military.

Hell even Ghost shared more than Ravine ever did and some of the men met Ravine waa-ay before the others.

The food was wolfed down and the plate almost licked clean. (Soap definitely licked it clean without any shame.)

They felt more energetic than the hellish month started and felt thankful for Ravine’s kind gesture. It just bothered them that Ravine was eating alone in his room again, probably working on engine stuff they did not understand while they were sitting in the cozy atmosphere with each other’s company.

Price steps away from the group to check up on the lone man, a bowl filled with watermelon and mango in his hand.

He knocks on the door and waits for Ravine to let him in.

Price can see the plate on his desk, not even halfway done eaten with stacks of paperwork on the other side. He pats the soldier on the back, sighing slightly before telling him to take it easy for once.

“Aye.”

He leaves the fruit bowl beside his dinner and feels content when Ravine visibly perks up. A soft smile spreads on Price’s lips and he would have ruffled his head but the helmet was in the way.

“Enjoy son.”

Extra:

Rudy and Gaz didn’t let Ravine back in the kitchen when they saw him at the sink, about to clean everything himself even though he made such an effort to cook 6 different dishes for them.

They wanted to hug him because it was really delicious but Ravine was already backing away when they inched closer. So they shut the door softly on him so he wouldn’t come back to clean.

Soap and Alejandro really want Ravine to cook again but don’t want to bother him because he’s always busy with something else.

When they find out Ravine likes watermelon and mango, they definitely went to buy more so the fridge was always stocked with it.

Ghost lent a helping hand to Ravine whenever he could to thank him for the wonderful dinner.

Price makes sure he has less paperwork if he can help it.

[xenazaria]

When the Preeminent was finally submerged, something... Strange... Happened. All of the remaining ghosts collapsed to the floor at the same time. Every single one of them. Lloyd watched, confused as Morro fell.

He should probably... Do something? Right?

He walked over to the ghost, cautiously.

He instinctively reached out to roll Morro over, but his hand faded through the ghost's body.

Luckily- or unluckily, depending on how you looked at it- the ghost stirred after only a few awkward moments of stillness.

Morro rolled over, blinking and confused. Lloyd's green eyes met Morro's brown for only a second before jerking away, searching for anywhere else to look other than the eyes of his-

Wait.

Morro's eyes were green.

Why are they brown now?

Unless...

"Where... Am I?" The ghost asked slowly.

What.

"You are in Stixx, Morro. You know, the place where you literally released a giant tentacle monster and then tried to curse the entire realm? That place?"

Lloyd looked back at Morro. The ghost looked like you had just told him his grandma died and then killed his puppy.

"You... Do remember doing that, right?"

Morro shook his head no.

"Do you remember possessing me? Breaking into Cloud Kingdom? Stealing the armour?"

"I don't- Cloud Kingdom? What? Why would i-"

"GET THE FU- FRICK AWAY FROM MY BROTHER YOU JERK!"

Lloyd almost didn't have time to react as Nya started throwing water blasts at the ghost. Almost. He jumped in front of her, getting absolutely drenched in water but not letting any past him.

"Nya stop! I'm fine! I don't think he's a threat right now."

Nya paused at his words "The bi- JERK- that jerk fricking kidnapped you, Lloyd! How could you say he's not a threat?!"

"He doesn't even remember who I am, Nya! I don't think he remembers anything from after he died!"

"Okay, um... Thanks for like... Saving me or whatever that was, but can I PLEASE have some more fucking context about... Whatever is going on here? Why is Blondie wearing that? And who are you? I thought Maya was the master of water."

"SEE?! He doesn't even know where we are. And if you look, his eyes are BROWN now."

Nya let the ball of water that she was preparing fall to the floor. "What?"

"My eyes have always been brown, Blondie. Unless they haven't? This doesn't look like those caves. Or the cursed realm. Where did you say we are again?"

"Stixx. You escaped the cursed realm, kidnapped Lloyd, and freed the preeminent. Do you seriously not remember that?"

"Freed the who? That giant octopus wanna-be? Gross, why would I do that? That thing's ugly as fuck. Also you never answered my question about Maya."

The two ninja just stared at Morro in shock, before looking at each other.

"Okay, so... Chances of... That... Being some sort of mind control?" Nya asked.

"Pretty high. My scan, along with interviews from the other remaining spirits, suggest that none of them remember anything after arriving in the cursed realm the first time." Came a voice from behind, speaking as hesitantly as a nindroid could.

"Okay... So... What now?"

"I say we gather the remaining ghosts and... I don't know, put them in a deep stone cell until we figure out what to do next. Zane, do you think you could get the others started on that? But have W- have Sensei come to us. I think he will want to talk to a certain... Someone."

"I am right here, green bean. How long was I fucking gone? Is that actually the green gi, or is it just some copy? I died, so clearly it wasn't supposed to be me... Was I gone long enough for Wu to find the real green ninja? How long did it take for him to replace me?"

Before Lloyd could answer, Morro froze.

"Morro?" Asked the old man, standing at the entrance of the alley.

"Umm... Hi... Dad... It's been a while, hasn't it? Or... Not that long if these two were telling the truth... Did I really... Do all that?"

Wu ran to the ghost faster than he had ever seen his uncle run before.

"Morro... Is it- is it really you?"

"Were you expecting someone else?" Morro joked nervously.

"When you- At the tea shop, I had hoped that- That wasn't you right? Please tell me that wasn't really you."

"What tea shop? The last thing I remember is showing up in some ugly ass green ribcage and yelling at some bitch, and the next thing I know I'm here."

"Language," Nya said. "There are children in the room- er- alley."

"Okay, well I don't know how long I was gone, but last I checked I was 14, so does it really fucking matter if I swear around children?"

That seemed to cause everyone in the alley to pause.

"You were 14?"

"You're telling me I got kidnapped by a child who is YOUNGER THAN ME?!"

"But... You left the monastery only 3 months before your 15'th birthday... How long were you out there before..."

"As far as I'm concerned, the last time I saw you was when I walked down those stairs a month and a half ago."

"Morro... That was 40 YEARS ago... You left the monastery 40 years ago."

[agentem]

The Darkhold and stuff

Rio says Agatha "hid" behind the Dark magic of the Darkhold. I can't find it now, but in one interview they did ask Kathryn Hahn how Agatha got the Darkhold and she knew about it being on Agents of SHIELD--which had surprised me. The interviewer asked how Agatha took it from Ghost Rider and she was like "must have been a hell of a fight."

What I am infering from this is that Agatha Harkness did not have the Darkhold for very long. The Agents of SHIELD episode aired in 2017, I think. WandaVision happens in 2023 in the MCU timeline. And six years would be a long time for me but if Agatha is 450 years old, it's a relatively short period.

A lot of people, including myself, have speculated she got the Darkhold to try to bring Nicholas Scratch back but was unable to. Then she wanted Wanda's power because Wanda seemed to have the ability to bring people back, since she had "resurrected" Vision.

All this to say, when Agatha is released from Wanda's spell it is the first time she has to sit with her emotions about it. To process it. I assume the Darkhold does not want its user to be emotionally stable.

She wakes up to find Teen in her closet. He claims to have freed her (though there is more evidence that she "clawed" her own way out based on what I saw). So she hopes that somehow Nicholas has come to save her.

Maybe she hopes Rio put the Sigil on him. That she didn't take him after all, that she hid him somewhere.

And then Rio tells her no.

I don't actually know whose trial is in the next episode. (The handwriting on the episode air date library card is block print. It could be Teen because we know he has tiny handwriting per Lilia.) But I wonder if it could be time for Agatha to process this loss finally.

[vipower001]

DP x DC angst:

I thrive off of angst, so I decided, Why not write my own? so here I am, gifting yall with my angst. Enjoy

Also, this is inspired by, I think the Fic called The Kings Coffin, I don't know I could be wrong. But, it's inspired by the time in this fic when Danny mind controlled almost all of the Justice League (because most of them have died or been touched with death at one point or another) and then he was kicked out of the League because they didn't trust him.

_____________________________________________________________

"Hey, guys what's with this emergency meeting all of a sudden?" Danny said with a grin as he entered the meeting room of the Watchtower.

The rest of the justice league was already there, seemingly waiting for him. He noted that there were no more chairs left so he had no choice but to stand. Danny felt like he was walking into the principal's office once he noticed the room's tense atmosphere. With less confidence than when he entered Danny, he asked,

"Sooooo, what's this meeting all about and why does it feel like someone's puppy just got kicked," he says with a chuckle, trying to alleviate the tense atmosphere but seeing that it did not have his desired effect. Even Captain Marvel who is usually ready to join him in joking has a tense almost guilty look on his face. He looks away when Danny turns to look at him.

Officially confused Danny looks at the Leauge hoping one of them will explain soon. Batman is the first to speak.

"Phantom, we call this meeting to discuss some changes that will be happening in the League."

"What changes are being made?" asked Danny. He's curious as to what it could be. Did something happen? Was it about the coffee maker again? He swears that the coffee maker is cursed. Before he can think of any more guesses Batman starts talking again.

"We have come to a conclusion regarding the events that happened a few days prior when almost the entire justice League was mind controlled..."

Danny waited in silence, waiting for Batman to tell them what changes are being made. He hoped there was no long-lasting effect that could have brought about the change. He freed them from the control of that guy as fast as he could. He doesn't want his coworkers to be harmed.

"We have decided that the Justice League can not trust unknown powers, especially ones that can control almost the entirety of the league, it's too much of a risk and that is not one we are willing to take."

wait...what is he saying? It makes no sense. They already caught the guy and Danny already told them that it wasn't the guy's fault, He just so happened to find the Ghost King's artifacts. He already told them that...that...they...belong...to him....no....no.no.no....they wouldn't.

Hesitantly Danny asked, "What are you saying? What do you mean can't risk it? What has been decided?"

Some of the members of the league looked at each other. Some looked at him with regret, guilt, anger,...untrust. Danny tried to read the room to figure out what Batman meant but he didn't have to guess long.

"Phantom, by the majority of the votes of the League, you are officially resigned as a member of the Justice League."

Danny froze. He didn't understand. Why are they kicking him out? He did nothing wrong. What did he do wrong? Why are they doing this?

"What...w-why?" Danny felt like he was just splashed with a bucket of cold water, he felt a chill in his body, one he hasn't felt since he died.

"You withheld information regarding your powers and when shown an opportunity you did not hesitate to use it on on your team. You have proven yourself to be untrustworthy and unpredictable. "

"What do you mean I didn't hesitate?!? Of course, I didn't, it was the only way to save yall! Was I just meant to just let yall be and destroy the city and kill people? Look I'm sorry I didn't give yall a full rundown of my powers but it just never came to mind that it was important. I can write a list of my powers if you would like?" Danny argued, trying to un-dig himself from the apparent hole he has found himself in.

"It's not only that Phantom but you also failed to mention how two ancient artifacts as powerful as those were laying around for anyone to grab and use for evil. What If a rouge had gotten their hands on it instead? A lot more people could have been killed and the blood would be on your hands because you withheld that information."

Danny felt his core give a painful throb at those words. He never meant to hurt anyone and he is already in pain for the casualties lost before. He didn't mean to, he didn't know the Crown and Ring was on earth. He thought they were still in the ghost zone. I mean, technically Batman's not wrong. He should have known they were here. But he just forgot ok, He didn't mean for any of this to happen.

"I didn't even know the Crown and ring were in the human world. I mean, I guess I could have felt it if I thought about it but it didn't cross my mind at all. But I never meant for anyone to get hurt. "

"Whether you meant to or not doesn't change what your carelessness and failure to mention caused," wait "You are too much of a risk to the team and you're too unpredictable," please "You are to give us your com and leave, you are to write a power list and send it to the watchtower for evaluation," stop "I am sorry Phantom but we can't risk a powerful unknown to be able to ensure the safety of the world and the Leauge." not again.

All Danny can hear is static. He feels his core chip and break with every word. To be told that he can not protect them, or keep them safe. It's what he does. It's what he is. He has to protect. Protect. Protect. Protect. He is nothing without it. He'll die without it.

He is vaguely aware of the drop in temperature, out of the corner of his eye he can see frost climbing up the walls and table and chairs. He can see it spreading from him to the other heroes. He's not meaning to. He didn't mean to. He's sorry. He'll be good. He'll stop. He won't move. He'll be still, quiet. He'll be good.

"-antom! Phantom! Stop! I said STOP!!!"

Danny snaps back to the present with the yelling. Why are they yelling again? Oh yeah, the frost. He reels it back in and the temperature in the room rises, though it's not as warm as it used to be.

Danny looks up and he sees that some of the Members of the League are out of their seats, some look to be ready to surround him, and some look ready to attack. Why are you looking at me like that? Danny looks around the room with wide eyes realizing that he isn't trusted, he doesn't think he was trusted in the first place. Why doesn't anyone ever trust him?

"Your com Phantom. Then you leave."

Danny doesn't know if he will be allowed to leave. Not wanting to be closer he phases the com out from his leg where he keeps it for safekeeping and places it on the floor in front of him. He doesn't take his eyes off the league, fear taking hold of him. After he places it he rises to leave and backs out the door still facing them so he can keep them in front of him. He doesn't stop looking at the meeting room till he is down the hall where he turns invisible and intangible and flies away as fast as he could.

He flies and flies until the burning ache in his core is too much and he has to stop. He lets himself float there in space, curled up in a protective ball hoping and trying to keep the dark thoughts away, but knowing he can't protect himself from the internal battle.

Why? What did I do? How did this happen? Not again. Please stop. Why? I didn't mean to. I just wanted to help. all I've ever done was try to help.

Thoughts of the past start shoving their way into his brain, into his core. Memories of hands reaching into him. Pulling him apart. memories of faces that used to be kind and looked at him with love turned to hate and disgust. And with every jab and every word, Danny's core breaks a little more.

Sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I DIDN'T MEAN TO! I DIDN'T MEAN TO! STOP! please stop. It's me. It's your son. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I'll stop. I'll behave. I'm still your son. why? WHY?!? what did I do!? I just wanted to protect you. so why? why are you doing this? Please don't. I'm sorry. PLEASE!? I'LL BE GOOD! I'LL STOP! I'LL BEHAVE! I'm sorry. I'm sorry. please don't. I can't do this anymore. just stop. please just kill me. please. stop it. please. just kill me.

Danny floats there, curled into himself. Trying to protect himself from the memories, the thoughts,...the voices. But they're all too much. If he can't even protect his friend's family, then how is he meant to protect himself. How can he live if he can't protect anyone? He just hurts them, and then they hurt him, over and over again.

He can't do it. He isn't strong enough. He can't. He's failed. he failed his family. He couldn't protect Jazz, Sam, or Tucker. He couldn't protect Dani or the Ghosts that were captured by the GIW. He couldn't protect his parents, and himself from his parents. He couldn't protect the people he killed when he escaped the GIW. He couldn't protect his friends, the league, his family. He tried but he only ended up hurting them. Images of their faces as they looked at him as if he was a threat. They aren't supposed to look at me like that. he is supposed to protect them and he failed.

I tried. I'm sorry. I'm sorry it wasn't enough. That I wasn't enough. Im sorry. I hurt them. I hurt my family. I should have let my parents or the GIW kill me. permanently. Because then, I wouldn't have hurt anyone else. I would have kept them safe. Safe. safe from me. I hurt them. Im sorry. Im so sorry. I'll stop. I'll fix it. I'll fix what I did. I'm sorry. Just stop looking at me like that.

And with those final thoughts, Danny felt his core shatter, just as a swirling green portal was opened and he was sucked inside, and once it closed it was like Danny Phantom never existed.

.

.

.

Somewhere, a man felt a sense of wrongness as he waited for the boy who has wormed his way into his heart and become a son to him. Not that he ever told the kid that yet (but he might have been too late).

______________________________________________________________

Well...how was it? Did yall enjoy it? I might make a part two if I can remember but who knows.

I wonder who that man at the end was???? Who knows. Also If there are any spelling errors pls tell me.

[beesmygod]

"A GHOST STORY" IS A WEBCOMIC I MAKE THAT I WILL BE RE-POSTING, GRADUALLY.

the top row is from 2013, the bottom row is from the 2018 re-draw. while the panel progression in the re-draw is much better (as well as the consistency in sound effects and gutters), i think it was a mistake to change the black eyed kid's sniffing posture to the one where he's not clearly trying to get a big whiff of the air. whiff whifff...like an animal in the Savannah.

posting this so far has been making me feel very, very sad. but i have a feeling that most of my really bad feelings are connected more to the generalized anxiety of having to put work i no longer stand by on display for people to judge. these posts are, ostensibly, supposed to entice you into reading the comic that has consumed my life for 10 years (and i think about near constantly). but the idea of trying to convince people that something i made is good enough to spend their time on is a really stomach-churning task. it is frightening. i do not like myself enough to ask people to make investments in me both financially and in terms of their free time.

also the world at large is very bad right now. it is hard to navigate the world and "hustle" when everyone is doing so poorly and you know it's annoying to be subjected to someone's mediocre creation that they have outsized feelings about. the question i always ask myself when i hit print on my comic is "is this something i would read?" and the answer is still no. but i'm getting closer. i feel like i've been honing a knife edge for a decade but it's nowhere close to being up to the standard i want. but it's not like the knife isn't getting sharper. it is. but is it beneficial to ask others to help me sharpen it? what are they getting out of it?

regardless, this is the comic i was capable of making at the time. both times. the top row pages reflect the best efforts of someone working a desk job and going to school and the bottom row reflects the efforts of someone who worked on these pages in between their usual 2x a week update schedule (when possible, the re-draw took several years to make)

why am i making "A Ghost Story"? first, it was because it was bursting at the seams with ideas and had the energy to execute them. even if the end result was sloppy, it was freed from my mind. now its because i can see It. i can see the arc the story and the characters are taking and i want to shepherd them there. there's something at the end there, if not for me than for them. just to get them to where they need to go and where they need to be. is that enough? these things that only exist and matter to me actually hold on that thought is way too big for this already huge post. maybe next time.

short version of that long thought, for now: i am deeply troubled by wondering why people do the things they do, and push my dolls around to understand the actions of other people and also myself. there's more to people than the surface and rudimentary opening chapters of my comic were looking to explore. i needed to go deeper. i want to know what drives people. and i want to make people laugh while doing it.

---

♥ read the comic: A Ghost Story ♥ support the comic for as little as $1 a month on Patreon ♥ pay what you want for the re-draw of the first chapter on itch.io

you can block the tag "#AGS repost" to keep this off your dash

[moondrop-writes]

Child of Dionysus grieving after Castor’s death and maybe people around camp start to get really worried cause she’s like barely leaving her cabin and so Mr D kinda helps her through it cause he can tell she’s taking it really hard?

hi!! ive been an absolute bitch abt responding to asks so i am so sorry abt that 😭 i’ve been so busy w/ things but everything i’m doing should settle within the next few weeks and i’ll probably get back to being consistent. tysm everyone for your patience <3

The battle was settled, but it certainly didn’t feel like it. The air was still heavy with grief and bloodshed, and everyone’s nerves seemed to be frayed. They’d won. They should’ve been celebrating. But there was nothing joyous in partying when your siblings and family had died.

The Dionysus cabin was small, especially considering that Dionysus had only been freed of his punishment twice. Once, when he met your mother. And the other time, when he met your brothers mother.

Castor, despite the small quantity of the cabin, managed to be the glue of the three of you. While you and Pastor were the more mellow and quiet of the siblings, Castor certainly was not. His smile could light up a room, and he always knew the right thing to say.

Castor and Pollux were twins, both younger than you. Even if you weren’t related by blood, they were still your brothers. They still managed to pull this protective older sibling feel out of you.

It was bad enough when Pollux had nearly lost an arm one time but now? You weren’t sure if you were ever going to be okay again.

Castor’s death felt like a hole inside you. It was as if somebody took your heart and tore out the stem that held all memories of your little brother. He was always in your thoughts, never did a day pass where you didn’t think of him, but he was taken from you.

Children shouldn’t fight wars, you had told your father that much. You refused to let Castor and Pollux fight, but they were boys of honor. In their eyes, if they didn’t fight in Dionysus’ honor, it was disrespectful. It was something that you wished many times you could smack out of them.

Being honorbound was not a good thing.

You couldn’t imagine how Pollux felt, his twin, his other half stolen from him. But you knew very well how you felt. There was a deep ache in you, that would never be satisfied.

Curled up against the headboard of your bed, you stared at the walls, watching the wilted vines and leaves. Once they had shined, just like Castor but now they were dull. You knew they were meant to reflect the mood of those in the cabin, but even then, they couldn’t capture the utter anguish you felt.

Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, spilling rays over your face and your bedsheets. You were wearing old clothes, stained with tears and food, and your hair was tangled. A knot had formed in your throat, preventing you from making any sound other than soft cries.

The door to the cabin creaked open, and you slowly shifted your head to see your father. He was dressed in his finest suit, no doubt prepared for a meeting with the council. He sighed when he caught sight of you, and walked further into the cabin.

“This place is dreary,” he comments, placing his hands on your bedposts. You stared at him, eyebrows furrowed and your lashline red.

When you don’t reply, he only shakes his head and purses his lips.

“I know…I know you miss him,” he whispers thickly, “more than anything. I miss him too, Y/N, and so does Pollux.”

He walks around the bed, and sits next to you. The bed dips, and he gently tugs you against his side. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, feeling that knot in your throat tighten before beginning to break up.

“But…Pollux and I miss you too.”

“What?” you croak, voice breaking.

He cups your cheek, tilting your head up so your eyes could meet. When your eyes begin to bubble over with tears, and he rests his chin on your head.

“You’re gone, Y/N. We can’t reach you, and it’s like we’re talking to a ghost. Pollux and I…we’re trying to move on and you’ve got to as well.”

You sob wetly into his suit jacket. “I can’t—he’s g-gone and there’s nothing I could’ve done—“

“Shhh, baby, don’t cry.”

“I’m trying so hard, Papa—“ you cut yourself off with a whimper, choking on your own gasps.

He runs his hand through your greasy tangled mess of hair, and doesn’t care when his fingers get caught. “You need to take care of yourself,” he says, “you can grieve without hurting yourself like this.”

You cry, and cry, and cry. You cry until your nose is running and your eyes are swollen. You cry until your throat burns. You cry because you had spent so long missing your little brother, feeling so much pain and hurt and yet being unable to get any of it out. And now you can, and you cant stop.

And Dionysus holds you through all of it. He whispers soft nothings into your ear and his warmth enveloping you. His fingers are in your hair, on your cheeks, rubbing your back. It’s his sweet attempt at comfort, and you never want to let go of it.

You never want to let go of him, or Pollux or even Castor. But you know, if you let go of yourself, you’re letting go of the people you care about just as much.

[isagrimorie]

trick or treat! Happy Halloween!

for the writing ask game

Belated Happy Halloween!

For this I'm going with a new fic idea.

It's a Big Damn Epic idea I do not have the spoons to do but, maybe someday.

My idea is inspired by something I read from the Marvel Comics wiki about Lady Death and the Death of Death arc or something similar where Death is in danger.

I don't know how to go about it but the encompassing idea is that someone, or an intergalactic group/cult wants to end Death ala the group from 12 Monkeys. The Monkeys wants to end time so no one will die.

It's the same idea, they think the source of all their grief is Death, and learn the Concept of Death is a literal walking and talking entity. They are a group that's existed for centuries across the stars.

Leaping off from Gorr's god-killing spree, the group gods can die, they go for the Gods of Death. They have killed some Death Gods but death and dying still exist.

Until they hit on the existence of the Cosmic Beings and the second oldest entity in the universe: Lady Death.

Somehow word gets around that the Lady Death loved a Human, and the intergalactic cult descended on Earth searching for the Human Death Loved.

A Diviniation Witch gets hold of this news, it is not a future but a near future warning, passed from one seer to another, a resistance against the Life Cult--and this reaches Ghost Agatha.

Agatha hears the news and just cackles. "What're they going to do, I'm dead. Also, please, nothing will kill Rio, she's Death."

Agatha is acting blasé about this and Billy is puzzled why she's being cavalier. She gets roped in to help save Death.

"I'm telling you guys, she doesn't need help!"

Billy refuses to hear this and tries to find a way to 'save Death'.

Agatha: "That's not even a cool band name!"

Agatha gets emotionally invested in the middle of it, and she can't really let Billy die. Because if Billy's spirit jumps bodies again, Rio will really appear and find a way to kill a ghost.

So, even though she thinks it's still a bad idea to get involve, Agatha helps.

"Also the group is also looking for me! They want me for LEV-ER-AGE!"

Billy: "What can they do to you? You're a ghost!"

TLDR, Agatha is right. They trap Agatha in a device that can entrap souls. Agatha is terrified for herself because the Cult leader claims that the device can destroy souls.

The group urges Agatha to call out to Death (they have an infinity stone ready to entrap Death). Agatha refuses. She's terrified and wise, and telling all kinds of jokes.

Billy and Kamala try to reach Agatha (yes, Billy recruited the Young Avengers for this. Kate: "I'm in my twenties! I'm not a teenager! Why am I a part of this group??").

When things are looking hopeless, suddenly a figure in black appears with a skull face and dark hair.

The device explodes, and Agatha is freed.

"Is that Death?" Kamala asked, awed.

Kate still has her arrow nocked. "Hey, I thought you said, Death was a lady?"

Billy: "She is."

Kate gestured towards the figure standing over Agatha. "Are you sure? 'Cause Death looks more like a dude."

"What?" Billy turns his head. Agatha was looking up at the figure before her, looking stunned.

"Hi," the boy, who looked almost like Kate's age said. It's not that his face was a skull, there was still some flesh but it looked like his skull was superimposed over his face. "Mama."

"Nicky?!"

There's a moment of shock and a huge wave of emotion hits Agatha and she lunges forward. There was so much emotion in Agatha that she looked like she gained physical form.

"I missed you."

"Thank you for making an appearance, Death's Child."

And then, it's apparently all an elaborate trap for Nicky, to get to Lady Death.

Rio would do almost anything for Agatha, but Lady Death would break worlds for her son.

And before her eyes, Nicky is siphoned into a reforged infinity stone.

Agatha is fury but as a ghost, there is not a lot she can do. Rio finally appears, fury incarnate and demands they free Nicky but the group vanishes.

Leaving behind a voice message.

"We will make demands now, Lady Death. If you want to keep your son safe."

It turns out that in the act of trying to save Death, they triggered the very thing that could be Death's downfall.

(And many more things happen, that will end up with Rio and Agatha teaming up).

TBC!

[daenakills]

Waiting for you.

Sandor Clegane x reader

angsty.

In the dark, thinking of you, feeling that at any moment you will come out from under my bed and finish your job of destroying me. I'm not afraid of you, you've been trying to force fear into me for a long time and for some reason you never succeeded.

I try to help you with my small portion of imaginary power that my grandfather has given me, but I only receive rejection from you.

When will you allow me to help you?

I know you're on your own, always have been. But still, a part of me hoped that you would give me the entrance to your heart. I know when you look at me, I also know how you do it. You enter a state of constant nervousness when you see me, although in your own way of course. You tend to growl and try to leave as soon as Joffrey needs you.

When he yells at me, all I think is that you wouldn't let him do this to me if you could. In that after crying you would hug me until I fell asleep. You would touch my face with your big hands and wipe the tears from my cheeks. My trembling hands would seek refuge in your firm hands.

No matter how many times I run away from you, I always find you haunting my dreams. I see you blurry, with the feeling that you could leave at any moment, but with the feeling that you are dangerous. I see you chasing me, in that forest with trees that don't look like trees and a floor that disappears when you look at it. My feet can't run any more, now I am paralysed until you catch up with me. And there I finally enter the reality that you are not looking for me.

You already have me, You can enter my body and soul through my dreams.

I couldn't tell you how good it feels to look across a room full of people and find yourself standing there. You avoid my gaze as if your life depended on it, but you still shoot me glances from the corner of your eye. I have never had any doubts that our looks have a life of their own and are always looking for each other.

I tried to talk to you later. With the excuse that my brother had said that you had to accompany me to the garden. You told me no. That you were sure Joffrey hadn't ordered you to do it.

I don't understand why you don't fear me. Why you don't feel like you have to follow my orders. I feel like no one takes me seriously wherever I go, like my presence is powerless. I would like you to take me seriously, and I have repressed so many things in my life that I don't know if I am satisfied with who I am today, especially when I have spent years being a ghost.

Not only that, but I usually carry pains that do not belong to me. They were given to me before I was born, and they were handed to me the day I was born. I have been aware of my fate ever since, and despite the dislike I have come to have for my mother, I know there is nothing to stop me from having the same fate.

I wonder when this will end. When I will be married off to some powerful lord. Or rather, to the highest bidder. What remains is to wait for my existence to be convenient.

Today, my mother told me that I will get married.

I didn't even ask who he was, knowing it or not isn't going to change anything, therefore I've decided to keep my mouth shut. Even so, there is no part of me that is happy about this news, I feel like fear consumes me the more I think about it. There is not enough space or shelter for all my fears right now. I hope that at some point it will go away, and that I will finally be freed from it, even though a part of me knows it will never go away.

Don't think that I do not know that you know that I will go for that man (who i also do not know) . Although, after all, what is different about you? I thought I knew you, but I haven't exchanged words with you in a while.

You give me piercing looks every time we're around. Looks that I have not known how to interpret. Looks that leave me thinking about you all day. I wonder when your body will be with me, instead of your eyes watching every move

The night before I met him, I woke up and didn't realize it. I saw you in my room as in all my dreams, this time you approached me slowly until you reached my bed. You asked me to go with you, to escape from that nightmare. I didn't know what to answer. When I already had my answer I realized that you were gone, at some point I would wake up and look for you with my eyes.

I will keep waiting for your return to the dark corner of my room.

[dapandapod]

Brave your neck to see the sun

Just another thing that lives in my head rent free that is half a fic, half an idea, that begs to be written, so here is the mix of it. And because who I am as a person, I slapped it on Ao3 as well.

(cw, lettenhove has fallen, sad stuff in general, loss of family, their spirits)

Because....

Cursed Jaskier.

I mean, he is immortal, and his home, Lettenhove, is but crumbled rock by now, and jaskier is tied to their ruins. 

And maybe madness is threatening in the corner of his eye, maybe the past is talking to him, maybe the stones remembered what they looked like in ages past.

And Jaskier cannot leave.

Maybe this is where jaskier goes after the mountain, because when he last was home, it was still standing.

But the land is fallen, burned, ash on his tongue.

Maybe there was a curse put on the stones rather than him, keeping what remains of the family bound to the ground, for the dynasty to defend against an army should they return.

And Jaskier is caught in the ruins, and the remains of his family and his childhood.

Geralt finds Ciri, and she dreams of Yennefer, yes, but she cant' stop dreaming of a land that was, and she feels herself pulled there, but it is too dangerous, because it is on the other side of the army following her.

When they finally go, the survivors in the gathering of houses on the outskirts of Lettenhove speak of a ghost, of lights as the darkness is falling, of the sound of crying, and singing, sometimes laughing.

It takes time for them to make it up there, the magic fighting them every step of the way, making it treacherous and dangerous.

Jaskier can hear them coming, but they are not the first ones attempting to seek the treasures of what once was, and he hides.

They find a lute, broken in what seems in a fit of rage against the stones. some of the strings are still connecting the neck to the body, and Geralt feels a pang of fear when he recognizes it.

Jaskier has had time to make many hiding spots, a routa of sorts, of small camps. There are weeds growing around the cracked stones, sticking up defiantly, baring their necks to see the sun.

Eventually Geralt finds Jaskier, hiding in one of the crumbled rooms, a half burned painting propped up against the wall, a little girl with one eye covered with yellow locks looking out, holding the hand of her older brother.

Jaskier holds his dagger out, until he realizes who it is.

Geralt doesn’t know how to break the curse, and it hurts Jaskier to leave. They can’t stay with him, and to not raise suspicion they have to leave him behind.

Jaskier watches them leave, and he knows that he won’t see them again. Why would Geralt come back after all, now that Jaskier finally can’t follow.

He waits until he can’t see them anymore, until he believes they can’t hear him anymore, and he screams out his frustrations, voice echoing against the stones.

Eventually Yennefer finds him, and she has the solution. Not a pleasant one, but one that allows him to leave.

His bloodline is tied to this place, imprinted on him when his fathers father brought him underground and a small child, and put his blood among his ancestors.

What Jaskier thought was madness was instead shattered remains of a spirit.

With the witch’s help, Jaskier’s mother’s spirit wakes, and she cries when she sees her son.

“Where were you?” She asks, she grieves, she screams, until her rage has run its course.

More spirits rise, and Yennefer keeps them safe in the middle of the courtyard.

The curse can’t be lifted, but they learn that Jaskier can be freed, can move on from his past if he lifts his imprint away from the stone.

A grave hag has taken residence below, her cackling and grunting traveling up the stairs, and Yennefer too must leave Jaskier, to bring a witcher to help.

Her magic is still fragile, and she places her hand on Jaskier’s cheek as he takes her goodbye, leaving him with the spirits of his family.

Eventually it is Eskel who kills the hag, keeping Jaskier company when he laughs a little too loudly, his eyes a little too wide with unrest and grief.

When Yennefer finally returns, she brings Geralt and Ciri once more, and they are surprised to see Eskel by Jaskier’s side, the hag dealt with.

Yennefer presses Jaskier’s cut palm against the cold stone of his ancestors, chanting as she recalls his blood, distangles his past from the stone.

Above, the ruins creak and groan, the spirits growing agitated. They shriek and they trash and they try to protect their home from the intruders.

When they emerge, Jaskier is quiet. He is quiet as he tests his first steps outside the ruin grounds, and he is quiet when he looks back to what was his home, and then his prison.

The ground is covered in weeds, slowly dancing in the wind, the spirits keeping their own company.

Lettenhove is no more, and the ruins remain unbothered. 

Sometimes Jaskier returns, just to speak with his sister. Sometimes he sings to his mother, and talks about the worldly affairs with his father.

Jaskier is not tied to the stone anymore, but his spirit will not rest until his family does.

Ciri doesn’t dream of the ruins anymore, but sometimes she gets a faraway look, takes Jaskier’s hand, and asks if he would take her to the coast.

Geralt and Yennefer never reconnected after the djinn. and eventually finds another djinn to break the wish.

She finds her own way, even if it is connected to Ciri’s, and she finds her own destiny in the shape of a Merigold.

It takes time for Geralt to build up what he broke. Takes time to figure out how friendship works, and even more so when Geralt figures out his own feelings towards the bard.

The bard is not the same man, how could he be, but he grows anyway. Grows like a defiant weed in the cracks of a stone, baring their neck to see the sun. 

[winters-hysteria]

hhhhhh thinking bout loki again

loki x innocent!stark!reader

nsfw under the cut

at tony's party:

just him, sidling up next to you, wrapping a protective hand around your waist, shooting dirty looks at the person talking to you. he pulls you to walk with him, voice low and angry. "were you flirting with them? you were supposed to stay near me."

he spares you an annoyed glance when you hurriedly try to explain that no, you weren't flirting, they had just said something funny, when you're being pushed back against the wall, his lips on yours. almost...tenderly?

he laces his fingers with yours, gripping your hand tightly. he kisses you passionately, sweetly.

you lean into it, letting your arms wrap around his neck and his newly freed hands around your waist.

you think it's just a kiss until his hands slide up, then down, cupping your ass and squeezing gently. you pause, and he pauses, pulling away to look at you.

"are you okay, my dear?" he asks, placing his hands on your waist again.

you stumble over your words. he is almost amused by this, your nervous stuttering, but he has to make sure you're okay with what he's about to do.

"y-yes. i-i've just n-not really d-d-done stuff l-like this before."

loki's eyes widen, and then they darken. "but are you okay with me?"

he trails a hand slowly down your plush thigh. he's always adored your body, always watching you whenever you trained, or when you actually fought someone. you were gorgeous, moving with a grace and power like no one he'd ever known.

he was brought back from his nighttime reverie by you running a hand across his chest, looking up at him.

"yes."

with your consent, you were transported to his room, tucked safely in his strong arms. he kissed you, pressing his lips to your face, your own lips, your neck. he nipped along your jawline, hands on your hips to still them from where you were subconsciously trying to grind against him, whimpering from the slight friction you were receiving.

"does that feel good, little one?" his voice sounded right next to your ear, low and breathy.

you barely responded other than a whimper, cheeks almost aflame. you meant what you said when you'd never done this before. you were nervous.

he slid a hand up your body, palming your breasts as you flushed again, tensing up. your hand flew up to meet his, gripping his wrist as he squeezed lightly.

"l-loki!" you managed to spit out, partly shocked from the way he was touching you.

"yes, dear?"

"p-please. "

"please what? you need to use your words, little one. otherwise, how am i to know what you want?"

"p-please, touch. me. need you."

he went back to groping your breasts, but this time you stopped him, pushing his hands down towards where you wanted-- no, needed-- him most.

his eyes darkened with an emotion you'd never seen before, and suddenly you were flipped over, his hips grinding into you, heavy breaths in your ear.

"darling. may i have you?" his voice sounded strained, like he was holding back. "say the word and i will leave and we shall never speak of this again."

you gripped his arms where they caged you to the bed. "please." no other words, just a nearly silent beg.

his voice broke with the low groan that escaped, serpentine smile returning to his gorgeous face as he made quick work of your dress, leaving you in a black lace bra and a matching thong.

"you look gorgeous, darling. absolutely stunning." it was more to himself that he spoke, but he murmured quietly about how beautiful you were, how much he wanted to have you right then and there, how lucky he was to be able to touch you like this.

you were whining, melting under his touch while his fingers and lips danced across your soft skin. he rubbed small circles while slowly traveling down to the waistband of your thong.

"may i?"

you nod in response, moaning quietly when he slides his hands beneath your underwear, ghosting over your clit before running his finger up your slit.

"so wet for me, hm?" he questioned, pressing a kiss to your neck. he savored your soft whimper of pleasure in response, the way you clutched at the bedsheets underneath your smaller frame. "all for me." he nipped at your neck, moving down to your collarbone, your chest, pausing to flick his tongue over your hardened nipples. he relished in the noises you made, the sinful cries of pleasure that flooded his senses and made him so impossibly hard it was difficult to him to focus.

"so beautiful." he laved kisses and little love bites over your tummy and the tops of your thighs. he loved the little squeaks and yelps you let out when he bit down particularly hard or when his teeth grazed a spot juuuust right.

"l-loki, please." a long, drawn out whine escaped your throat when he settled his teeth against your inner thigh, leaving a dark bite mark when he let go. he latched onto the other, sucking a hickey into the delicate skin.

"i intend to mark you as mine, my dear. now lay back. allow me to take..care of you."

he spent nearly twenty minutes there, groping, biting, kissing, and sucking hickeys and bruises into your plush thighs, framing his face with them. feeling them go tense and soft, trying to close up on him when he got too close to where you wanted him but were too shy to tell him, and relax when you realised that he'd get what he wanted.

you didn't even feel him get rid of your thong, you just felt him tonguing your slit, licking a flat stripe and then twirling his tongue around your clit. 'so this is why they call him silvertongue,' your half-conscious self thought, gripping onto his hair and calling out his name.

"l-loki, fuck, please." a rising heat was building in your tummy, and you didn't know how to respond. you tried pushing him away, struggling to pull away from the pleasure. he gripped your hips and continued his work, tightening that coil until it snapped and you came.

it felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs, leaving you gasping and dazed. he smoothed your hair back from your face, pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead to calm you.

finally pulling enough air back into your lungs, you collapsed from your tense state and stared into his jade eyes. he kissed you again, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

it was a silent question floating on the air between you two, a question of whether or not you trusted him enough. a slight nod was all the confirmation he needed.

in a flash of green, his suit was gone. so was everything else on his body. his cock rubbed against your thigh while he kissed you, distracting you from thinking about the pain you'd feel from the stretch.

he used one hand to guide himself into you, the other planted firmly next to your head. he felt you trembling and whining with the slight pain.

"are you okay, my love? do we need to stop?" he asked, pushing hair out of your face.

he was met with you frantically shaking your head no, practically crying for him to continue. "no, please. i need you. loki. please."

"well i can't say no to that, can i?"

he braced his hands on either side of your head and thrusts up into you, forcing a breathless moan from your lips. "oh, fuck. please."

loki's response was a harder thrust and a low moan, finding a rhythm he could fuck you comfortably in. his head lowered, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as your eyes rolled back.

"oh, good girl. my good girl. you're so tight, you feel so good, my dear." his voice trailed off into a long moan feeling you clench around him. "oh, oh."

his hips cant up into you, stuttering and letting you know that he was close. the loud whines and cries coming from him were only edging you closer- and closer,- and-

you came with a loud cry of "loki!" and gripped onto his back, digging your nails in. it triggered his orgasm, thrusting forward and repeating your name like a mantra.

he collapsed off to the side, easing his cock out of you. he was in no way tired, but your beautiful eyes were beginning to drift closed.

he placed a smattering of kisses around your neck, jawline, and cheek. "sleep, my dear. you did so well."

you sleepily mumbled "love you."

he flushed harder than he had at any point in the night.

"i love you too."

[imekitty]

Danny confronts his parents about the clones they've been experimenting on.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23

-----

"Have you heard from Vlad at all?"

Jack followed Maddie out of their bedroom and shut the door behind him. "Why would Vlad say anything to me?"

"He said he'd send a text when he finalized all the configurations for the new Danielle clones." Maddie looked at her blank phone screen. "I guess I'm just excited."

Jack's shoulders fell. He did not want to think about the new set of clones Maddie had ordered from Vlad.

They walked down the hall, past Danny's and Jazz's bedroom doors.

"Danny's home already," remarked Maddie as she held up an ecto-scanner. Danny's ecto-signature appeared in two locations on the screen, one in his bedroom and the other in the basement lab. "That's good, he really needs to get a good night's sleep. He's been going through a lot lately."

Jack held his tongue, knowing it was no use to remind her that she was the one orchestrating almost everything that had been happening to their son.

Down in the lab, clone 26 was lying on the main examination table right where they had left him earlier, wearing a hospital gown with his wrists and ankles secured in belted restraints. The clone stirred and groggily opened his eyes as Maddie approached. Jack hung back as he usually did. He hated this part, when the clone begged to be freed and Maddie told him no, no, he had to stay here and die.

The clone's eyes widened as Maddie hovered over him, her hood down and goggles up on top of her head. The clone began pulling against the belts, throwing his head wildly as he lifted his upper body off the table as far as he could. Maddie pressed one hand to his chest, forcing him back down.

"Sweetie, calm down," said Maddie, her voice hushed. "I know you're very confused and scared right now, but you're just going to hurt yourself if you struggle."

"What do you mean? What's going on?" The clone's breathing was erratic. "Why am I here? Mom? How did I get here?"

"We have a couple procedures planned for you tonight," said Maddie. "Just a couple, don't worry. Then we'll let you rest until tomorrow night."

The clone stared at her, all fight stopped for the moment. "Procedures?"

"Yes," said Maddie. "Because you're a ghost hybrid, and there is so much more about you that we want to learn."

The clone's eyes widened with shock and panic, as they always did. "You know I'm a ghost?"

"We do," said Maddie, taking the clone's hand in hers.

The clone's gaze moved to Jack. Jack looked away, squeezing and massaging his jaw with one hand.

"What are you going to do to me?" asked the clone, struggling more against the belts. "Why have you brought me here? You know I'm your son, don't you?"

"No, you're not," said Maddie.

The clone froze up. "I am. You know I am."

"No, honey, you're a clone," said Maddie, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "You're a nearly perfect clone of our son."

The clone stared at her in dumbfounded silence.

"We're going to tell you the truth before we start tonight's work," said Maddie. "You can ask any questions, and we'll answer them. You deserve that much, at least."

Jack grimaced. He hated when she included him like that, using the word "we" when he didn't want to be here at all. At this point, the only reason he continued to join Maddie in this cruel line of experimentation was to ensure she didn't take it too far.

Or at least, that was what he kept telling himself.

"The truth about what?" asked the clone.

"Your ghost powers," said Maddie. "The reason you're a ghost hybrid is because we configured the ghost portal to rearrange the molecular structure of your DNA."

"What—no, you wouldn't do that." The clone fiercely shook his head.

"We had to," said Maddie, her tone soothing. "You had the right DNA that could be stabilized after an ectoplasmic mutation. We tried looking for others, but you were the only one. We had no choice."

"No choice?" spat the clone. "Why did you need to turn me into a ghost at all?"

"For our research, sweetie. You know how crucial our research is."

"Crucial for what? How is this going to help anyone?"

"Oh, so many ways! Health care applications for improved surgery that uses invisibility instead of invasive scopes and expensive MRIs and CT scans, intangibility instead of incisions that can get infected. Military applications for super soldiers enhanced with ghost powers—"

"You can't be serious," said the clone. "You're experimenting on your own son so you can find ways to sell ghost powers to other people?"

"You are not our son," said Maddie. "You remember how Vlad attempted to clone you and created Danielle, right? Well, he didn't actually fail. We asked him to clone Danny so we could experiment on his clones without harming the real Danny." Maddie ruffled the clone's hair. "You are one of those clones, sweetheart."

The clone jerked his head away. "I'm not a clone."

"I know you don't believe it. You're not supposed to believe it," said Maddie. "You're supposed to believe you're the real Danny. That's the only way we can get the most accurate data for our research. And you want to help us with our research, don't you?"

"I'm not a clone." The clone shook his head. "Let me go, let me leave."

"We can't do that," said Maddie. "There can only be one Danny. You have to stay here, and you can't leave."

"I'm Danny," the clone insisted with tears in his eyes. "I am your son."

"Danny is upstairs in his room." Maddie pointed to the ceiling. "You're down here in the lab because you're his clone."

"No, you're wrong," said the clone. "I'm not upstairs. I'm here with you. I've always lived in this house with you."

"Sweetie, those memories you have of living here before today aren't real," said Maddie. "You didn't exist until this morning. You had never been to this house before until this afternoon when Vlad brought you here."

"They're real memories," asserted the clone. "I was hanging out with Dad in the lab earlier today when he showed me the Ecto-Dejecto."

Jack's brow creased. Yes, he did indeed show Danny the Ecto-Dejecto that very day so he could later use it to stabilize Danielle, but it was impossible for the clone to know that. The last time Vlad took an updated DNA sample from Danny was over a month ago. The clone's last memories should not and could not be this recent.

A sinking weight dropped deep into Jack's gut as he stared at the clone, noticing for the first time a scar right behind his ear, the same scar Danny had. But the clones were supposed to have unblemished skin, untouched and new.

The clone continued speaking, "And then I went to hang out with Sam and Tucker—"

"No, sweetie," said Maddie. "Those memories you have aren't real. The only reason you have them is because you're an almost perfect copy of the real Danny, including his memories."

"I am the real Danny."

"No, you're not."

"How can you say that? How can you know that for sure?"

The clone's expression was angry, something Jack had never seen before. The clones were usually frightened or hurt, not angry.

"How do you know I'm not the real Danny?" demanded the clone.

"Because of the tattoo on your arm," said Maddie. "Here, let me show you."

Maddie pulled up the right sleeve of the clone's hospital gown, just as she had done twenty-five times before. But there was nothing but skin, no tattooed 26 on the clone's upper arm that Jack definitely remembered seeing when Vlad first delivered the clone.

All blood drained from Jack's face as Maddie screamed and jumped back, her hand clamped over her mouth. Danny's angry expression broke into a wicked smile.

"I told you I was the real Danny," he said.

Maddie's other hand shot up over her mouth as she shook her head furiously. Jack was frozen in place, unable even to tremble.

Danny sat up, slipping out of all four belt restraints and jumping off the table onto the floor. He changed into his ghost form, black and white jumpsuit replacing the hospital gown.

"Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out?" he asked. "Did you really think you could make Vlad clone me twenty-six times and I would just never know?"

He started walking toward Maddie with slow steps. Maddie stepped back each time, still covering her mouth as she watched him come closer.

"Did you think I was too stupid to figure it out?" Danny paused, chuckling darkly. "I guess maybe you're right. I guess I was too stupid to figure it out. You were able to experiment on me and torture me and—and kill me twenty-five times and I was too stupid to realize it until now."

Maddie cowered, hunching her shoulders and covering more of her face with her hands.

"And you were going to kill me a twenty-sixth time tonight," yelled Danny. "And you—" He turned to Jack with a snarl. "You were just going to stand there and let her."

Jack held up his shaking hands in defense, but he could not think of a good reply. He could only meet Danny's hate-filled eyes, trying to somehow communicate just how sorry he was.

"You and Vlad both," muttered Danny. "You'll both just do anything for her, won't you? You'll even kill for her."

"Danny," Maddie gasped out. "Danny, listen, I'm sorry—"

"No, you're not sorry," roared Danny, turning and pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Don't say you're sorry. If you were sorry, you would've stopped a long time ago." He choked, his voice losing strength as he stifled a sob. "If you really cared about me—" He sucked in a deep breath. "If you really loved me, you would've never done this."

"Danny, I do love you." Maddie clasped her hands as tears streamed down her face. "So much."

"How can you say that?" demanded Danny. "How can you look me in the eyes after everything you've done to me and say that?"

His fists glowed with ectoplasmic light as he stomped toward Maddie, backing her up against a wall. Maddie whimpered and curled in on herself.

Jack stared at her, frozen with shock.

She was scared.

He had never seen her look so scared before. In fact, he wasn't sure he had ever seen her show any sign of fear at all.

And Jack realized he was also afraid, because Danny could very easily kill both of them right now and they would be powerless against him.

His gut sank and twisted with the horror of what they had turned their son into.

"Danny, please," bleated Maddie. "I'm your mother."

"You're right, you are my mother." Tears began falling down Danny's face. "Which is why I can't believe you would do this to me. My life has been hell ever since I became—this." He used one gloved hand to gesture to himself, top to bottom. "Fighting ghosts, protecting the town—it's been painful and terrifying and exhausting."

Danny's tears were coming fast and hot now. Maddie continued to whimper while Jack stayed still.

"But I kept doing it because…I thought I had to," continued Danny. "I thought it was my fault that all of these ghosts were coming in through the portal and invading our town. But now I find out that…you did this to me. It was never my fault; you set me up to do it. You wanted me to do it—you were counting on me to do it."

Danny sobbed, covering his eyes with his hands as his body shook. Maddie looked at Jack, begging him for help. But Jack could only stare back.

"This whole time." Danny uncovered his eyes now swollen with ectoplasm. "You've been pulling strings, watching me like I'm a marionette in your sick puppet show. And you made me afraid of you. You pretended to hunt me down and you would actually shoot at me so I would believe that I really was a freak and I could never trust anyone with my secret."

Danny lowered his eyes, his face drenched with tears.

"You made me believe that I couldn't trust you, my own parents," he whispered. He then raised his eyes, which flashed green. "But I guess I was right about that after all, wasn't I?"

He came close to Maddie, raising both of his glowing fists. Maddie pressed her back to the wall and held up her hands in front of her face.

"Are you going to kill me?" blubbered Maddie.

Danny stared at her for a long, long time.

Then his fists opened, their green glow disappearing as his whole body relaxed.

"No," he said with a soft shake of his head. "Of course not. Because you are my mother."

Danny glanced up at the ceiling, more tears glistening on the lower edge of his eyes. He sniffled and brought his gaze back down to Maddie.

"I hate that my own mother could do this to me," Danny continued, his words strangled, "but I can't hurt you. Obviously you're more than willing to hurt me, but…I can't." His eyes hardened. "But I'm not letting you hurt me ever again. Whether it's the real me or a clone of me, I won't allow it."

Danny looked up at the ceiling again, but this time in a very particular direction, up toward his room. Jack took notice of the look, and he could see Maddie also noticed, her brows drawing together in scrutiny.

"Where is the clone?" Maddie's voice was suddenly much stronger as she straightened her back and stood taller. "Clone 26, where is he?"

Danny's eyes once again returned to her. He frowned but did not reply.

"Vlad delivered him this afternoon," said Maddie. "I saw the tattoo on his arm with my own eyes. Where is he now?"

Danny stiffened. "You don't need to know that."

"I do," said Maddie. "You won't let us experiment on any more clones, fine. We'll stop. But that clone cannot be allowed to exist."

Danny's eyes twitched, his jaw clenching.

"We have to kill him, Danny," said Maddie.

"No," said Danny with a firm shake of his head. "You are not going anywhere near him."

"We can't let a clone of you run around freely, Danny," said Maddie. "People would notice. How would we even explain that? It would only be a matter of time before the police or the Guys in White figure out that you're a ghost hybrid, and then you'd be taken away for far worse experimentation."

"Don't pretend like you care about what happens to me," spat Danny. "You just don't want them to find out what you've been doing."

"You know I'm right," retorted Maddie. "There can't be two of you."

"Then kill me." Danny held out his arms in offering. "Do it."

Maddie's mouth fell open. "Danny—no, I'm not going to kill you."

"Why not?" asked Danny. "If only one Danny is allowed to exist, then why does it have to be me?"

"Because you are Danny. The clone is no one."

"But isn't the clone a perfect copy of me? With all my memories?"

"Most, not all of them."

"He's good enough, isn't he?"

Danny glared at Maddie, still holding his arms out, ready and waiting for her to come at him. Maddie did not move, simply stared back in tense silence. Jack watched, wondering for a moment if she might actually do it, if she might actually grab an ecto-gun and blast a hole through Danny's chest.

Jack was ready to throw himself in front of Danny if she tried.

"The clone must die, Danny," said Maddie. "That's why he was created. That's his purpose."

"So now you think you can just assign people purposes?" asked Danny. "Does this sick little game make you feel like God?" Danny pressed a palm to his chest. "What's my purpose, Mom? Have I been giving you everything you wanted? Or am I a failed experiment now?"

Maddie narrowed her eyes. "The clone has to die, Danny."

Danny shook his head. "No."

"Danny."

"No."

Danny shot up into the air, soaring straight through the lab ceiling and disappearing. Maddie bolted toward the stairs to follow him.

"Maddie." Jack grabbed her arm before she could get too far up the stairs, forcing her to stumble back down onto the main floor.

"Jack." Maddie struggled in his grip. "Let me go, Jack."

Jack kept a tight hold on her, using all his strength to keep her from getting away. "Maddie, what are you planning on doing?"

"We have to kill the clone, Jack," said Maddie, sounding panicked. "We can't let Danny help him escape."

"But why? Why do we have to kill the clone?" asked Jack.

Maddie glared at him. "You know why. I shouldn't have to explain this to you."

"Maddie." Jack took hold of her other arm and forced her to face him. "But maybe we shouldn't, Maddie."

Maddie stopped struggling and became still, unblinking.

"Maybe we shouldn't kill the clone?" said Maddie. "Are you saying we should kill the real Danny? Like he asked us to? Remove the clone's tattoo and just rewrite our son with a copy?"

Jack balked and slacked his grip on her arms, but she did not try to break away.

"The clone's earliest memories will be from a few weeks ago." Maddie nodded as she spoke. "Clone 26 won't remember any of this. We could continue our experiments and Vlad could continue creating new clones and we'd just have to be more careful and watch the new Danny a lot more closely, make sure he never discovers the truth again—"

"Would you listen to yourself?" Jack shouted in her face. "Are you fucking insane? We are not going to kill the real Danny just so you can keep fucking with his clones."

He shook her, causing her head to snap back, her eyes wide as she stared up at him, frozen.

"It's over, Maddie," yelled Jack. "It has to be over now."

Maddie stayed frozen a little longer. Jack waited for her to move, to respond in some way, never letting go of her arms.

"You're right," murmured Maddie. "He's my baby. I carried him inside of me—he was part of me for nine months. The clone was never part of me no matter how much he looks and acts like the real Danny. I can't kill my boy, never."

She started crying. Jack felt a twinge, a strange urge to comfort her even though he knew she didn't deserve it.

"But the clone still has to die, Jack." Maddie used the heel of her hand to wipe her eyes and locked her gaze with Jack's. "And you know it."

Jack stared back at her, the scientist inside of him activating. Because as much as he hated to admit it, he did know it. The clone was an abomination, an affront to the natural order, an entity that was never supposed to exist in the first place.

And Danny himself would be in danger of being discovered and taken away if the clone was allowed to exist as its own person.

Yes, the clone did have to die. It was the only way to protect the real Danny.

And the only way to stay out of prison.

Jack loosened his hold on Maddie and watched as she ran up the stairs, numb and empty.

And then he breathed deep and ran up after her.

Just one last time. One final murder.

Part 25