#i wrote it and ran away

[imsiriuslyreading]

hiya i wrote a little one shot about our boy reg and his cousin draco 🫶🏽

i’ve got soul (but i’m not a soldier) by imsiriuslyreading

[dcxdpdabbles]

Danny: What's one of your characters flaws?

Tim: I get attached too easily. I fall into obsessions quickly. I hero worship to the point of worry. Oh, and I get Hangry.

Danny: I meant the character flaws you put for the assignment.....

Tim: Patricide.

Danny: Alright thanks. I'll ugh, see you around?

Tim: You won't see me but I'll see you. Through my camera lens.

Danny: What?!

Tim: Don't act surprised. I just told you my flaws.

Danny: I thought you were just being edgy!?

Tim: *frog blinks* Why would I waste this chance to speak to *whispers* Phantom.

Danny: How do you know that!?

Tim: I used to follow Batman and Robin around before Robin died, and you popped up. Good thing you did, too, because Batman was going crazy. You really saved him from the void. I love you. Also, I think someone put something in my water bottle because I'm shaking and saying things I usually wouldn't be saying and-

Danny: *Grabs bottle to sniff* someone dumped a truth serum in here. Let's go ahead and get you to the cave.

Tim: You can smell that? Of course, you can; you're half ghost, which could be considered its own species since all senses are enhanced. Plus, some ghosts are born in the Infinite Realm, which means reproduction is possible between-

Danny: Let's play the quiet game

Tim: Oh! I'm really good at that game. I never made any sounds when following the Gotham Heros around! Five years and counting!

Danny: You were nine when you started following Bruce around!?

Tim: I'm a smart stalker. But shhhhhhh, it's quiet time.

Danny: I'm both impressed and afraid.

Tim: *finger guns and winks*

Danny: And oddly attracted to you.

Tim: *Beams*

[red-dead-sakharine]

Tickles

gn!tav, RaphaelPOV, humor, sfw until Haarlep shows up, ace, body worship Cover art by the wonderful @octarinecat!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 & 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

"And what did-ihihihihi!" he paused, confused. He looked down at Korrilla, who was just reporting to him. She stared at him with a bewildered expression, "Boss?"

"Yes? I don't-teeheeheeheehee!" he clutched his side, confused, irritated. What was this? What was- "Hhhhahahaha!" the laughter escaped him, despite his best efforts. It felt like something was poking his side. It was irritating. It was... it was.... "Heeheehihihihihi!" he giggled. This was embarrassing - he hated it!

Korrilla stared at him wide-eyed, then looked around. Searching for someone who might be casting a spell - but there was nobody nearby. They were alone in the devil's den. "Eeheeheeheehihihihi!" his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, snickering and giggling. He couldn't help himself. This was ridiculous! What in the hells was going on!? He flinched involuntarily as he felt his side poked particularly hard, and another laugh escaped him.

He looked at the dwarf and she looked at him - it hit them both at the same time: "Haarlep", they said in unison. Followed by another particularly strong giggle from Raphael.

"Go and stop, whatever he'sheeheeheeheeheehee!" He screamed in rage at the involuntarily giggles.

"I got it, boss." Korrilla assured him and vanished.

The minutes following dragged on like an eternity, interspersed with soft giggles and violent laughter, so debilitating that it left him prone on the floor.

"I'm going to kihihihihihihill him!" he screamed in rage, not even able to utter a threat without being interrupted by laughter.

What was taking Korrilla so long!? His sides hurt. After some time Korrilla appeared again,... smirking?

"What are you-hoohoohihihihihihihi! AHHRR! What have you been doing!? You didn't fix it!" He would've lashed out, if he'd been able to get up for long enough.

"I am very, very sorry, boss." Korrilla exclaimed, walking over to him, "I fear you'll have to see for yourself." she offered herself to help him up, and he looked at her with murder in his eyes. Then he giggled like a little school girl and dismayed.

"GRAH fine! Bring me to him!" he demanded, and used her shoulder to push himself up, then he doubled over in another fit of laughter.

One enlarge spell later, the dwarf was just tall enough to be a serviceable crutch, as they teleported back to the House of Hope. Never before had the walk from the entrance, to his boudoir felt so long. They had to stop multiple times, because his knees gave in, as another strong attack of giggles befell him.

"I'm going to kill Haarlep and whoever he's with!" he growled ...and snickered.

After an excruciatingly long walk, they finally reached the boudoir. Rounding the pool counter-clockwise, he noticed a few figures standing to the left near the bed. And they noticed him.

"Well, here he is. It was nice, knowing you!" he heard the vampire spawn's voice from across the pool. "Chk! I hope this was worth it." the githyanki's voice added. Then he saw the gathered companions hurry towards the exit, keeping the pool between him and them.

That's right, he thought, the moment I have control over my body again, I'll shred you all to pieces! Run as fast as you can! His inner thoughts were disrupted by another silly giggle, and he growled in rage.

"There you are. Finally!" Tav was straddling Haarlep on top of the large bed. An impish smile on their face, Haarlep below them with tears of laughter in their eyes and a big smile on their face. They were still clothed, and the incubus was still wearing their leathers.

Raphael's face was the opposite of Haarlep's. Red from anger - and laughter - contorted in rage to a furious grimace. He let go of Korrilla and stood up tall to stare Tav down. They smiled at him mischievously and poked into Haarlep's side. Haarlep snickered, Raphael flinched with a grin. No! This was not what he wanted to be doing! He hated not having control over his body. These involuntary happy noises coming from his own mouth made him sick!

"Cut this out at once!" he demanded.

He could see Haarlep's tail swish across the bed in excitement. Just you wait, he thought, you're in just as much trouble as they are!

"Or what?" Tav replied, grinning from ear to ear and poked Haarlep's side again several times. Both, the incubus and Raphael started snickering.

"STOP!" Raphael commanded in between giggles, but Tav didn't listen. His knees were buckling again and he ended up on the ground, clutching his side. Korrilla shuffled away from him and the bed, towards the exit. Not leaving entirely, but she got out of the danger zone for now.

Eventually Tav stopped, looking back to him as he sat on the ground. Clutching his side in a hopeless attempt of stopping the tickles. But it wasn't his body that was being tickled. He's never felt so embarrassed, so powerless, so... helpless. He tried to catch his breath and glared at Tav with all the fury of the nine hells. He's going to flay that grin off their face for this humiliation!

"Alright. You don't like being tickled, I get it." they eventually said, as if it hadn't been obvious before, "What about this?" He inhaled to tell them to stop whatever they were planning to do, but before he could say something, Tav bent down over Haarlep and gently sucked on one of his nipples. Raphael took a shuddered breath. No! He would not be manipulated like that! He got ready to push himself up but froze when he saw - felt - Tav's hands run gently across Haarlep's - his - chest. Lovingly. Adoringly. Kisses followed - from one nipple, across the chest to the other. Now this one was being loved, gently sucked. Caressed by Tav's tongue. Raphael couldn't get himself to stand up. Haarlep wriggled slightly underneath the mortal intruder, clearly enjoying themself.

This wasn't right. He shouldn't be enjoying this! He hated this! He hated being manipulated. His body being misused like this. Never mind, that he had thought of Tav in this manner before. But he should be the one initiating. Not Tav. Not that filthy creature Haarlep. He felt Tav's hands caressing his sides - no more tickles, only love. And kisses trail down his chest towards his bellybutton. His brows pulled together and he leaned back involuntarily, enjoying the sensation. And then it stopped. He blinked to refocus, and looked to Tav and Haarlep on the bed. That stupid mortal was looking at him, smiling. They'd seen that he enjoyed this. He felt exposed.

"You know," Tav began, "the tickles were just meant to get you to come here. Because," they got off Haarlep and sat beside them on the bed, facing Raphael, "I'd much rather be doing this with the real thing." Raphael shuddered slightly. He wanted them for a long while now, though he's been hiding it behind flirtations that were too obvious, too over the top, to be taken as genuine. He never expected that his favorite misadventurer would actually think of him like this. Think of him the way he thought of them.

He pushed himself up and began moving towards the bed. Haarlep crawled up into a sitting position, grinning with mischief. He shot the incubus a death glare. It got the point across and Haarlep slid off the bed and moved towards the exit. "Have fun," they whispered as they passed Raphael, who just growled in response.

Both the incubus and Korrilla made themselves scarce now, to leave the other two to their devices. They knew Raphael wanted, nay, needed this. He had been talking about Tav nonstop, after all.

"I should flay you alive for your insolence," Raphael growled as he came to a stop before the bed. "Then I wouldn't be able to worship you, though." Tav replied matter-of-factly, then added "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I just wanted you to come here." Raphael wrinkled his nose in anger. He wanted to scoff and be angry, but he couldn't quite manage. Not with Tav sitting on his bed in front of him. "Worship me?" he echoed, raising a brow in question. Tav simply pat the bed next to them in response.

[mood music]

He hesitated. He didn't want to relinquish control - ignoring the fact that he never had it in this situation. After a moment, he relented and climbed on the bed where Haarlep had been before. Tav smiled at him and his insides melted. Damn this stupid mortal! His frustrated thoughts dispersed into the void when Tav's hands appeared on his shoulders. They had crawled up behind him and their arms were snaking their way from his shoulders to his chest. Wrapping him in their embrace as they found the buttons of his doublet and started opening them. Slowly, one by one. It was exciting and agonizing at the same time. He wished they'd hurry up, but he didn't voice it. He just closed his eyes, feeling Tav's chest press against his back, and their arms around him, and their hands working their way through the buttons down his chest.

The doublet came off, then the shirt. Kisses on the back of his neck. He got goosebumps and cursed that his body was betraying him like this. He could feel Tav's smile as they kissed him again, and he knew they noticed. They trailed kisses along his shoulders and down his shoulder blades; their hands gently roaming across his chest, his belly, his sides. This was nothing like what Haarlep did to him. Haarlep would do foreplay if commanded to, but it was never with love nor care. This... this felt different. He felt... appreciated.

The bed shifted and he opened his eyes to see Tav crawl in front of him now. Hands on his chest, on his side. Kisses in the nape of his neck, on his chest. They ran their nose through the fluff of hair on his chest. He sighed. Damnit, he didn't mean to! More kisses on his chest. His nipples - o they were being spoiled. Sucked and caressed with a tongue. Not like Haarlep. Not rough and bitey and angry. This was unlike anything he knew. This was soft and caring and wonderful. His brows drew together again and he lifted his head involuntarily. This was nice. He felt appreciated. Kisses on his sides - where the annoying tickles had been before - yes good. An apology to his sensitive flanks. He accepted it. Kisses snaking towards his bellybutton again. He couldn't help but lift a hand to run it through Tav's hair. Soft. So soft. More kisses. He felt good.

Kisses up his chest again, paying taxes to his nipples in passing, going further up. Kisses on his neck again. He moaned. Gods be damned, he didn't mean to! A nibble on his ear, his breath hitched.

"Do you trust me?"

He nodded. Should he? His mind was fuzzy. He wanted more. More worship. That's what they called it, right?

He felt the buckle of his belt open, felt his fly unbutton. He opened one eye, looked at Tav. They gently pushed him to the side and onto his belly, sprawled across the bed. He was confused, but complied.

His pants went down. Why was he letting himself be exposed like this? He should be the one in control! He should be the one- hands on his bum. He paused. A kiss on his right butt cheek. He let his head drop onto the bed. A kiss on the left. Hands caressing his rear lovingly. He was dead and this was heaven.

More kisses up and down his butt. Then up his spine. He shuddered. Loving hands caressing his back. Kisses on his shoulders again. He could feel Tav's body brush against his rear, their legs against his, as they loomed over him. Worshiped him. Kisses up the back of his neck. A hand in his hair. He hummed in pleasure. A kiss on his cheek. He felt hot. He was sure he was blushing. Damn his body. Damn this mortal! He never felt like this with Haarlep.

Hands gently running over his torso. Another gentle kiss on his temple. He stifled a sigh. Hands trailing down his back again. Stroking his butt. Stroking his thighs. Kisses following them. A gentle lick on his right butt cheek. He shivered. What was this mortal doing to him. His little mouse. His little-- Another lick. His mind flew away to someplace else. More kisses on his rear. Loving. Caring. Not rough. Not savage with lust. Just affection. Not like Haarlep. Not possessive. Not with a single goal in mind. He grabbed the sheets, balled his fists and shuddered. This was all too much. Too much gentleness. Violence he knew. Rough he could handle. Bites and scratches and hungry humping, he knew. That's all he knew. Not this. Not these hands that stroked his body like it was a holy icon to be praised. Another kiss between his shoulder blades. Another moan escaped him. He pushed his face into the bedding, embarrassed, exposed. He should kill Tav for seeing him like this. Causing him to be like this. A hand in his hair again. A kiss on his temple. "Shhh," they whispered in his ear, and stroked his hair. Another kiss. So loving. So caring. He didn't know what to do with this affection. This gentleness. "I can't touch your wings, when you're in human form." a barely audible whisper in his other ear. He whined into the bedding in exasperation. Most mortals shied away from his true form. Were scared of it - found it monstrous. But his little mouse wanted to see it. Love it. He acquiesced and relinquished his human guise. He felt Tav dodge the wings as they appeared.

"Magnificent," he heard them breathe in awe. That's right, he thought, I am. Hands on his back. His thoughts flew away again. The hands felt smaller, now that he was bigger. But they felt just as good. As kind. They roamed up his back and towards his wings. Kisses following them up his spine again. At the base of his wings.

He felt the bed shift with Tav's weight as they climbed off him and to one side. Caring hands slowly ran along his wing. From the base up to where the joints connected, then down on the outermost spine. He shuddered at the gentle touch. It was wonderful. Too wonderful. It made him feel fuzzy. He stretched his other wing out to compensate. Kisses on his wings. He moaned. More kisses followed. Up and down the spines. Gentle hands stroking the membrane in between. This was bliss. This was rapture.

The weight in the bed shifted again, and he felt hands on his other wing. He was being tortured. Tortured with love. He didn't know what to do with it. With the affection. It was maddening and wonderful.

The hands and kisses repeated their ministrations on this wing, then moved towards his torso again. Gently wandering down his back. Like they couldn't just move to another place without touching and loving every bit of his body between here and there. A kiss on the base of his tail. He gasped, clutching the sheets more tightly. The reaction was not lost on his worshiper. Another kiss. Lips gliding down his tail, hands stroking it, kisses following it. A gentle lick. His body shook with pleasure. He couldn't think anymore. His brain had left his body. More gentle kisses. Another lick further down the tail. Hands gently kneading his tail muscles. He moaned again. He didn't care. A kiss at the very tip of his tail. A gentle suck. He was sure this wasn't reality anymore. Lips and hands working their way back up to the base of his tail, then down next to it. Another kiss on his right butt cheek. Then on his left. Hands roaming over his body. He was shivering uncontrollably now. He didn't know what to do with all these wonderful feelings. He wished someone would punch him. He knew what to do with pain. He didn't know what to do with love. Tav sank onto the bed next to him. A hand still caressing his back. He looked up - looked at them. His little mouse. They were lying next to him, head propped up with one hand, while the other was still stroking his back. He looked at them and he was powerless. They smiled at him and leaned in. A kiss on his forehead. On his nose. On his cheek. On his lips.

He could cry from bliss.

He's never been loved like this.

👉 Part 2

[simplyscarlet]

Togachako for Scrooche in the Demon Lord’s Den Server Secret Santa exchange. I cannot draw Toga without either wings or religious imagery or both.

[feline-evil]

Dick or no dick confirmation Pickles was always going to be trans to me anyways; if he's swingin' somethin that's phallo babes, if he's not then his t-dick fat. What's not to get.

[rose-tinted-vision]

↻ FLIP FLOP for the fic asks game! it would be interesting to know what lxy was thinking meeting fdb and llh, or what fdb was thinking about being courted by lxy :D (no need to write a whole new fic but just curious about your thoughts about it heh) (this is j, it won't let me send asks from sideblogs)

Hello @hualianisms !!! Thank you for your asks :D I’m assuming you mean “What matters is ‘you’ and not which state of you” for this one >_< (I'll get to your second ask soon!!)

Flip Flop for the fic asks game: send me a scene from one of my fics and I’ll describe or write it from another character’s POV!

---

For LXY’s pov: I think he’s mostly confused at the start, but very charmed by this pretty young master– and that much is obvious from the way FDB carries and addresses himself by “本公子 (ben gongzi)” – and his interest is further attracted by FDB’s swordsmanship, his unique duochou gongzi’s swordplay.

Obviously, it’s nothing more than a passing attraction since he still has QWM in his heart, but he had noticed the way LLH reacted to his flirtatious remarks directed to FDB– and well, he’s bored living in this tiny, cramped house that was smaller than his room back in the Sigu sect with nothing but bothersome chores to do all day, so he continues this game of his.

(He thinks Fang daxia has caught on– otherwise he didn’t seem much like the type who would entertain unwanted affection, much less unrequited ones– and the man was much more observant than he let on, so Li Xiangyi plays it up on some days, if only to watch LLH eat vinegar).

---

As for FDB: It’s startling for him to see LXY materialise out of nowhere one day, and he is momentarily overtaken by fear that something has happened to LLH, except that he had just woken up beside an untouched, healthy LLH. So to say that FDB is confused is an understatement, but he takes him in anyway, knowing that LLH wouldn’t leave him to die outside the Lotus Tower, no matter what he might say.

FDB doesn’t know how to feel, at first. How is someone to react, upon meeting the person who has left such an impact on their past, who has so drastically changed the course of their life without knowing it and subsequently vanished for the next decade?

(LLH stays on the upper level of the Lotus Tower all afternoon, and FDB does not try to bring up the topic with him. He knows of LLH’s complicated emotions regarding LXY, knows that the other needed his own time).

He himself thought he knew his own stance on the topic, but seeing LXY in the flesh, his striking resemblance to the man he shared a blanket with– shook up his resolve a little.

That is, until he opened his mouth.

His manner of speech, his (not entirely unfounded) confidence and arrogance, his clumsy attempts at flirting– they were all so unlike LLH that FDB wonders how he ever thought them similar. LXY was still a teenager, he realises. Still so young and untouched by the jianghu, still with that unbridled optimism and hope and drive to save the common people.

He was still so young.

Well– not that much younger than FDB himself, but young in that he was still less travelled and less jaded than him and LLH themselves, and he marvels at the sight.

Just how little self-preservation LXY had, FDB would soon witness, as the young sect leader makes a pass at him over dinner, something that had him choking on his food at.

He checks on LLH soon afterwards, who had woodenly passed him a cup of water without a word– sure enough, his glare would've killed a lesser man– FDB could only thank the gods that LXY had a seemingly impenetrably thick skin.

(It was the first of many more attempts to come, he would soon find out.

…which was not that bad, he would admit. LXY’s awkward attempts at courtship were amusing and came with the added benefit of watching LLH eat vinegar.

The tables were flipped for once, FDB smiles triumphantly).

[starfyhero2]

I Can't Take It Anymore (Youngest Runaways AU)

John Dory was the first to storm into the pod, with the others following. Floyd dragged his feet as he already began to hear the three eldest brothers began to argue about their performance.

"See what happens when you don't follow my lead?" the eldest brother ranted as Spruce glared daggers right behind him.

"Dude, that is exactly what happens when we follow your lead!" he immediately hissed back at him.

Baby Branch looked at the developing argument with growing concern and fear in his eyes as Floyd inched over next to his side.

"Yeah, dude! This used to be fun! Now it's all about being perfect," Clay joined in at some point.

The youngest siblings stared in shock when Spruce suddenly declared that he was quitting the band, tearing off his purple vest.

As the two other older brothers began to argue with more intensity, Floyd glanced over to Branch and saw the fear and heartbreak in his eyes.

Now, Floyd was not only the sensitive one of the group, but also the peacekeeper and mediator. He knew that he should have spoken up right there, but after seeing Branch's eyes, something in him snapped as he made a decision. Neither of them should have to tolerate this fighting anymore.

He crouched to Bitty B's level and looked him in the eyes.

"Branch, we need to leave," the redhead held his shoulders, not realizing that there was fear showing in his eyes.

"...Huh?"

Before the trolling realized what was happening, Floyd scooped him up into his arms and held him tight as he bolted past the other brothers and out of the pod.

JD, Spruce and Clay immediately stopped fighting and tried to run after the redhead in confusion.

"FLOYD! PLEASE WAIT!" JD tried to call out to him, now sounding more distressed as the other two brothers pleaded for the redhead to stop.

"Don't look back," Floyd kept on repeating in his head as tears fell from his face.

Branch, who was pressed against the older brother's chest, began to cry as he didn't understand anything that was happening except that Floyd was very upset and also crying.

After turning a few more corners as the chase continued down the Troll Tree, the pair lost their pursuers as Floyd hopped into a hidden entrance on the ground floor, leading to a small underground hideout he made a while ago to escape from the world.

As the pair hushed down under the hatch door, they could hear the faint screams of their older brothers.

But Floyd knew that they could never go back.

[shu-box-puns]

Ok but how about this:

Tsu'tey is telling Spider a story or smt and at some point he mentiones Sylwanin and, since the little bean has probably never heard of her up to this point, Spider, with all the innocence and wonder in his lil eyes, asks who is Sylwanin. And Tsu'tey, no matter how much pain and joy the memories of her at the same time give him, decides to tell him.

AWEEEE, just Tsu'tey getting a little teary eyed as he goes down memory lane and tells Spider all about the mischief he and Sylwanin used to get up to when they were kids. He tells him about their competitive relationship. How they used to compete against each other constantly, and how it drove the adults mad. How Sylwanin bested him in pa'li riding, so Tsu'tey got back at her by becoming one of the best archers the clan has ever seen. How both of them struggled terribly at learning English, and teamed up against Neytiri when Grace accidentally praised her for her swift learning.

At first, he doesn't tell Spider about the school. His boy is too young to know about such tragedy, and Spider knows not to ask. Tsu'tey speaks of Sylwanin in the past tense, so he knows more or less what happened.

Instead, meal times tucked around the fire, turn into story time, where Tsu'tey shares stories from his past. Spider is positively thrumming with interest, eager to learn about his Dad's youth, whilst Tsu'tey feels something in him healing as he talks about his first love and isn't immediately met with apologies and tight smiles. Spider geniunely wants to know who Sylwanin was and Tsu'tey is more than happy to paint the picture for him.

He tells his boy how much of her he sees in him. Her curiosity and burning determination. Her lovable personality, how drawn to her he was.

He smiles bitterly at the memory of her first clean kill. How she had pranced back into HomeTree, to Tsu'tey who had been saddled with helping his father for the day, boasting about how she was going to complete her iknimaya first. Out of spite, Tsu'tey had gone out the day after and completed his first kill by noon. That startled a laugh from Spider, whilst Tsu'tey beamed with pride. The hunter shared amused tales of the climb into the Hallelujah Mountains, how Tsu'tey had been the one chosen to tame his ikran first. How he had struggled, his ikran giving as good as he gave, whilst Sylwanin whooped and cackled from the sidelines.

He talks about stolen nights away from the clan, riding their ikran around the forest and talking about everything and nothing. He spins wild tales about trips down to the river, playing among the rocks as children whilst unearthing all manor of weird and wonderful animals from the riverbed. He talks about Sylwanin's interest in healing and how she took to her Tsahik training like an ilu to water. How she wrestled Tsu'tey into sitting still after he returned with his hunting party late in the evening, so she could check him over for injuries, ignoring his pouts and complaints. With all his love and adoration for her, Tsu'tey shares how full of life his childhood friend had been, how much he missed her now.

And then he pulls himself out of those bittersweet memories, to find Spider watching him softly, his expression open and understanding. They mirror their grief back at one another, quiet and companionable. Steady and healing.

Sylwanin would have loved Spider, Tsu'tey knew, suddenly mourning a reality that couldn't be.

[pencilofawesomeness]

Erza gripped the scepter hard enough to make her metal gloves creak. However, neither the hum of the magestone nor the act of using her strength to the fullest could placate her, and neither could it solve this matter.

“Jellal,” she said—slowly, carefully. Erza was positioned between him and the mirror, and she trusted her reflexes, but she still couldn’t help but to doubt her ability to stop him from escaping. Or, rather, from throwing his life away. “Let’s talk this through.”

Jellal chuckled dryly, without mirth. The bags under his eyes appeared darker in the light of the dorm courtyard. “There’s nothing to talk about. We both know that the Arcane Response Unit won’t be persuaded. I’m going.”

“The Headmage is speaking to them now. This is all just a misunderstanding. We’ll work this out.”

Erza absolutely hated not being able to do more. Her respect for the ARU and the role they played in this world absolutely did not diminish that this whole situation was bullshit and Jellal was being wrongly scapegoated. It was unjust and plain wrong. If Erza thought that marching up to the captain (a second time) and demanding this bogus investigation to be dropped would work, then she would have done it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, even she knew that this could not be solved with violence—or with caving in. They had to stand their ground and play this right, and that meant keeping her dorm here while the Headmage worked her wits and magic. 

Surely, everyone else would see the reason she clearly saw—even when Jellal himself doubted it. 

Jellal was only eight when he came to the Queendom of Roses. Only eight when they met. He was a shy and awkward child, and he refused to talk about where he came from. That was alright though, because even Erza knew that it was sad. That was why he had been sent to Grandpa Rob. Erza had just been thrilled for another fae child to join Rob’s home for orphans, because it had meant that there was at least one other kid she could play with without fearing their fragility. 

He was her best friend, and he was a good man. Erza wouldn’t have made him her vice housewarden otherwise. Jellal helped people and he was kind and he was careful and conscious of those around him, and he sought peace and balance above all else. And people seriously thought Jellal, as a child no less, was somehow responsible for an attempt to overthrow the Kingdom of Heroes’ royal family. It was utterly absurd. 

It was even more absurd that Jellal was willing to accept it. 

“Erza, I have to go. I— I did do those things. I can’t continue to ignore it.”

He might have succeeded in making that declaration cold, but the crack in his voice belied his fear. Erza’s determination settled. She swore to protect the people of Heartslaybul, and to lead them down a victorious path. She would even protect them from themselves. 

“I am the Queen here,” she declared, throat tight. “My word is law. And I say you stay.”

Jellal shifted into a ready position—to fight, to flee. The movement alone cut her to her core. “Erza, I’m not who you think I am. I’m not worth it.”

Her heart cracked. She wondered if the Queen of Hearts ever felt this pain, her desire to protect her people a visceral and painful thing. Maybe that was why she sometimes appeared so violent in history—because she, too, swore to protect her loved ones from anything. 

The past few weeks she had had to watch Jellal suffer under this weight. She watched him try to convince her that he wasn’t who she knew he was. It hurt to even consider. It hurt worse that he thought so little of himself, and little of her for not believing that she would trust him. 

Erza would not be easily swayed. Not even by him. She reached into her Inventory and she grabbed a long, weighty lance. 

“You don’t get to decide that.”

Jellal lunged. His magic mastery was always an impressive thing, and he could boost his very movement. However, her reflexes were not to be trifled with either—and, she had planned for this. She knew him well, after all. 

“Now!” she shouted, and a flurry happened all at once. 

Erza employed Jellal’s own trick, hastening herself to meet his path and bodily block him with her lance. Behind her, several magic barriers were erected around the mirror, and Erza quickly added her own, for good measure. 

A vine wrapped around Jellal’s ankle, yanking him backwards and straight into Elfman’s bear-hold. 

The plan quickly fell apart though. With a potent burst of magic, Jellal ripped himself out of the hold. He levitated Elfman with ease and tossed him straight into Droy. 

“JELLAL!” 

Mirajane appeared in a fury, floating above him. Erza spotted the flash of guilt across his features right as the junior batted him downward with ice magic. 

“Stand down,” Erza ordered, a little desperate. 

But Jellal had his own share of determination, evident in the sweat gleaming on his too-pale face. “Don’t fight me on this.”

“Too late, man.” Jet, the only one arguably faster than Jellal thanks to his Unique Magic, swept Jellal off his feet right as he tried to get up. 

Mirajane met her eyes, and reluctantly, Erza nodded. 

“Soulbinder,” Mirajane chanted, and in seconds her UM manifested around Jellal, the dark tendrils physically rooting him to the ground and eating at his magic. It was a violent restraint, but it worked. Erza knew that any less Jellal would fight through. Not that he wasn’t making an attempt now. 

“Please,” she practically begged. “Don’t throw yourself away.”

Jellal tugged at the spell, a heaving breath making his exhaustion known. “You think I want to?” he whispered. 

In the silence that followed, the soft admission might as well have been a shout. 

“Do you think I want to go? To admit that any of that stuff happened? To— to accept the role I played?”

Erza swallowed. There was something dangerously shaky about his countenance. The strain in his voice was brittle, and her instincts whispered that something was about to snap. The air grew thick with that anticipation. “Jellal…”

“NO!” His shout was raw and hoarse, full of tears and anger and everything, that it startled Erza into silence. 

“I never wanted this! But I can’t change what happened. No amount of hoping and pretending will ever change it!”

The atmosphere shook. An ugly sort of magic began to fill the air. Erza realized it too late, when Jellal’s tears mixed with his sweat and turned black.

“It will never change that I was her pawn!”

[randomnameless]

Glancing at something on Ao3 -

What kind of feelings Jerry was supposed to evoke, actually?

FE16 pushes the player - through Billy - to consider Jerry as a good parent, because it plays with the red herring about the evil lizard lady being evil.

And yet, even with all of his misgivings about his kid, Jerry is still the one who calls Flamey's bullshit and wonders if running away from GM wasn't the stupidest decision he ever made, just before kicking the bucket.

Being the cheap copy of the Ike'n'Greil relationship, Jerry's presence and death is supposed to be important to Billy - even in Tru Piss where they look pissed at seeing Emile and working with Uncle'n'pals.

And yet, unlike what we learn about Greil being the chadest amongst chads with 1 (one!) blackspot to his record, whenever you talk to characters about Jerry you're met with... less than rosy thoughts, even if the characters apparently handwave it away.

Let it be with Leonie, or even Alois, Billy learns that their dad wasn't the chadest of chads like Greil, but a drunkard (before Citrus' death, since Alois was a kid!) who apparently played dangerous games with people who idolised him, left his kid alone to be showered with praise by Leonie's village as he dealt with bandits, and left bar tabs all around the continent for his "apprentices" to pay.

Come the "journal" where, imo, we learn that dude was so afraid of his baby not being "normal" than he ran away from the odd lady who saved them "a long time" ago and who's pretty much not normal himself, and the place where his own wife, who displayed - partly - the same "abnormality" as their baby grew up and lived.

Then Nopes happened and did a number on poor Jerry - from mocking their kid's potential aspirations at being something else than a sword for hire, to their singing (done to cheer him up!) and actually learning he at times apparently let them go without food while he never invited them to the "thank you" parties throwns by the people his company saved...

Billy still loves their dad, but is he a good dad by any means?

With all that knowledge, after playing both FE16 and Nopes, can we really feel upset when Jerry kicks the bucket? For Billy maybe, because Jerry is important for them, but does it has the same echo as Greil's death, or even, to remain in Fodlan, Rodrigue's?

I guess if in Nopes, Jerry acted on his heel-face turn (or suddenly growing a brain) from his penultimate FE16 dialogue, we could have had a character growing beyond the red herring and the "unreliable narrator" stuff FE16's first part gave us, and maybe make for a more grounded-complete character, like confessing that he panicked after Citrus' death and worried for Billy, but regrets not being able to bring them the best life they dreamt of, and willing to apologise and let Billy grow in the same environment Citrus did.

Or maybe even explore what Jerry did in 300 years, if he never bothered to wonder why the fuck was he living to be as old as the elites, or his thoughts and feelings about Rhea periodically using hairdye to pretend to be someone else and "aging" even less than him...

Given how - or maybe i'm tainted by the fandom - FE16 thrived on the playerbase feeling characters/situation "relatable" from a doylist pov, I guess Jerry running away with bby!Billy because they weren't "normal" wasn't as weird as it sounds, babies should rightfully have a beating heart!

Bernie is a hikkikomori (forget the part where she's supposed to be the heir of one of the most important lands in Adrestia which would rightfully make her father disappointed with her (lbr, Greg would either have tried to get another kid with Bernie's mom, or got a second wife/bastard, or picked a branch member of his house to take his succession), Linhardt falls asleep and doesn't want to do his job as the next minister of Finances/whatever his dad does and prefers to hyperfocus on academic research ? How lol (please ignore the implications of House Hervring's heir being, uh, not interested in whatever his father does and how he is supposed to inherit his job (at least before Supreme Leader starts her war and pulls out her "reforms")).

Between the brackets are the first arguments that come to mind, if we consider the world those characters live in, aka Watsonian wise.

Jerry is worried about his baby's heart not beating and them not being normal? Jerry, you're not "normal" per Fodlan's standards yourself, you're over 300! Your wife had the same difficulties to emote than your kid and she might or not have had the same "heart not beating" syndrome given how it's her own heart that was transplanted in your kid

You know that what is "normal" for regular humans in Fodlan do not apply to you, your wife or your boss who oddly looks like your wife. So why was that argument even considered when you decided to run away and condemn your child to a life of "sword for hire" and danger at each day ending with a -y ?

IDK, it's as if, in BK, Kalas' bro, born without wings - which is an oddity since apparently everyone is born with some in this verse - finds Kalas weird for only having "one wing" and not two like everyone. It would be the pot calling the keetle back (but since BK is a game with coherent writing, this never happened).

Jerry runs away with the baby because the baby isn't normal despite the midwife assuring everyone they are?

Legit

300 yo Jerry runs away with the baby because the baby has the same condition as their mother despite the "immortal lady who saved his life" assuring him the baby is alright?

WTF

So, in the end, what are we supposed to think of Jerry?

Was he a character who made the best situation out of the shitty cards he was handed regarding their kid?

Or a character who swallowed an idiot plot ball to play with the doylist red herring, made errors but ultimately saw the light before being Clownya'd?

Or, given his supports and Nopes, a shitty character whose only redeeming point is to be Billy's dad, and who receives a lot of leeway by virtue of being Billy's dad by the writing team (given two fans) and the first game being from Billy's POV?

[northsealight]

I wrote this bkdk fanfic as a joke and it spiraled away from me chat should I drop the link

alt text:

image with black background and white text reading "And that is why Izuku stays with him, despite his protests, throughout the whole night. Afterall, Katsuki’s innumerous threats eventually ran out, leaving the boys the choice of stilted conversation or the expansive universe above. This— of all memories— is the one imprinted most vividly from his childhood: the unhurried rustle of a summer breeze, the silence between them, and the infinite sky of stars veiling their crowns. There was no sense of impending doom; no score to settle, and certainly no civilian blood staining his marred hands."

[innytoes]

Happy birthday @jmrothwell!

Okay, so maybe Reggie should have said something about being a werewolf to Julie sooner. Especially because he knew the wolf always acted on his emotions, his hidden (and not so hidden, honestly) desires. Usually, that meant flopping right on top of Luke or Alex for belly rubs, or devouring the entire contents of the fridge (as soon as he managed to get it open without hands).

So yeah, he probably should have mentioned being a werewolf to Julie before the full moon. Especially because when she came down to the studio that evening, a giant wolf was standing there waiting for her with a bunch of purple flowers in its giant maw.

So maybe he had some apologies to make. To Julie and her family, and also probably to Mrs Henderson for digging up part of her prize purple rosebush.

[thebiggestfuckgiven]

Ectoberweek 25: Will-o’-Wisps

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of death, of being buried alive, descriptions of gore, brief mention of vivisection, true crime-esque horror, and general spooky vibes

A/N: I really wanted to do a lil something for the spooky month and what better to write than something for the fandom i’ve been sickeningly hyperfixated on for the past four months. Actual prompt had a two-sentence prompt as well, and i went with both <3

- 💜 -

October 2004

The things everybody tells you about small towns- everyone knows each other, ni things big happens, every day is a slow day, and the biggest local teen hotspots are the walmart parking lot or the big chain pharmacy/corner store —are true. The thing that everyone knows about small towns except for the majority of the people living in said town is that their minds are as small as the local post office.

This is especially true of the teens of Casper High in Amity Park, Illinois.

Sam’s black combat boots stomped against the warm pavement as she ran for the next block. Her breathing was ragged, coming out in harsh puffs of air in the autumn cold. She had gotten an SOS text message from Tucker seconds before the last bell rung.

Normally, she didn’t take the Foley kid very serious. They didn’t know each other that well and they barely hung out save for the couple of school projects they’ve worked on together and those rare lunch hour occasions where he’d sit at her table uninvited. Usually to avoid Dash, Kwan and the rest of their jock entourage.

She stumbled to a stop at a crossroads borderline wheezing. Running was so not her forte. Maybe it was cruel of her, but Same fully intended to ignore his SOS. That is, until she saw Tweedledumb (Dash) and Tweedledumber (Kwan) shove a screaming Tucker into their run-down jeep and speed off.

Hence, why Same was ruining her sickly goth pallor by chasing after them.

She glanced to her left just in time to see the run-down jeep screech to a halt. Christ, the stabbing in her sides was killing her. Sue her for walking. The jeep wasn’t going anywhere anymore. She stumbled a few steps, feet burning, as she held a hand to her sides like that would help her.

Dash jumped out from the passenger side, Kwan following shortly after, from the driver’s side. They opened the back doors on each side, where Tucker was. They cornered him. Dash reached in and was soon pulling Tucker out by his feet. Sam could hear his scream now.

“C’mon, guys, please just leave me alone! Let me go, Dash!”

The Wonder Jocks laughed in response. Kwan slammed his door shut, confident that Dash had Tucker handled now that he was out of the car. Kwan rushed to the sidewalk to roughly grab Tucker’s free arm.

“Guys, this isn’t funny!”

Sam was halfway down the street now and she dreaded the idea of having to run again to keep those two muscle-headed idiots from beating the crap out of the geek that for some reason imprinted on her. Ugh, caring for people was overrated anyways. She could still walk away. Save herself the hassle. No one care about her in this stupid town anyways. So, why should she care?

She slowed to a stop. Her feet ached.

Dash and Kwan were dragging Tucker towards the street corner, which just confused Sam, amidst her inner turmoil. Why even drag Tucker all the way out to his own neighborhood? His house was literally a street away, and there wasn’t even a bare-bones playground here. So what—

“No, no! Don’t put me in there, Dash, Kwan, please! Just let me go, guys, it’s not funny!”

Sam felt a sharp chill run down her spine. Something heavy dropped in the pit of her stomach at the sudden realization of where, exactly, they were.

“Shit.”

She broke off into a sprint as fast as she could.

Shithsitshitshit.

Another thing about small towns is that they all have a well-kept secret. A dark past, usually. Sam found that she thrives on such darkness; on those unwanted and discarded things. As it turned out, Amity Park had a surprising amount of those. She made it her personal business to grow intimate with her town’s buried gutter.

The things she learned were both shocking and, for all her boasting, a little horrifying. Things that would be permanently burned into her retinas. Unseeable and unforgettable. So, she scolded herself for not realizing sooner where they were dragging Tucker to. She would’ve run a little faster, cared a little more, if she had.

She zoomed past the jeep and turned the corner so sharply she nearly fell flat on her face.

Tucker wasn’t screaming anymore, but there were tears streaming down his face as he stared in terror at the behemoth of a house towering over them.

In all its abandoned, festering glory: the infamous Fenton House. Even in bright daylight, the house was obscured in awkward elongated shadows, made worse by the house’s freaky, Frankenstein-esque structure. As if imitating a child’s building blocks tower, there were partial structures jutting out of the house’s main body. They creaked in the cold wind, threatening to snap off and crush any trespassers. At the very top, there was a round dome of sorts with something resembling letters across it. They were black with rot now. Unreadable.

Sam wasn’t a fearful person, but she was a believer. The Fenton House was more than haunted. She’s read enough testimonies to not take it lightly. People have gone missing in that house. Hell, they’ve been found dead in there. She may not be friendly with Tucker, but that didn’t mean she was about to leave him to a tragic fate.

Body running on a sudden burst of adrenaline, she grabbed the nearest thing she could find (a sizable stick) and marched towards the two jocks.

“Hey!”

All three of the boys turned to look at her. She stood two steps below them, resolutely ignoring the way the house seemed to want to swallow them whole. Tucker’s terrified face shifted into one of pure relief. A new wave of tears was visibly threatening to spill over.

“Sam,” he croaked.

Dash barked out a laugh.

“Samantha Manson? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hey, wanna help us lock this dweeb in the Fenton House?” Kwan smiled brightly, pointing at Tucker.

Sam scowled. People always confused her apathy for cruelty. She hated it.

“It’s Sam, and like hell I do. Drop the nerd, assholes, or else,” she said, pitching her voice lower in an attempt to sound intimidating.

Maybe she should’ve spent her time running thinking up a plan instead of hating on Tucker for making her run in the first place. She clutched the stick in her hand tightly.

Kwan scoffed.

“No way. I just said we’re gonna lock him in the house.”

“Yeah! We wanna know what happens when you put a techno dweeb with murder ghosts,” Dash said, smiling cruelly at a Tucker.

“He short-circuits. It’s not impressive. Let him go.”

Dash must’ve realized, finally, that Sam was being serious. He narrowed his eyes at her, the stick in her hand, and smiled.

“Or what? You’re gonna hit us with the creep stick? Ha. Last I checked, Sam, girls don’t have the balls to pull that off, so why don’t you get lost and forget you were ever here,” Dash said before adding to Kwan, “And Paulina says I’m not a gentleman.”

It was Sam’s turn to smile. She went up a step as she spoke.

“Like any girl would let you get that close, Dash. Besides, I promise mine are bigger than yours. Here, I’ll prove it.”

Before he even had time to blink, Sam jabbed the stick hard into Dash’s crotch. A gentlemanly oof broke past his lips and he let go of Tucker’s arm to clutch at his wounded pride.

“Augh, bitch.”

Kwan also let go of Tucker to check on his friend. Sam didn’t waste a second and grabbed Tucker’s hand.

“Run.”

They bolted down the stairs, Tucker nearly slamming into her from the sudden force.

“Sam, I didn’t think— I mean— shit, thank you. I thought- Ah!”

“Shit. Let me go, jackass!”

They had barely cleared the Fenton House’s shadow when a large, thick arm slammed into Sam and Tucker’s bellies as Kwan— just Kwan —grabbed them by the waist and lifted them up.

Note-to-self: never piss off a linebacker.

Sam knew Dahs and Kwan were big for their age, being football players and all, but jesus fuck this was insane.

She kicked and punched for her freedom, but either rage was a hell of a pain nullifier or her punches were child’s play.

Crap, and she dropped the stick when he grabbed them. Just her luck.

“You better let us go right now, Kwan!”

“Or what?”

He was effortlessly taking them up the stairs and— oh that’s the door.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, they— they can’t actually lock us in. There’s no key. We-we can just leave,” Tucker whispered, panicked.

“You don’t know much about the Fenton House, do you?”

Sam’s voice was small. She felt small.

They were about to be locked in a horror house.

Dash opened the door. Sam didn’t even see him get there.

“Sayonara, losers. Have fun in the Fenton House.”

The world tilted and blurred for a split second, Sam’s stomach lurching at the weightless sensation, before she and Tucker landed hard on the linoleum floor. Pain shot up her elbow and hip. Beside her, Tucker groaned.

“If you even make it the whole night! Ha!”

Bam!

Tucker scrambled up at once, but as soon as his hand touched the doorknob a sound like a lock sliding into place echoed throughout the empty house.

“Wha…”

Sam waited with bated breath. Then—

A low droning sound buzzed across the floor, seeping through Sam’s hands in an odd pins-and-needles sensation. Red emergency lights flickers throughout the house, bathing everything in muddy crimson, and the droning sound was replaced by the most horrifying screech of twenty-year-old rusted metal scraping against itself.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Thick sheets of metal began dropping over every conceivable entry. Including the windows and, of course, the door. Sam pulled Tucker back by the collar of his shirt just in time to keep his hand attached.

Tucker yelped, clutching his hand close.

“What the fuck—”

Warbled, distorted speech boomed from somewhere in the house, the voice and the words long ruined by time. It was like someone was trying to speak underwater. The message was only a few seconds long, but it was disgustingly haunting. Sam knew exactly what it said.

Ghost attack imminent. Fenton Security measure Christmas Ham activated.

If she remembered correctly, the measure lasted six hours. But the last time it was activated (that anyone knows of) was five years ago. Who knew how much the technology had deteriorated at this point. They could be here for a whole day.

Sam broke from her thoughts to glance at a hyperventilating Tucker. She couldn’t blame him. The Fenton House was creepy enough on the outside. Inside? With flickering red lights? Sam was making an active effort not to throw up from the fear writhing in her intestines.

The shadows kept moving in the corner of her eyes, she swore she kept seeing a green glow (but she couldn’t tell where from), and it was freezing cold. Colder than it was outside, which should be impossible, but it was the Fenton House. Impossible was inconsequential.

Sam shuddered. They had to find a way out.

“Tucker—”

“Sam- ohmygodSam- this is- I mean what the fuck was that? We’re literally trapped here. In a tomb with linoleum floors. Shit, and you’re trapped, too, cuz of me. I shouldn’t have sent you that text. Fuck it I shouldn’t have flunked Dash’s essay. Now we’re gonna die here and—”

“Tucker!”

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. Their eyes met, both wide with incessant panic.

“Calm down,” she spoke slowly. Tucker gulped and nodded shakily.

“Okay, okay, yeah.”

“Breathe. You’re good with computers and stuff, right?”

Tucker scoffed, but more in a self-deprecative way rather than an offended one.

“Sure am. It’s what gets me in trouble, isn’t it?”

Sam shook him again.

“Forget that. We need good with computers. The Fentons were notorious for their unorthodox advancements in technology. Supposedly had patents on really futuristic shit. Most of it buried, obviously. But they were good enough that their security system still activates nearly twenty years after their departure.”

Ridiculously good, she thought bitterly.

There was a moment of weighted silence as they looked around the house. The lights, the rusted yet intact panels over the windows. It was eerily quiet. She stepped a bit closer to Tucker, who thankfully didn’t say anything about it.

“Yeah, alright, okay,” he muttered to himself before clearing his throat. “The-there should be, uh, a circuit breaker somewhere. We could cut off the power—”

“Won’t work,” Sam stated, eyes furtively glancing around them. She had the weirdest sensation they were being watched. “The town cut the power away from the Fenton House ages ago. It runs on some kind of external power source, but nobody knows what.”

Sam kinda hoped they didn’t get to find out.

“Shit. Man, what the fuck. Who the fuck were these people?”

Sam let out a manic sort of laugh. The hysteria was boiling up in her like toxic chemicals.

“Do you want the short answer or the long one?”

“I have a feeling we’re gonna be here a while. Long answer?”

A pause.

“We should find a way out.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them moved an inch. They stood in the middle of the living room. A trashed one at that. Although, looking closely from where they were, the whole house looked trashed. Wasn’t the place SWATted?

She spotted a flash of green in the hallway, right there in the corner of her eye, and snapped her head towards it with a small gasp. There was nothing there.

“Hey,” Tucker said softly. “Let’s check out the windows for loose panels or something and you can tell me about the Fentons’ own loose panels.”

Her mouth went dry, but she nodded.

“Sounds good, yeah. So, uh, what do you know about the Fentons?”

Tucker shrugged and went towards the first window, by the door. Sam followed closely by. He didn’t mention it.

“What everyone else knows. Mad scientists who went so crazy after their son’s disappearance that they tried to summon him from the afterlife. They got so obsessed that they never left the house and just, died here, waiting for their son to come back. Pretty sad.”

That window was a bust. So was the next, as well as the door. They ventured into the hallway. There were a few square and rectangle imprints on the walls, but only one hanging frame left. With a picture. Hands shaking, Sam reached up and snagged the picture from where it was, careful not to cut herself on what was left of the glass.

It was a family picture. A wall of a man stood at the back with a practiced, dashing smile. To his left and a little below him was a woman with short, bright red hair. They were both in brightly colored hazmat suits, goggles hanging around their necks.

In front of them were two teens. A girl with bright red hair as well, but styled much longer. Next to her was a boy, younger and slightly shorter than her, with black hair. They were all smiling wide and bright, except for the boy. His was more hesitant, not quite reaching his eyes.

Sam pointed at the young girl.

“Did you know the Fentons had a daughter, too?”

Tucker’s eyebrows went up slightly.

“No… Something tells me I won’t like why.”

“You won’t. Um, kitchen?”

Sam saw another green flash and was anxious to get away from it. They bee-lined to the kitchen, and Tucker checked the windows there.

“So… There’s a few things you got right. The Fentons—” Sam pointed at the two adults in the picture “—were renowned scientists. They did some impressive breakthroughs. Like the kind they still teach in universities, but with a disclaimer attached. The more they went into their work, though, the more obsessed they got…” she trailed off in a whisper, tensing.

The house was creaking.

Tucker stopped in his tracks, too, eyes wide but lips pressed tightly together.

Nothing happened. The house stopped creaking.

Tucker let out a slow breath, eyeing the cabinets.

“Think there’s anything edible left around?”

She glared at him sharply.

“If you open any fridge or cabinet doors, I’m leaving you here alone. This place is bad enough, we don’t need to add rats or rotted food to the list.”

Tucker pouted but conceded.

“Fine, I’ll just starve. Keep telling me about the creepy doctors and their stupid creepy house while we check upstairs.”

Sam sighed in temporary relief. She didn’t think she could handle seeing a fridge full of maggots. Even if it has been almost twenty years.

They continued up the stairs, carefully, and Sam went on with the Fenton tragedy.

“The Fentons started growing obsessed with other dimensions. Specifically… the afterlife, and its inhabitants.”

“Like… ghosts?”

Sam nodded.

“Exactly like. They became convinced they could create a doorway into the afterlife, at the cost of their reputation. They got ostracized by the academic community once they started referring to themselves as ‘ecto-scientists’.”

“Yeah, who wouldn’t. Bunch’a wackos,” Tucker muttered as they ventured into an organized room with cool colors. Light blue walls, light green bed sheets coated in blankets of dust, so the only reason Sam knew they were light green was because she’s seen pictures of what the room looked like twenty years ago. She ignored the uneven pattern of small dark spots on the wall.

It was the girl’s room. Jasmine Fenton’s.

Tucker went straight for the window, but Sam hung back near the entrance.

“They didn’t actually open a doorway, right?”

His voice broker her out of her thoughts. She blinked.

“Hm? Oh, uh, allegedly, yeah.”

This house probably sat on an open portal. There probably was an infestation of something murderous in it. Sam shook the thought away. She’ll drive herself crazy worrying about that.

“Supposedly,” she continued. “The doorway was one of their patents. They had the science backing it up and everything. But they… There were rumors, around the time the supposedly opened the doorway, that there was an accident in the house involving their youngest. Daniel Fenton.”

Tucker frowned at the blocked window. A bust. They made their way to the next room. A queen bed bare of any bedsheets, and a large chest of drawers with an equally large mirror attached to it. The Fentons’ room. It had an extra window.

“What happened to Daniel?”

Sam shuddered, goosebumps breaking out across her arms. The room got colder, so much colder than it had been. A soft crackling sound broke out, like frost taking over with a vengeance. She opened her mouth to speak but her breath got stuck in her throat.

She closed her mouth. Breathe. Another flash of green, this one brighter than the others. Breathe. It was so cold, her teeth started chattering.

“T-t-t-tucker—”

“Y-ye-yeah, I’m-m ignoring it,” he said simply, tugging at the panels.

Fuck, how can he ignore this. Sam was so uncomfortable, consumed by such a sudden unease, she wanted to claw off her skin. She tried to ignore it anyways.

“Daniel— jesus I’m freezing —he was out of school a couple of days after neighbors heard a scream. That same night, the power went out in the whole town, except for the Fenton House.”

The freezing cold seeped away, leaving behind a frost pattern that didn’t melt on the mirror despite the warming room. Sam blew out a breath, sending out a silent thanks.

She frowned, unsure why she did that.

“A lot of people theorize,” she went in, rubbing the remaining cold in her fingertips away. “That one of two things happened that night. One, a backfired experiment drove the Fentons all the way crazy to the point that they started experimenting on both their kids, thinking they were ghosts.”

“Wait, both of—”

“Two, Daniel died because of said backfired experiment and his parents somehow managed to either bring him or his ghost back.”

None of the windows opened. They started for the next room.

“That’s… actually insane. And what do you mean, both their kids?” Tucker stopped for a moment, meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Did something happen to their daughter, too?”

Sam pressed her lips into a thin line. That’s the part rarely anyone knew about the Fenton horrors. Daniel wasn’t their only kid. He certainly wasn’t their only victim.

“I’ll get there,” she replied instead, looking away. “It only gets worse.”

“Christ,” he muttered.

They walked onwards.

“A couple of weeks after that, Daniel disappeared. But in those weeks, the Fentons became obsessive, borderline manic, with ghosts. Their nature, their morality. How to trap them, contain them… kill them.”

They were nearing then end of the hallway, where the last room was.

Tucker shuddered, sporting his own goosebumps.

“I don’t like the way you said that.”

Sam grimaced, sticking close to him once more.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad. What’s worse, the Fentons called off the search party after just one night. They claimed they didn’t want false hope, they just wanted to lay their son to rest. They buried an empty casket, and Daniel hadn’t even been missing three full days.”

Her voice was hollow.

“Shit. They…”

“Killed their own son because they were convinced he was a ghost? Most likely,” she said bitterly. As far as true crime went, Amity Park’s dark secret was the worst she’s ever read.

Neither said a word. For one long minute, intentionally or not, they remained quiet, mulling over the terror a kid must feel when they realize their own parents saw them as something to be killed. And to think, they were standing in the house where it happened. Where two parents killed their son. Allegedly.

And their daughter…

As if reading her mind, Tucker quietly asked, “What about the girl? It gets worse doesn’t it?”

Sam swallowed, her mouth dry and throat sore.

“They—” she sighed. “After their son ‘becoming a ghost’, they got paranoid. Extremely so. If one of their kids was a ghost… They couldn’t stand the idea of having an imposter in their own home. There were reports of screams two nights after the funeral. Like, really awful screaming that went on for nearly an hour, I think. Authorities broke into the house after multiple calls to find the Fentons in the basement and their daughter on a table just… cut open. She died before the paramedics could get to her.”

Again, neither said another word. Sam wished she’d run faster. Hit Dash harder. This house was tainted in blood and betrayal.

Tucker clutched at his chest and Sam realized his breathing was short and sparse. Crap.

“Tucker—”

“I fucking,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “Hate that we’re here. We’re trapped in like they were, but they— Fuck, they were kids. Their kids. Who does that.”

“Tucker, breathe,” Sam insisted lowly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He nodded, but only got a few gasps of air.

“I’ve been t-trying to hold it together but I just can’t— what if we can’t find a way out. What if we die here.”

“We’re not gonna die here,” she stated fiercely despite being unsure of it herself. “If the windows are a no go then we’ll just find a way to deactivate the security system, okay? We’ll be fine.”

Tucker nodded again, quiet.

It took another few minutes until he finally got his breathing under control. Sam squeezed his arm comfortingly, giving him a small smile. They’ll make it.

He returned the smile without a word and turned to the last room. They had windows to check.

She suspected it was Daniel’s room. It was the only one they hadn’t seen yet. Tucker tried to turn the knob but it didn’t budge. She frowned. Weird… thinking about it, all the other rooms had been wide open.

“Rusted?”

Tucker shook his head, shaking off another involuntary shudder. Sam suppressed her own. It was getting colder again. Tucker tried again to open it. No dice. The knob wasn’t budging. He let go of it, hissing through his teeth as he rubbed his hands together.

“The metal is freezing. It, uh, must be something with the heating.”

Sam gave it a try and immediately drew her hand back. Freezing was an understatement. A second longer and she would’ve gotten the world’s worst case of freezer burn.

“Tucker, I don’t think we’re allowed to go in this room,” she whispered, hugging herself to keep warm.

He gave her a look like she was crazy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s Daniel Fenton’s room. All the other rooms were open but this one—”

“—is locked.”

“No. Look at the handle. There’s literal frost on it. There was frost on the mirror in the other room, too. I think—”

“If you say ghost.”

Sam glared at him.

“After everything I told you. Scratch that, haven’t you been feeling all the weird stuff in this house? The creaking, the frankly extreme cold spots, the fucking creepy green light!”

Tucker’s eyes went wide at that, mouth dropping open.

“I-I didn’t think you could see them. But that— that doesn’t mean—”

The house gave a violent creak, causing the floor to rumble threateningly. The temperature dropped drastically, covering the entire hallway in a light frost.

Sam’s teeth immediately started chattering from the cold.

“This is too much,” Tucker whispers, that underlying panic settling back in.

Impossibly, finally finally finally, they both saw the green flash at the other end of the hallway, flickering desperately before disappearing.

“Tuck,” Sam let out, mesmerized, overtaken by the overwhelming urge to follow that light. An itch she had to scratch, to claw at until it broke open. “He’s here.”

She didn’t know how she knew that, but she’s never spoken truer words. This she knew with absolute certainty.

“Sam.”

He was struggling not to fall for the light, but he couldn’t ignore this forever. Sam thought he’d be an idiot to do so.

She moved forward without another word. Shortly, she heard Tucker follow after.

When they reached the stairs, another flash of light burst to life at the landing, flickering that desperate staccato.

They continued to quietly follow the light wherever it appeared. It led them down the hallway of missing picture frames. Sam clutched the picture in her pocket. They reached a closed door. It was colder in this area, but the door knob was warm. It opened easily to reveal stairs to a basement showered in white fluorescent lights.

They went down the stairs with no hesitation, following that green light that was growing more and more desperate with each step they took. At the bottom, they were greeted by an empty expanse of white floor.

There were various metal tables, but all devoid of any machines or materials that one would expect in a lab. Because no doubt that’s what this basement was. There were discarded cords and metal scraps scattered across the room. But most notably, there was a large, round arch-like structure at the center of the furthermost wall. It was huge, its top scraping the basement ceiling. It had an indent, with two metal panels that interlocked in the center. As if it were a… door.

“Sam… is that—”

“Tucker, look.”

The little flash of green stopped by a blue button on the wall. It flickered swiftly, faster than any of the other times before it went out entirely.

They stayed there, standing, for a moment.

“Are we… are we about to find a dead kid’s twenty-year-old decayed corpse?”

Sam nodded shakily, not believing it either.

“I think so.”

They still didn’t move. God, it was so cold. She couldn’t feel her fingertips.

“What if something happens to us?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

Two dead people found in the house during its abandonment. Three missing.

“And?”

She looked back at him, a soft smile edging its way onto her face.

“He deserves to rest. Doesn’t he?”

Tucker glanced between the blue button and the closed, arch-like door. Determination set into his features. He nodded.

They went towards the button. Tucker settled his hand over it first, Sam placing her hand over his. Their eyes met.

“This had to have been the world’s worst nap.”

Sam snorted and pressed his hand onto the button. The technology down here must be in better conditions because the effect was instantaneous. Concrete scraped against concrete as a rectangular hole opened up in the center of the lab.

From where they were, they could see it. A homemade metal casket that weirdly resembled more of an iron maiden. They found him. Daniel Fenton. He could finally, truly rest.

That’s when the pounding began.

Sam and Tucker turned to each other in horror. She felt a visceral tug in her gut she nearly threw up then and there. Instead she ran to the metal casket, dropping to the ground halfway there so she slid across the floor. The pounding grew louder, and it was definitely coming from inside. Tucker was frozen stuck by the button.

It only gets worse.

A faint sound, behind all the pounding. Sam leaned closer, listening. Her stomach dropped. Her head snapped towards Tucker, eyes a desperate frenzy.

“He’s crying. He- He’s still- o-oh my g- Tucker, help me get him out!”

This broke him out of his horrified stupor and he kneeled on the ground next to her. His hands were shaking.

“What do we do? What do we do?”

“Fuck, idunnoidunno- uh, grab, shit, shit, go to the other side. Maybe we can lift the lid.”

Stumbling, trembling, Tucker did as he was told and crawled to the other side. But he saw what was on the lid. Fuck.

“There’s a lick. Sam, it’s locked.”

She looked back up at him on the verge of tears.

“What! No, no it can’t be- it—”

“Just, hold on. I’m gonna go back upstairs. Maybe there’s something we can use. I’ll be back, I promise.”

She got the feeling he wasn’t really talking to her. The pounding quieted down but there was a muffled sound. A strained whimper.

“Shit,” Tucker whispered before running out and up the stairs.

Sam sniffled and laid a hand in on the biting cold metal of the casket.

“We’re gonna get you out,” she whispered, wiping at the tears streaming uncontrollably down her face. “I don’t really understand how this is even possible, but we’re not gonna leave you here.”

There wasn’t a response. Not a whimper or a knock. She was gripped by the fear that maybe they were too late. Twenty years buried and they were five minutes too late.

Tucker came stomping down the stairs, taking two at a time. She looked up to see he had an honest-to-god metal bat in his hands. Fully intact and not rusted at all. His hat was askew and his eyes seemed wild.

“He- he helped me find it. Nearly ran all over the house,” he said, panting heavily.

“Hurry up and break it,” she begged, not bothering to disguise the desperation in her voice.

Without another word, Tucker aimed the thicker end of the bat downwards and plunged it against the lock.

It broke apart with a resound clang.

“Help me with—”

But Sam was already crossing to where he was. Kneeling, side by side, they gripped the edges of the casket and lifted. A cloud of freezing cold air puffed up, obscuring their vision for a few seconds. They couldn’t see if they really did save a boy’s life, or if it was just his corpse playing tricks on them. But they heard heavy breathing coming from rattling lungs and not from either of them.

They’d both been holding their breaths.

The cloud dispersed. In front of them lay a young boy with matted white hair, brilliant green eyes drowning in tears and a grotesque muzzle caked from within with old and fresh blood. Metal clinked against metal. His wrists were chained to the casket. His knees scraped and bloodied from banging on the lid.

Tucker immediately removed the muzzle, which thankfully wasn’t locked. Sam’s heart broke. Shattered. The boy’s cheeks were caked, blanketed, with that same mixture of blood, his lips horribly scarred.

He sobbed, screwing his eyes shut against the bright lights.

“Thank you,” he rasped. His voice scraped against his throat.

Tucker and Sam held his hand. They cried with him.

“You’re safe with us.”

He always would be.

[polar-equinoxx]

Maybe I wrote my prompt…

Of Maverick calling Ice baby for the first time when he’s asleep, and

,,, well maybe it accidentally spiralled into a 3.7k fic. Whoops 😅

!!!! Spur of the Moment on ao3 !!!!

(Ice throughout the whole thing)

[bat-the-misfit]

i don't listen to enhypen but my favorite member is the guy from this gif

[seaweedstarshine]

Rewatching my favorite Christmas special and I cannot get over “Psych*tic Potato Dwarf” as an insult from a person who — canonically — according to sources from the same writer — often hears voices that he has trouble distinguishing from reality. It's not just the one line, it's the fact that it’s the title of Strax’s theme! I always wanna call it out 😭, which works out in my The Snowmen-era Eleventh Doctor fanfictions because Strax is a nurse and would know what that word means.

Like, it does unfortunately fit the character because Gallifreyan culture is — canonically — systematically exclusionary of mentally ill people, and the Eleventh Doctor — canonically — hates himself more than anyone in the universe. But the choice?