#if need be we can do another round before Vlad shows up

[killmebutneverinsultme]

He should have known better than to trust sea witches. In fact, he did know better, but when seeking a means to immortality sometimes a smidgeon of trust was worth the risk. Having got separated from the crew of the Black Pearl, Captain Sparrow and his questionably-ranked associate, James Norrington, had gone on an adventure of their own. Jack had paid this witch in various trinkets and she had led them to a magical well where she instructed them to jump. Naturally, he had tested that there was water in it before they started, and it looked mystical enough rather than somewhere she let idiots drown.

The enchanted waters had deposited them in the grounds of an ancient, uninviting castle in a much colder place than he would have liked. It could have been worse. The trouble was, he had no idea how they were going to get back and he wasn’t about to tell James that.

“Come along, commodore,” he snipped, checking his compass as he picked his way out of the overgrown garden. “Might as well see where we’re at.”

@norringtxn (next) + @count-v-dracula

[thesouthernpansy]

scents and sensibilities (1-6/7)

i've been uploading this chapter-by-chapter on ao3 but since tumblr is the reason i am so in love with this ship i thought i'd post it here too !

Things with the werewolves are…tense, for a while, to put it delicately (and Viago’s sensibilities do tend to favor delicacy).  Despite the mutual nature of their truce, or perhaps because of it, when tempers flare on either side the spark catches everyone, which leads to a swift and nasty end to the first of their attempts to spend fun casual time as a group. Viago does his best to keep a level head, of course, for Stu’s sake. Still, even his admittedly limited success is overshadowed by Deacon’s powder-keg temper and Vladislav’s prideful refusal to back down before the raised hackles of the pack.

In the end it’s the packleader—the Alpha, as he calls himself, and in all the excitement Viago realizes that he has forgotten the man’s actual name—who manages to deescalate matters before they turn violent. Collected and stern, but not unkind, he rounds up the werewolves and ushers them out in a series of hangdog expressions and half-hearted apologies.

“Sorry about all this,” he tells Viago, turning at the door.

“Ah, yes, we are also sorry,” replies Viago, nervously eyeing a Vlad and Deacon who do not by any means seem sorry at all. He feels a little caught off-guard, his embarrassment with his own behavior tangling with a sudden sort of pleased eagerness at having apparently been singled out as the other Voice Of Reason in the room.

“They’re good lads, really. Maybe next time we can try this a bit further away from the full moon, eh?”

“Oh, is it—? I hadn’t even considered,” Viago flounders. He’s usually better at scheduling, but then again he doesn’t usually have to take the needs of werewolves into consideration. “Do you have a cellular telephone? Perhaps it would be easier to consult one another, in the future.”

“Good call,” agrees the packleader. He takes Viago’s cell and enters his contact information—Viago recognizes the method from one of Stu’s previous telephone tutorials—and Viago takes a subtle and socially acceptable amount of time to look it over.

Anton, reads the line above the unfamiliar string of numbers. Oh good. Viago feels some of the tension go out of his shoulders.

“Thanks for being willing to give this another shot.” Anton holds out a hand. “I know it means a lot to Stu.”

Viago reaches out in return and finds himself caught in a firm handshake. He registers vaguely that if he were human this might crack a bone or two, and also that werewolves apparently run quite hot.

“It means a lot to us, too,” he assures Anton sincerely. “Since you are Stu’s mates now, as well.”

“Not just mates,” corrects Anton automatically. “Packmates! Which, you know, is quite a, uh, quite a big deal.”

“Yes,” agrees Viago, feeling lost.

“My job to keep them safe and happy, of course, me being the Alpha and all.” Anton’s voice has taken on a distinctly rambling quality, and as VIago watches his face does an odd sort of spasm, like he’s registering what he’s saying only after it’s come out of his mouth. He lets out a harsh breath and claps his hands together.

“Well, bound to be a few bumps in the road when you’re charting a path no one’s gone down before, eh?”

“Oh, yes,” nods Viago, relieved to be back on even footing in their conversation. “But we are fortunate to be, all in this together, as they say!”

He bumps a fist lightly against Anton’s shoulder in a show of cool masculine camaraderie.

“Reckon we are,” says Anton, returning the gesture with an open palm against Viago’s arm, pat pat. “I oughta be off, but I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Excellent!” says Viago brightly, waving his cell at attention to assure Anton that he knows what that means.

Anton nods and looks away, thumbing at the side of his mouth. “Right, well, uh. Good night, then, Viago.”

“Good night, my new friend Anton,” Viago replies, grinning broadly. He turns to flash the cameras an excited thumbs-up.

Stu peers in around the doorframe as Anton ducks out. Leaning in next to him, Nick raises his eyebrows at Viago until Stu elbows him in the side and shakes his head. They head off together after the rest of the pack, leaving Viago with the nagging sense that he’s missed something.

Behind him, Deacon scoffs angrily. “Who does that guy think he is? I know we are supposed to have a truce with these werewolves but that does not mean he can come in here and act like he is in charge of us.”

“He is not in charge of us,” says Vlad vehemently, though it’s unclear whether or not he’s actually agreeing with Deacon. “He is in charge of the werewolves, yes? That is how it works? He is the dominant one who gets to fuck all of the others.”

“I don’t think—” Viago looks wide-eyed at the cameras, stuttering. “I don’t think that is how it works.”

Deacon goes “huh” in a way that’s not uninterested.

A sort of flustered heat rises in Viago's face.

“I am going to speak to Katherine,” he announces to the unlistening room, turning on his heel and fleeing.

Katherine is just finishing up an interview when Viago finds her, perched at a table in the sitting room in that birdlike way she has and sipping carefully out of a red-stained teacup. She’d begged off from the evening’s social activities rather early on; being such a young vampire meant that she was still adjusting to the tremendous new power of her senses, and the smell of so many werewolves in a contained space all at once had proven to be a bit too much for her, even with all the windows open.

As soon as she sees Viago she brightens and holds out a hand. He takes it gently and presses his lips chastely to her knuckles.

“Hello, my love.”

“Hi, you,” she replies, smiling. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. It sounded very exciting out there.”

“Oh, it was,” says Viago, patting the top of her hand. He doesn’t quite have the heart to tell her the full truth. “I had a very lovely chat with their Alpha, he’s very level-headed. And he has given me his telephone number, look—” He fishes out his cell to show Katherine, who hums appreciatively in a way that does, admittedly, make VIago feel a bit humored. 

“It’s nice to hear that you’re getting along,” she says.

“And how have you been in here? Are you hungry? The werewolves had to leave before their pizza arrived, so there should be a deliveryman here at any moment.”

Katherine spares a fond look for the enthusiasm of his offer. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but I’ll have to pass. Edith and I are going to bingo tonight, and I don’t want to fill up beforehand.”

“Of course,” Viago allows, his smile tightening. “Wouldn’t want to be rude.”

Edith is a friend Katherine met through Elderly Eternity, a support group of sorts that she’s been attending to meet other vampires who are spending their afterlives in their golden years. There’s something about having grown properly old in your body, she’s tried explaining to Viago, that he just doesn’t understand. 

Admittedly, he had responded, in a particularly ironic twist, rather childishly to the suggestion that there was something Edith—who was barely in her hundreds!—could understand about being old that Viago couldn’t, and Katherine had sat there, still as stone, and watched with her hands folded in her lap until his tantrum had run its course. He’s tried to be better about it, since.

“I have never even met Edith,” Viago admits to the camera later, looking sheepish. “There is no reason for me to dislike her, especially because Katherine seems to like her so much. It is only that, when you have waited so long for someone, and then you are with them but they do not want to spend as much time together as you do, it does sort of sting a bit.”

In a different, earlier interview, Katherine sets her cup into its saucer with a soft clink and frowns thoughtfully.

“Of course I want to pass time with Viago,” she says. “He’s a lovely man. We have such fun, and I wouldn’t be here without him.” She pauses, as if trying to find the right way to word what she wants to say. “Eighty years, though…it’s a long time. I’ve changed such a lot since we met back then. And Viago, well. He hasn’t really, has he?”

The werewolves have declined an exit interview this time, most of them still too riled to speak calmly about what’s just happened. Even Anton seems restless, his retreating figure flicking his cell open and closed four separate times before he slips beyond the camera’s view.

---

Viago fidgets on the couch, delicate fingers tugging his cravat as his mouth twists fretfully to one side.

“So, Katherine has suggested that it might be good for me to make a friend,” he tells the camera hesitantly. “Which, to be honest, does not make very much sense to me, because I already have plenty of friends. Even Deacon, although he called Katherine a very nasty name when she went out with Edith the other night so I am quite cross with him at the moment.” He shrugs and folds his hands in his lap for something to do with them that isn’t picking at his clothes.

“He only said it because he could tell I was upset, which is what friends do. Still—” Viago stills, lost in thought for a moment before an idea comes to him, and he perks up. “Perhaps this will be a good opportunity to reach out to Anton. But he has not sent me a text message, yet, and I am not entirely familiar with the process—will I look too eager if I send him the text message first?”

He looks beseechingly at the producer interviewing him, brows knit in concern.

“Uh,” says the producer. “I think he’d be glad to hear from you.”

Viago’s expression breaks into a relieved grin.

Two nights later, Anton meets Viago and the crew outside a nondescript block of flats. As they approach, he extricates a hand from the pocket of his windbreaker to raise in greeting.

“There he is!” Viago tells the camera, waving enthusiastically in return.

“Hiya, guys.” There’s a steady set to his shoulders tonight, the self-prepossessed posture of an Alpha on his own turf.

“So cool,” Viago mouths to the cameras giddily.

Anton’s mouth quirks further upwards as he turns to hold open the door. “Come on in, Viago.”

The flat Anton leads them to is clearly occupied by more than just him alone. Half a dozen jackets hang on pegs in the entryway above a shoe rack dotted with trainers of varying sizes. On top of that, despite the very fortunate coincidence that someone has left the windows in here open, the smell of werewolf is so thick that it feels like Viago could swallow and choke on it if he isn’t careful.

“You have flatmates?” he asks tactfully—and a bit nasally, attempting to speak as best he can without engaging his sinuses at all. Scattered about the lofty, open-plan space are more signs of life: sports magazines and DVDs, memorabilia and assorted knickknacks, all carefully stacked and shelved and dustlessly in place. Viago feels a pang of envy, which is somewhat ameliorated by the sight of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. At least some things remain an inescapable constant in the roomie lifestyle.

Anton notices the dishes at the same time Viago does. “I do—sorry, give us a moment, would you?"

He crosses the lounge and raps sharply on a door with a rugby poster taped to the front. After a moment, the door cracks open and a bespectacled face Viago recognizes but could not name appears, glancing nervously between Anton and the cameras.

"Hey, Anton."

"Hey, Dion," replies Anton, carefully neutral. "Those dishes in the sink, they wouldn't happen to be yours, would they?"

Dion’s expression turns guilty. "I was gonna get to them," he says.

Anton steps sideways, putting his shoulder between the camera and his packmate. His voice lowers, and Viago notices one of the sound guys shuffle to hold his microphone closer.

“You knew we were having guests.”

“I didn’t think it would matter. It’s just one of the vampires, their place is a dump—”

“Hey,” says Anton sharply. “Mind your manners. We’ve talked about this, haven’t we? What’ve we said?”

“We—” The sigh that heaves up out of Dion reaches teenage levels of mortification. “Werewolves, not comparewolves. But Anton—”

Anton raises a hand, and Dion stops short. “Yes, alright, it’s not one of my better ones, listen. We can only control what we do with our own lives, yeah? Our own space? You start looking at other people, thinking, ‘oh, he lets the bins pile up, oh, she lets herself have a yell at the match’, next thing you know you’re letting the wolf out in the middle of the dairy! Ripping up old ladies and that! We’ve got to have standards for ourselves.” He shakes his head and makes a frustrated chopping motion with one hand.

“Come on, Dion, I don’t usually need to have this chat with you. What’s going on?”

Dion makes a noise of begrudging acknowledgement. Briefly, his eyes flicker over to meet Viago’s and then drop away again. 

“Nothing,” he mumbles.

Anton takes a slow breath, in and out, crossing both arms across his chest. He watches Dion for another moment, head tilted to the side, and just as Viago is wondering if he ought to offer to leave, Anton’s posture softens.

“Hey, is it the cameras?” he asks. Viago is fairly certain only he and the werewolf Anton's speaking to can hear him at this point. “Are they making you uncomfortable? It would make sense if they are, we're used to privacy being pretty important around here, aren't we?”

Dion shakes his head. He can’t quite look at Anton, but it’s pretty clear that he’s actively trying not to look at Viago. Some of the steel comes back into Anton’s spine.

“Ah. Is it Viago's being here that you're uncomfortable with?”

It’s a direct hit—Dion shrugs a shoulder to try and hide the flinch, but he’s not entirely successful.

“I dunno, it’s. Nah, because we’re friendly with them now, yeah?”

“We are," confirms Anton. "That's why Viago is here, to help us keep it that way. But it's a big change, isn’t it? Lots to adjust to."

"Yeah," says Dion lamely.

"Would it help if we went to another room?” asks Anton gently.

A beat, and then Dion nods, and Anton claps him encouragingly on the shoulder.

“All good, then. We’ll get there, no need to rush things. Good job communicating your needs, Dion.”

“Thanks, Anton. I’ll do my dishes.”

“I would appreciate that,” Anton tells him. “You take a bit first if you need to, though, yeah?”

He waits for another small nod from Dion, then turns and gestures towards the cameras.

“This way, lads. Viago?”

Viago startles a bit at the sound of his name. When he comes back to himself he realizes that both hands are clawed around his elbows, holding tight against the cold, buzzing panic that’s been slowly seeping into him from Dion's words.

“Alright?” asks Anton.

Viago waves a hand weakly. “If my presence here is a problem—”

“No problems here, mate.” Anton leans over to press their shoulders together, hands shoved down into the pockets of his trousers. “Just a few bumps in the road, remember?”

From the point of contact, a slow, steadying warmth. It spreads through Viago’s chest and up into his face, pulling a smile up in its wake.

“How silly of me, how could I forget?”

Anton leads them into what must be his personal bedroom, a neat, rather spartan space with utilitarian furniture and plain white walls. There are a few personal touches: a large wall calendar pinned above the desk that charts each pack member’s work schedule (with a single thick red circle like a staring eye around an otherwise nondescript Monday); a smattering of framed photographs, also featuring the other werewolves almost exclusively; and, somewhat unexpectedly, an acoustic guitar leant in the corner, of cheap make, but obviously well cared-for.

“It’s all got to be readily replaceable,” Anton says in explanation. “Just in case. Can’t be wrecking priceless family heirlooms every time you stub a toe.”

He cracks open the window and pulls out the desk chair for Viago before settling himself on the edge of the bed.

Viago recognizes the invitation to sit, but he finds himself drawn instead to the photographs. One in particular catches his eye, a candid shot of Anton mid-laugh, arm slung around a wearily smiling Stu who’s leaning heavily on him in return. They’re both in a sorry state, shreds of tracksuit hanging off skin welted with scratches and smeared with mud. The sunlight catches Anton’s face in a way that makes him look half a decade younger, and something turns over in Viago’s chest.

“That was right after Stu’s first full moon.” Anton is suddenly at his side, pride in his voice. “Would’ve been a couple months ago, now. Poor bugger was so nervous you’d think he was about to have puppies, but he came through like a real champ.”

Viago forces himself to look away from the picture. “The other werewolves, they all live here?”

“Most of them,” replies Anton, scratching idly at his chin. “Pack instinct, I think. Plus it’s easier to live with people you haven't got to hide something like this from. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that," he adds, bumping their shoulders together again.

Viago leans into the contact. It's nice, sort of grounding, like something settling into the well-worn place where it belongs.

Anton clears his throat, taking a frame from the collection and passing it over. "Clifton lives a ways down the road with his missus, but otherwise this’ll be all of us here.”

A row of werewolves in suits flank a brilliantly smiling couple, the aforementioned Clifton and a pretty redheaded woman in a lacy white gown.

“That's Denise there, obviously. She and Clifton have been together for ages. She’s solid as a rock, that woman, stuck by him through his change and never once looked back.” He sounds wistful, looking at the picture with a sad sort of distance in his eyes.

Viago nods solemnly. “You have feelings for her.”

“What? Denise?” Anton looks at Viago like he’s just bitten into a bulb of raw garlic. “Definitely not. Not in the way you’re insinuating, anyway. She’s family.”

His tone has taken on a defensive edge as he puts the photograph back in its place. He pauses, and Viago hears him mutter something under his breath that sounds like counting, one to ten, before he scrubs a hand across his face.

“Sorry for snapping,” he says. “Get away from myself a bit sometimes when it comes to the pack."

If the pack is family, and Anton won’t—if he doesn’t—then what Vlad said about being the Alpha can't be true, can it? Viago bites his own tongue against the urge to ask.

“If it is of any consolation to you," he offers instead, "your snapping is quite cordial compared even to some perfectly friendly conversations I have had with my flatmates.”

Anton gives him an odd look. "I'm not sure it is, if I'm being honest. But, speaking of your flatmates, what d’you reckon?" 

He gestures towards the chair, and this time Viago sits, crossing his legs primly at the knee. Anton takes up across from him, reaching for a pen and notebook on the bedstand.

"What do vampires do for fun that we could all do together?"

The obvious things are probably right out, Viago thinks. The werewolves won’t want to have a dinner party for hapless imminent victims, and with their healthy werewolf reflections they’d only ruin mirror puppet theater.

 “We do like to go clubbing,” says Viago thoughtfully. “Usually when we go we are also looking for victims to bite, but perhaps if it was a joint outing we could abstain for the evening?”

“Now there’s an idea.” Anton jots something down in his notebook, nodding. “The lads love a good night out, though—hm. Lot of variables to keep track of in that scenario. Lot of things that could go sideways, especially once booze is in the mix. Maybe that’s one for a bit further down the line, eh?’

Viago hmms in acquiescence. “Well, what do werewolves like to do for fun?”

“Heaps of stuff.” Anton sits back, tapping his pen against the side of his thigh. “Group activities mostly. We cook together quite a bit, though I reckon that doesn’t help us much now. You, uh, you lot fancy a bit of sport? Board games? Anything like that?”

Viago brightens. “Actually, Deacon has recently recovered a Cluedo game from one of the neighbor’s rubbish bins with nearly all of the pieces, and we have been having a wonderful time with that.” Before Anton’s scratching pen can sound too excited, he adds, “Deacon and Vladislav get quite competitive, though. Usually the game ends because they start shouting and threatening to show one another their lead pipes."

Anton makes a sympathetic sound. “We’re no strangers to that here. I’ll add that to the ‘Later’ column, then.”

Awkward in the ensuing silence, Viago’s fingers fiddle nervously with his cuffs as he glances around the room. Perhaps it would’ve been wise to give this matter a little more thought before he showed up to this brainstorming session with a brain like a dry old sponge.

Then his eyes alight on the guitar in the corner, and an idea hits him like lightning from the blue.

“This is yours?”

“Sure as. Been teaching myself to play on and off since, gosh, since uni. I’m surprised the thing’s made it so long in one piece. Do you play?”

“Nothing like this,” replies Viago, rising to brush the tips of his fingers gingerly along the frets. “Vladislav and Deacon have always had more of an affinity for the stringed instruments. When you live for eternity you have plenty of time to figure out where your talents lie. I have been very fond of the trumpet lately, but—not to brag—I am rather talented with just about anything that you can blow!”

Anton inhales sharply and breathes out slowly, eyes flicking sideways to glance self-consciously at the cameras.

“That’s, uh, that’s quite impressive."

Viago preens a little under the praise. “It has taken a lot of practice, since I do not usually have to breathe.”

“I’ll bet,” says Anton.

“Do any of the other werewolves play?”

The distracted look on Anton’s face drops away as understanding catches up to him all at once.

“Actually, yeah. We do a lot of percussive instruments around here, always looking for a constructive way to release some aggression. But, uh, Declan has a bass guitar as well.”

Grinning, Viago throws both arms out, ta-da! , watching gleefully as Anton’s expression shifts to mirror his excitement back to him.

“I’ll start a new column,” he says.

Viago is still buzzing with the evening’s success later on, virtually unable to sit still as he faces the cameras.

“I am very pleased with how things are progressing with Anton,” he tells the producer, leaning forward. “I was honestly a little bit worried that there would be some irreconcilable differences between us, for the obvious reasons, and that maybe we would end up at each other’s throats, but as it turns out we are actually an excellent team! He is very easy to get along with. I am looking forward to spending more time together. For all of us to spend more time together,” he adds quickly, his smile back in place practically before it slips.

“Oh I don’t reckon this would work at all without him.” The crew has managed to grab a couple minutes for final questions with Anton while they finish packing up the van. “I mean, we all want to make this happen for Stu, and I’d do my best no matter what.” He seems to lose his train of thought, staring past the camera. The cameraman turns, zooms and focuses in on Viago talking animatedly to one of the grips. When he pans back around, Anton is turned in the opposite direction, scrubbing a hand across his mouth.

“Anyway, I'm—we're all lucky to have him. I'll see you guys later, yeah?" He stuffs both hands into his pockets and shoulders open the door, which swings shut behind him with a thunk.

---

Viago sits with an excited little shimmy, tugging his waistcoat into place.

“What do you think, this—is this one good?” He’s gotten up three times to change already. It’s a big night, and it feels important that he look just right for it.

“I like it,” says the producer, for the third time. “Suits your eyes.”

“Do you think so?” asks Viago earnestly. He nods to himself, smoothes it down carefully. “Alright, I am ready, then. Where were we?”

“The werewolves are coming over today,” the producer prompts.

“Yes, of course! They will be here any moment now. We are going to have a jam session ,” he tells the camera gleefully. “We have been preparing for it all evening, I think Ant—”

He’s interrupted by a knocking at the front door. Twisting in his seat, Viago turns toward the sound, fingers gripping at the arm of the couch as he pulls himself to his feet.

“That must be them!”

“Evening, Viago.” Anton stands in the doorway like a one-man road crew, an amplifier tucked under one arm and a bass drum under the other, the strap of a guitar case slung around his shoulders. “Where should we set all this up?”

The pack shuffles in behind him, bringing what must be quite an impressive drum kit, hefted in parts into the hall. Stu brings up the rear rolling a bulky plastic case with a black bag tied around the handle, right behind a wolf who must be Declan of Declan-has-a-bass-guitar-as-well, carrying a case that looks as though it could very likely contain a bass guitar.

“Right this way.” Viago waves them onwards, fangs pricking against his lip as he turns to smile at the camera with obvious nerves. He glances almost reflexively at Anton, who nods him on, fingers flexing around the amplifier.

Vladislav and Deacon are not in the lounge when Viago arrives with the werewolves in tow, but their instruments are set up in the corner, an upright bass and antique balalaika propped by some chairs and a couple rickety music stands, cittern and lute and mandolin left in an untidy heap by the feet of a small, triangular harp.

“The drums can go over here on the carpet,” says Viago. “So they do not scratch the floor.”

“Have at it, lads.” Anton passes off the drum he’s carrying to Dion. The amplifier he gives to Stu, since he’s already familiar with the layout, and, more specifically, where the outlets are.

Viago moves to stand next to Anton, wringing his hands, watching the werewolves mill about. Anton bumps their shoulders together, almost quickly enough to be mistaken for an accident.

“This is a nice room,” he says conversationally.

“Ah, I forgot that you didn’t get to see it the last time. Would you like a tour?” He puts a hand in the crook of Anton’s elbow to guide his attention as he slowly turns them around the room.

“There is our computer desk that Stu set up for us, we have the ethernet connection now—” he leans in conspiratorially, “—I am not entirely sure what that means, but we are all very excited about it. Over here are some portraits of us—I have been thinking of having an updated version done for myself, I have not worn that shirt for decades now and it's like, it doesn't even look like me anymore, you know? Oh, here is a lovely little piano I have had since 1879, a bit out of tune, but Petyr ate the last guy who came over to fix it, and I just haven’t had the time to find someone else. And,” he draws out the word, waving with a flourish, “here is this other wall!”

A smile has been slowly spreading across Anton’s face, and by this last touch it’s almost too bright to look at. Viago feels suddenly over-aware of his hand, how long it’s been there, the heat of Anton’s skin against his fingers. He wonders if it would be awkward to take it away now. He finds he doesn’t really want to.

Anton barks out a laugh. “Really feels like I know the place now.”

Viago tugs at his sleeve. “Here, you can put the rest of your things by the couch.”

When he sees the state of the blood-stained sofa, Anton lets out a long, low whistle. Viago notices several members of the pack perk to attention briefly before returning to their tasks.

“What happened here, then? Just the, uh, the usual?”

Viago sighs. “My flatmates are not always very careful with other people’s belongings. My belongings, I mean, not—that is—would you consider your carotid artery your belonging?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever thought about it,” replies Anton. “That’s a shame about the couch, though. Blood looks well set, but I could bring round a few things that’ve worked for us if you’d like to try and get some of it out.” He pauses, frowning in thought. “Maybe a steam cleaner, too. Worth a shot to see what we can do, at any rate, stop it going to mold.”

“I would not want to impose—” begins Viago, but Anton waves a hand.

“Honestly it’ll be nice to worry about someone else’s blood stains for a change,” he laughs. “Besides, what are mates for, eh?”

“What are mates for,” repeats Viago happily. “In that case, I will accept your very generous offer. Thank you.”

Anton clears his throat, turning back towards the sofa. “Well, at least your lovely throw pillows avoided the worst of it.”

“Oh, those are new. Katherine crochets, she made them to cover the really nasty bits.”

For a moment, Anton’s expression goes dark. “Katherine, right. I didn’t get much of a chance to speak to her before. She seems quite skilled.”

“She'll be around tonight,” Viago tells him. For some reason, he finds the idea of them being in the same room oddly discomfiting. “Do you crochet?”

Anton shakes his head. “My gran did. She tried to teach me, but I didn’t have the patience for it as a lad. I do a fair bit of sewing these days, though—mending mostly. Don’t reckon it’d surprise you how often that comes in useful.”

“Katherine would probably be happy to teach you,” offers Viago. “She’s very patient. She was teaching Deacon for a little while, but I think he expected it to be easier since he already knits.”

“Yeah, I saw that scarf he made Stu. Surprisingly tasteful, actually. As for lessons, I, uh, I’ll give it a think, yeah?”

He pats the top of Viago’s hand lightly before extricating himself and going to help the rest of the pack finish setting up.

Suddenly strangely bereft, Viago leaves to fetch his flatmates.

Not unexpectedly, there’s rather a dearth of songs that both the vampires and werewolves know in common. Nick and Stu have the most overlap, which means most of the pack have at least a passing knowledge of the same. They’re also—with the exception of Declan and Anton and whichever Nathan it is on the drums—not playing anything much more complicated than maracas, which theoretically means they could jump in on just about any song, but Deacon seems opposed on principle to them joining on any they don’t technically know. 

It starts boiling over all too soon, taking a significant amount of quick intervention and painstaking negotiation to keep things from hurtling to the same conclusion as last time. Little arguments break out within the groups themselves as tensions rise, as well, leading to a moment when Anton has to thrust an arm physically between Deacon and Viago, the two of them hissing furiously in one another’s faces about whether or not Katherine’s tambourine playing is out of tune.

Something in the room cracks like a dropped egg.

“How dare you interfere in a matter between vampires?” Vladislav yanks Anton back by the shoulder, which in turn sets the rest of the pack off growling and advancing on him with a distinct ripple of fur threatening beneath their skin.

Viago’s anger ebbs into shame into concern.

“Hey, hey! Stand down, lads, it’s alright. I’m just trying to help,” he adds to Vlad, both hands raised in a conciliatory gesture.

“We do not need your help, dog,” snaps Vlad in return.

A noticeable tic pulls Anton’s face into a ugly grimace at that. From the back of his throat comes a rumbling like thunder, and a full-body shudder rocks him back on his heels even as his shoulders roll forward aggressively.

From anger into shame into concern into something else, something, something —

“Anton, mate, remember your breathing.” Clifton already has an arm slung around another of the Nathans while the man struggles to come back to himself; there’s a sour tinge of panic in his voice that he’s trying very clearly to hide.

Viago steps forward without thinking. Anton’s eyes snap to his, the brown of them ringed sickly with yellow, a lack of recognition in them that sits like silver in the pit of Viago's stomach—and then he scrubs a hand across his face, sucks in an unsteady breath, and exhales slowly on a low, even count, one to ten. The tension goes out of him like a puppet cut from its strings. When he looks up again, the only thing in his eyes is exhaustion.

“Maybe we ought to take a break,” he suggests wanly. “A bite to eat might do us some good, eh, guys?” A slight wince at his choice of words.

“I could eat,” agrees Clifton instantly, followed by a chorus of similar sentiments from the other werewolves: “Oh, yeah, I’m starved,” “Sounds great, Anton,” “I’d love a break actually.” 

Viago jumps at the opportunity. “Would you like your pizzas?”

“You got us pizza?” asks Anton.

“Ah, well you didn’t eat them the last time.”

"The last time we were here?”

“We kept them here for you,” confirms Viago proudly. “They smelt very strongly of garlic when they arrived, it was super gross, and at first we thought, yuck, we should get rid of those, but then I thought, well what if they come back and they want them? And here you are.”

“That’s very thoughtful, Viago—”

A presence at his elbow. “Anton, it’s been like, weeks, man.”

“It’s barely been a week. And it wouldn't be anywhere near the worst thing I’ve watched you eat, Declan, full moon or not.” Anton pauses, then leans in towards Viago.

“You have—they’ve been refrigerated and that, yeah?”

“Ah, yes,” says Viago, half-distracted, like he’s trying to conjure up a memory of actually doing that.

"They are on the shelf above the blood,” Vlad pipes up helpfully.

"See that, Declan? They’re on the shelf above the blood. That’s good then, isn’t it? Would you like, I could give you a hand getting everything together if you—”

"I will help." Vladislav stands very suddenly, cutting him off. “You stay here,” he adds, with a lilt that suggests he’s maybe trying to use hypnosis on Anton, to debatable result.

He sends Deacon a pointed look. Deacon returns it, then lets out a little grunt.

“I will also help,” he says, rising to follow.

“Team vampire it is then!” It’s a pleasant surprise, their willingness to assist with such an unexciting task. Viago waves them ahead of himself, watches them indeed head in the direction of the kitchen. Deacon and Vladislav are his friends, not his responsibilities the way the wolves seem to be for Anton, and he wouldn’t change that even if he could, but he has always hoped that trying very hard to set a good example might at least in some things lead to someone eventually actually following it. A satisfied sense of relief swells in his chest.

“We will be right ba—”

It bursts, then, with all the sensation of collateral damage, when he turns to see Katherine pat the spot by her on the couch in invitation, and an uneasy Anton hesitate, then fill it.

It’s a feeling that Viago neither likes nor understands, so he turns again and goes and leaves it behind.

Vlad is leaning against the kitchen countertop with his arms crossed at his chest, holding himself with a silent, steeled stillness. Deacon is seated with a boot up on the table, drumming his fingers in a jittery beat. When he sees Viago enter, both feet hit the floor with a prompt slam.

“Wha—?” starts Viago.

"I have come here to say that I am sorry for picking a fight with the werewolves,” says Vlad brusquely. “It was not very cool of me to do that.”

He looks at Deacon again in that sharp, expectant way, and Deacon, tight-lipped, adds, "I am also sorry. I was actually sort of starting to have fun.”

Viago blinks. Not that the apologies are without precedent (not even the fact that he didn’t have to nag them out), but something about the context of the situation makes Viago’s mind shut down and chrysalize like a caterpillar, emerging into a world that feels off, different in a way that everyone seems to have noticed but him. 

“Well that’s very nice of you to say, but I think you should be apologizing to Anton, not to me.”

That’s a double-edged sword, though, isn’t it, because now he’s thinking about Anton. He and Katherine getting along would be the best case scenario for everyone, of course, there isn’t any arguing that. Viago wants them to get along. His two favorite—two of his favorite people, it would be so much worse if they didn’t, so honestly what is going on with this weird ache in his chest?

"I will definitely do that,” says Vladislav gravely, “later.” He then looks directly at the cameras and shakes his head, mouth spreading in a dismissive frown.

Viago prickles. "I am right here, you know, I can see what you are doing—”

"What?” demands Vlad. “What am I doing?”

“—if you are not going to do it you don’t have to lie about it—”

“—looking at the cameras? I can't look at the cameras? You look at the cameras all the time!"

"Besides,” Deacon cuts in, “we can all see what you’re doing too, with your Anton."

That stuns the conversation into silence like a slap to the face. 

“What?”

Vladislav slams a hand down on the countertop by his hip.  "Deacon! We agreed that we are going to be supportive about this, even if it is very disgusting and is probably going to end in terrible bloodshed."

"How am I supposed to be supportive when he is sneaking around and keeping it a big sneaky secret?”

"I am not keeping anything a sneaky secret,” Viago insists, though neither of them seem inclined to hear him.

"Enough!” snarls Vlad. It’s the voice he uses when he’s done , usually with a problem that he’s been the cause of. “We are going to go back out there and have fun for our friend Stu, and we are not going to talk about this anymore, and you are going to apologize to Anton, Deacon.”

“Why do I have to apologize to him—?”

“—I will leave the handling of the pizzas to you, Viago.”

With that, Vlad takes Deacon’s elbow and a crystal decanter of blood and sweeps out of the room, leaving Viago more confused than he has maybe ever been in his long, long life.

Ten minutes later the werewolves are scattered around the lounge eating cold week-old pizza with gusto, laughing and passing around a bottle of hot sauce that Clifton had been carrying in his cargo shorts. Deacon takes a long pull from a glass of blood, then holds it out for Dion to sniff, throwing his head back in a delighted cackle when the wolf gags and covers his nose. Off to the side, Vlad taps the drum kit’s hi-hat with the nail of his index finger while he chats with Nick and Stu. Katherine sits between two of the Nathans, tutting as one of them shows off a scar on his forearm.

On the couch, Anton fusses over the fingertips of Viago’s right hand, red and raw from the garlicky grease of the pizzas that had bled through the boxes he carried in.

“It’s not so bad.”

“Let me do that for you next time, would you? No need for you to be hurting yourself on our account.”

“Next time.” Viago flexes his hand, a smile pulling at his lips.

Twenty minutes later, Anton has handed his guitar off to Nick so that Nick can join the pack in a rousing rendition of ‘Werewolves of London’. Instead, he watches Viago pick out a completely unrelated tune on the abandoned cittern with supernaturally healed fingers and the serious attention of a surgeon. 

“You’re better at this than you let on.” Anton tells him, reaching to gently correct his positioning on the strings.

His fingers are rough, and hot as Viago might’ve expected, if he was thinking about it enough to expect anything, which he hasn’t been, obviously.

“Not as good as you. I have simply had plenty of time to practice.”

“Well, practice is important.” Anton’s touch lights along Viago’s knuckles, little lit fuses of pressure and heat. Viago hmms at the pleasant sensation.

Anton stiffens, swallows audibly. “Uh, Viago, I—”

A jarring clatter and crash as one of the cymbals is knocked off its feet with a shout. Someone shoves someone else; the amplifier goes sliding across the floor, leaving a scratch on the hardwood in its wake.

“Guys! Again?” Anton stands to yank Nathan back up on his feet. He and Dion and Declan cluster behind Anton, shielded from a scowling Vladislav. “What’s going on?”

Vlad throws out a hand in the wolves’ direction. “They will not let me play The Girl in the Village With the One Small Foot.”

“There’s no way that’s a real song,” insistes Nathan.

“Well, Nathan, just because you haven’t heard of it doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Viago hovers between Vlad and Anton, picking at his cuffs.

“Vladislav, I do not know if that is a very popular song these days—”

“So now it is my fault that they are uncultured? I did not throw a tantrum when you wanted to play your fake song,” he snaps at Nathan, who throws his hands in the air.

“Everybody knows Stairway to Heaven!”

Vlad and Viago both hiss, and Anton heaves a sigh.

“Come on, mate, I know you know better than that. Why don’t we just let Vladislav play his song, alright? Then you can hear that it’s real.” He leans closer to Viago, asking lowly, “It is a real song, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes,” confirms Viago happily. “It’s actually quite a toe-tapper!”

Anton is pleased to hear it, if the fond sort of expression that comes to his face is any indication.

When it finally comes time for the werewolves to leave, the vampires all line up to say their farewells at the door. They all accept hugs from Stu, and firm handshakes from the rest, with the exception of Deacon and Dion, who appear to have come up with a complicated series of high-fives and finger waggles for themselves that they execute with impressive precision.

Anton lingers in the doorway. “I’ll text you about the sofa, yeah?” 

“I had almost forgotten about that,” Viago admits. “Of course, you are welcome here whenever you like.”

Anton ducks his head with a little grin. “You don’t have to invite me, mate, I’m not a vampire.”

“No, but you are very polite,” Viago tells him, and Anton laughs out loud at that.

The door has barely shut behind him before Katherine sidles up to Viago’s side, a sly sort of look on her face as she glances sideways at him.

“He’s a handsome one, isn’t he?” she says playfully, and everything inside of Viago feels like it collapses all at once.

“Yeah, it was a good night.” Anton secures the final piece of the drum kit in the pack’s van and dusts his hands off. “Got a lot smoother once everyone realized they all knew that one Fleetwood Mac album. Gonna be stuck in my head all night, now, but I reckon there’s worse things.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Me? Sure. It’s always nice to see the lads have a good time, and Viago’s great company. That Vlad and Deacon take some getting used to, but they’re alright enough once you get there. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that I wasn’t so keen on Katherine at first, but it turns out she’s quite lovely as well.”

“You spoke for a while, the two of you. What were you talking about?”

Anton clears his throat and glances to the side. It makes the blush exploding up his neck even more painfully obvious.

“I’d, uh, rather not say, if that’s alright.”

Viago looks like a man devastated, staring dead-eyed past the cameras and chewing on his lip. A bright bead of blood wells up and slides down his chin unnoticed, dripping down onto his waistcoat, vivid against the embroidered gold.

“It makes sense, if she was going to fancy any of the werewolves, of course it would be Anton. He’s very cool, and very reasonable, and thoughtful, and funny. And also he is quite good at the guitar.” With a groan, Viago drops his face into his hands. 

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks, voice muffled. “I want her to be happy. I want them both to be happy. Do I give up and step back again?”

He looks up suddenly, eyes wide and hair mussed, a little smear of blood on his cheek. “Do you think that this will mean that Anton will not have time to be my friend anymore?”

Katherine looks at the producer and frowns. Delicately, she sets her teacup down; her shoulders rise and fall as she pulls in an unnecessary lungful of air just so she can produce perhaps history’s weariest and most long-suffering sigh.

---

“I have not been slumbering very well lately.” Viago is noticeably disheveled, and though he’s dressed and his hair is combed and his cravat tied and pinned, it does all give the impression of having been done while standing out in a strong wind. “I took the picture of Katherine out of my coffin when she moved in–it felt a bit unnecessary, you know? But—”

He trails off, chewing distractedly at his thumbnail. “I wake up a lot and still expect to see it there, and I find I am a little bit sad when it isn’t. Isn’t that strange? I mean, when she is here in the flesh just a few rooms away. Perhaps it will sound foolish of me to say but it has felt farther away sometimes."

"Have you talked to Katherine about this at all?" prompts the producer gently.

Viago seems to snap back to himself, some of the focus returning to his eyes as he straightens the brooch at his throat. "No, no, I—I have tried, but she has not been alone often. Edith has been over nearly every day, and not just her, either.” His expression pinches up into a look of distaste. “Ruth has been coming here now, too.”

"And who’s Ruth?"

Viago sighs deeply. "Another of Katherine’s friends from her group. She’s only ninety-nine, still quite a wild party girl. She is always telling Katherine about all the vampire orgies and sex clubs and fuck shows and things she goes to.”

"Does that bother you?”

"No, of course not.” Viago folds his hands in his lap, frowning. “I worry a little—it just isn’t really my scene, these days. I mean, sometimes it is, I have been known to be, you know, a pretty crazy guy from time to time, but not—”

He makes a frustrated sound and shakes his head. “Most vampires find the idea of monogamy sort of stuffy and lame, but it is what I have always envisioned for myself, that I would eventually meet someone and be with them and only them. I suppose it made me sad to think that Katherine might not want the same things.”

"Does it still make you sad?"

Viago blinks, as if caught off-guard by the question. He glances away, frown deepening. The camera pans to where his eyes have fallen, on the long scratch left on the floor by the previous week’s scuffle with the werewolves. It moves back to Viago, whose expression is nearly unreadable, knuckles whitening as the hands in his lap clutch one another for dear life.

“I don’t know,” he says eventually. He sounds sad.

True to his word, Anton is at the door at half-six the next evening with a rented steam cleaner and a collection of bottles and boxes and jugs of various liquids and powders that would make a chemicals laboratory envious.

“Evening, Viago,” he says with a little wave.

The sight of him puts a fluttering joy in Viago’s chest, a caught bird trilling behind his ribs. It’s a welcome respite from the strange anxiety that’s been churning in him since his latest interview check-in.

“Hello! Come in, come in.” He recalls his manners enough this time to take one of Anton’s bags. “I am sorry to make you bring so many things over here again.”

“No worries, I offered, remember?”

“Ah, yes. Still, I appreciate it very much.”

Anton thumbs at the corner of his mouth. They’ve spent enough time together by now that Viago recognizes the gesture; it seems to be something Anton does whenever he’s trying to hide that he’s smiling, which doesn’t make much sense to Viago. He has a very nice smile.

“Nah, don’t mention it, mate. Shall, uh, shall we?”

“After you.” Viago waves him ahead. As he follows, he notices a pair of bright yellow cleaning gloves peeking out from Anton’s back pocket, and something about the innocuous little detail gives him the mad urge to reach out and snatch them, to close the space between them and make contact. 

The memory comes to him, unbidden, of how his hand had settled into the crook of Anton’s elbow, and he flexes his fingers involuntarily.

Viago approaches the cleaning process with a game attempt at appearing enthusiastic, cuffing his sleeves away from his wrists and accepting the extra pair of gloves Anton digs out of his supplies. Still, he doesn’t do much to prevent it as Anton inevitably takes over more and more of the operation. Eventually (admittedly an eventually that comes rather more quickly than the word implies), it’s mostly Anton cleaning while he talks Viago through what he’s doing and why, and Viago nodding very seriously and dabbing at the edge of the stain with a damp rag.

“May I?” Anton takes his hand to demonstrate the ideal amount of pressure to apply, the smooth efficiency of a well-practiced gesture. Viago knows with an unshakable certainty that he will remember the weight of Anton’s hand on his own far better than the information it’s trying to convey.

It must be something to do with Anton being the wolfpack’s Alpha—there’s a compelling reassurance to his competence that makes it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Not that he tries to order Viago around or anything, though he does get a bit bossy once or twice—”No, no, that’ll make it worse, come on, give it here.”—in a way that’s vexing at first, but blunts into something that’s almost charming when he gets sheepish and apologetic about it almost immediately.

“I usually have to put up a fight to get any cooperation with chores,” he says by way of explanation.

“I know that feeling.” Viago waves the apologies off genially without pointing out that he’s cooperating at this point mostly by staying out of the way.

Viago doesn’t personally know anything about what it’s like to be a werewolf, obviously, which he’s very glad about, but he knows enough to extrapolate that it must be a constant effort for Anton to be as collected and genial as he is. The thought impresses and saddens him both at once.

Then Anton moves too quickly and knocks over an uncapped bottle of isopropyl alcohol and swears a bloody streak that sets Viago into stitches with laughter.

“Sorry about that,” says Anton, clearly upset with himself.

“It sounded very cathartic for you,” Viago tells him, still grinning.

Anton starts to return it, then glances away. “I try not to—I’ve got to be a good example for the pack, you know? Don’t want to be a hypocrite about things like this.”

“I will not tell anybody.” Viago nudges their shoulders together and feels Anton let out a long breath, sagging against him in relief.

Two hours go by in a flash, and then Anton finishes smearing a thick dish-powder-paste on what remains of the blood and steps back, peeling off his gloves. They sit and chat while it dries, Anton working his way through a packed lunch of three sandwiches and half a dozen chicken wings. After seeing how much pizza the wolves put away at their jam session, it doesn’t surprise Viago to see the werewolf metabolism in action, but the sheer speed with which the food disappears, bones and all, is still pretty impressive.

Anton must be following a similar train of thought. “I meant to tell you, the guys keep talking about band night. They really had a great time.”

“We also had a really great time,” Viago hastens to assure him. “Well, Nick definitely did. Vladislav has not really said anything about it, but if he had a bad time he definitely would have mentioned it. And Deacon has requested that I ask you for Dion’s electronic mailing address. Apparently he is going to teach Deacon how to play a game with him over the computer.”

“Huh,” says Anton. “That’s not half a surprise, is it? Well, I don’t envy him the task.” His eyes flick to Viago, then to the cameras. “Has, uh, has Katherine said anything about the evening at all?”

Viago had considered getting some leftovers from the kitchen and joining Anton for his meal; now he’s endlessly grateful that he hadn’t. The question plummets through him in a wave of cold, thready nausea.

“Nothing in particular,” he replies, which isn’t a lie, since they’ve barely spoken at all since then. “The two of you seemed like you got on quite well, though.”

“Yeah, I reckon we did.” Anton shrugs a shoulder. “Anyway, might be worthwhile to plan something again soon, eh? What do, uh, what do you like to do for fun?”

“We had that whole list last time,” says Viago, puzzled, and Anton glances at the cameras again and huffs out a little breath like he’s nervous about something. Viago braces himself as if for impact.

“Right, yeah, I meant more like what do you do for fun? In your free time and that.”

“Oh.” The confusion deepens. “I will warn you now that the other vampires and I do not necessarily have many overlapping hobbies, I would not hold out much hope that mine will be of interest to your pack.”

“They’re of interest to me,” says Anton gently.

Viago’s whole body floods suddenly with a prickly tingling feeling, the distant recollection of being human and coming into a warm room from the frigid outdoors, blood returning to chilled fingers and toes in a way that almost hurts. Move, his body tells him, but he doesn’t know where he’s meant to go or what he wants to do with the impulse.

“Well,” he says awkwardly, realizing how long he’s been quiet. His voice sounds a bit strangled even to his own ears. “Other than the music, of course. I have been translating some Rilke for fun, when I have a moment to myself, and I am thinking about getting into flower arranging—this house can feel a little dingy sometimes and I think it would really brighten the place up. Can you—” he scrambles up to indicate a spot by the window, a little table with a basket of Deacon’s yarn heaped in it. “—imagine a lovely vase of peonies and chrysanthemums here?”

“It would really brighten the place up,” agrees Anton readily.

Viago returns to his spot by Anton, satisfied. “That’s more of something I hope to get into,” he explains. “I think I could make a space in the room with the pottery wheel—”

Anton straightens abruptly. “Pottery wheel? Is, uh is it you who does that, or?”

“We have all tried it out,” says Viago. “But it is mostly me, yes, now that I am thinking about it.”

“And you enjoy it?” asks Anton.

Viago sits back a bit. He feels like there’s something he’s missing in this conversation, treading water while Anton feeds him a line he continually fails to notice. Mostly, though, it’s—well he can’t remember the last time Vlad or Deacon were this interested in talking in-depth about his hobbies. Nick and Deacon have gotten pretty into the pottery wheel more recently, but Viago hasn’t forgotten the week-long period Deacon spent mercilessly teasing Viago about it when he’d first acquired it.

“It is quite relaxing,” he tells Anton. “If a bit messy.”

“Seems like it would be,” says Anton. “And then afterwards you’ve got a little cup or something, I reckon, so it’d be a practical hobby, too.”

“Well, I haven’t gotten that far yet,” says Viago. The kiln still makes them all too nervous to actually fire anything.

“Would you, uh—” Anton makes a vague, aborted gesture with one hand. “There’s a place in Wellington Central that does a pottery and wine night, if you think you might fancy going some time? You’re meant to bring your own bottle,” he adds quickly. “If that, uh, helps.”

He would fancy going some time, Viago thinks. He'd fancy that very much.

“Would they be able to accommodate so many of us?”

Anton looks at him with a tight, considering expression. “I meant—I was wondering if you’d like to go together, with me. Just me.”

Viago had not even realized that was on the table. He grins broadly.

“Even better!”

“Yeah?” asks Anton, sort of breathless.

“I do not mean any offense to your pack, but I would much prefer that, just us.” He was already starting to form physically impossible ulcers from the thought of the jam session’s chaotic whirlwind in a room full of exceedingly breakable items. And there’s—well, he likes having Anton’s full focus, if he’s being honest, which seems nigh-upon impossible for more than a few minutes at a time when Anton also has to be in Alpha mode.

“No offense taken,” Anton assures him. “It’s, uh, a bit last-minute, but are you free tomorrow?”

“Yes, I believe so.” He’s free most of the time, but Anton doesn’t need to know that. Unless he wants to know that?

“I could come by around seven, if that works?”

“I will be here!” replies Viago.

“Good,” says Anton, smiling. It’s an even nicer smile when he’s not trying to hide it. “That’s good isn’t it. Well, um.” He clears his throat. “Reckon it’s about time to get that dish-powder off, how about you?”

In the end, much to Viago’s amazement, they manage to get the couch back nearly to new. There’s a pinkish tinge to it if he looks at it at an angle, when the moon hits it just so, but certainly no one would mistake it for red now, and the smell is vastly improved. Anton insists on a high-five, then claps Viago on the back in a way that forces a startled little huh out of him. He leaves it there for a beat longer, and Viago feels it like a bruise all the time he helps pack up the cleaning supplies and walk Anton to the door.

They reach it just as Katherine comes up the hall with Edith and Ruth, the three of them laughing amongst themselves. When she sees them Katherine brightens and waves.

“Anton, what a pleasant surprise,” she smirks, like it’s not actually a surprise at all.

“Hiya, Katherine. Alright, ladies?”

“Better now,” says Ruth with entirely too many teeth. “Katherine’s told us so much about you. I think it’s terribly exciting to have a werewolf about the place.”

“Uh, thank you, I think.”

Katherine bats Ruth on the arm. “Down, girl. Don’t pay her any mind, she’s like this with everyone. We’re not interrupting anything are we?”

She raises her eyebrows, to which Anton does something complex with his, and Katherine nods slightly. Viago feels very suddenly like an idiot with a stomach full of curdled blood.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you all to your night, then.” Anton hitches up the strap of his bag and backs up towards the door. Then, more quietly, he adds, “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Seven o’clock,” confirms Viago. He can’t quite look Anton in the eyes. “Don’t be late.”

“I never am.” He sounds almost insulted. For a moment, he sort of sways towards Viago, then glances at the cameras, at Katherine and her friends, and claps him on the shoulder gamely before turning and letting himself out.

“Not a word," comes Katherine’s voice immediately, and Edith laughs.

“You’re still no fun,” Ruth pouts. “We’ll have to work on that.”

Katherine touches Viago lightly on the wrist. He startles a little; he hadn’t even noticed her getting so close.

“You and Anton are going out tomorrow?”

“He is taking me to a pottery class.”

“Hm,” says Katherine thoughtfully. Her eyes on Viago’s face are so sharp he has to turn away. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about later, but maybe that’s not necessary anymore.”

Viago has not a single fucking clue what she’s talking about, but right now he would rather stake himself in the heart and bleed out on the newly-cleaned sofa than have a talk.

“Yeah,” he says. “Probably not.”

Katherine gets on tiptoe to plant a quick, dry kiss on his cheek.

“We’ll talk about something else then,” she says, a fondness in her voice that feels like pity. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Viago.”

“Good night,” says Edith politely.

“Don’t wait up!” cackles Ruth.

And then Viago is left standing in the hall with the crew, ears ringing with the silence left in their wake.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asks the producer tentatively.

Viago’s shoulders tense up around his ears. “No,” he says simply. “I do not think that I do.”

---

The following evening sees Viago in much higher spirits. He can’t seem to sit still for his interview, already dressed and ready to leave even though Anton isn’t meant to arrive for another hour. 

“Yeah, so, at first I was really worried that tonight was going to be Anton’s way of bringing me somewhere public so that I cannot make a scene when he tells me that he and Katherine have feelings for one another.” His bright mood falters for a moment, then returns with visible effort. “But then I realized that Anton is my friend, and also a really great guy, and it is unfair of me to think that he would do something like that. So I have decided that I am just going to try and have a good time and not worry so much.”

“Now why, uh—” the producer falters. “You seem very sure that the two of them are romantically involved.”

“I was not born yesterday,” says Viago, tetchy. “It has been…many hundreds of yesterdays, probably, possibly even thousands. Obviously there is something going on between them.” He swipes a bit of lint from his trousers with the flat of his hand. “Between you and I, whatever it is, I sort of hope Anton does not mention it. Even if they are wanting to be together, I—”

He glances away, blinking rapidly, and his mouth twists to one side. “I would like to have a nice time with him and not think about it, at least for tonight.”

Before the producer can respond, the door to the lounge swings open, and Vladislav leans into the room.

“I am doing an interview,” Viago protests, and Vladislav waves a hand dismissively.

“You are always doing an interview. This is more important.”

Viago’s mouth pinches up. “What is it, then?”

“I have brought something for you.” Vladislav produces what appears to be a black silk shirt, ruched at the cuffs and cut into a deep vee at the front. He holds it out to Viago, who levels it with a thoroughly unimpressed look.

“Your black silk shirt? This is the thing that is more important than my interview?”

Vladislav gives it a little shake. “I have decided that you should take it. I do not want it anymore, even though it is very sexy and makes me completely irresistible to women—and also most men.”

Viago looks between Vladislav and the shirt with evident suspicion, but not disinterest, then slowly reaches out to accept it. “Well, I am touched that you thought of me.”

Vladislav spreads his hands and offers a magnanimous little bow. “You could wear it tonight, yes? For your rendezvous with the werewolf?”

“It is not a rendezvous, it is—do you think it would be better than what I am already wearing?”

“That is what you were going to wear?” asks Vladislav, eyebrows climbing.

“What is wrong with it?” Viago tugs at his jacket. It’s the embroidered denim one, something modern and cool to match whatever Anton wears.

“No, no, the jacket is fine, it makes you look very modern and cool. I don’t know about the waistcoat, though, am I not always saying you don’t have to wear the waistcoat all the time?”

“Well I don’t want to be underdressed, Anton will think I’m not taking our time together seriously if I go out looking like some sort of hooligan.”

“You are not going to look like a hooligan if you wear the shirt I have just given you, hooligans don’t wear silk.”

“I don’t know—you are definitely sure that you don’t want it anymore?”

“Yes, definitely.” Vladislav pats Viago’s shoulder supportively, then shoots the cameras a look. “But I might want it again later so don’t do anything too weird in it, maybe.”

By ten til, Viago is already waiting in the front hall, a re-corked bottle of blood in one hand, doing his best not to start pacing up the walls. He untucks Vladislav’s black shirt from the waistband of his pants, then tucks it back in again, nearly dropping the bottle as he does so.

“Anton should be here any moment now,” he tells the cameras. “I am feeling a little nervous, but mostly excited. And also a bit chilly from here to here,” he adds bashfully, gesturing towards the parts of his neck and chest usually covered by a cravat and high collar, now bared by his borrowed attire. “Do you think I should wear a scarf?”

Anton knocks exactly five minutes early, and Viago nearly charges over one of the camera operators dashing to answer.

“He’s here!” A hushed, gleeful anticipation in his voice like he’s calling for everyone to take their places before a surprise party. On the other side of the door, Anton swipes a hand distractedly through hair that had likely been meticulously styled at some point earlier in the evening.

“Hi, I, uh—” His mouth hangs open for a moment, then shuts with a click of teeth. “Viago. Hiya.”

“Hello,” says Viago brightly. “Everything is alright?”

“Good as gold,” replies Anton quickly. “I just, uh, don’t think I’ve ever seen your neck before.” He gestures with a weak laugh at his own front, where, Viago notices, he’s wearing a pressed grey button-up under his windbreaker. It’s quite a step up in formality from his usual t-shirts and tartans, and a brief panic seizes Viago that he has managed to underdress after all. 

“You, uh, ready to go, then?” 

Viago isn’t exactly the best judge for what counts as flushed on someone with their own blood still in them, or he’d say that Anton looks flushed.

“I was born ready!” He wonders if that’s still a cool thing to say, then decides that it probably is. He lifts his bottle in salute, to which Anton responds by producing a bottle of his own and leaning in to clink them together.

The shop they wind up at is called Kilndred Spirits, a two-front spot with a bottle store and pottery venue side-by-side in an unassuming strip mall. Anton has managed to wrangle them a hail mary reservation, and the girl at the front counter welcomes them in cheerfully. The cameras, however, are stopped at the door while she grabs a manager, and Viago offers them a shrug through the front window. Stricter lot here than at Boogie Wonderland, it would seem.

While the manager speaks to the crew, the counter girl leads Viago and Anton to their spot at the end of a long bench. On the other side are seated a man and woman who are having a low, heated discussion, heads bowed together and wearing matching expressions of irritation. When they see Viago and Anton approaching they lean away from each other, the woman baring her teeth in a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“You must be our new neighbors,” she says, patting the bench next to her. The man she’s with rolls his eyes behind her. “I’m Holly, this is my husband, Dave. First time here?”

“It is, yeah.” Anton returns her husband’s handshake. Dave winces a little. “I’m Anton, this is my, uh, Viago.”

“Hello.” Viago waves, then reluctantly offers Dave a half-hearted handshake. It earns him a distasteful frown.

“That’s an unusual name,” notes Holly as they take their seats, leaning across Anton to address Viago.

“I think Anton is pretty popular, actually,” Viago tells her, and Anton stifles a laugh.

Holly hesitates. “I meant your name,” she clarifies. “Viago. Don’t hear that one often.”

“Oh.” That does make more sense. “It’s German.”

“That’ll be the accent, then,” says Holly, visibly relaxing. “How long have you been in New Zealand?”

Viago glances at Anton, who grimaces at him apologetically. It’s cheering, actually, just the simple confirmation of his presence in this—well, it’s not a confrontation, per se, but in whatever this conversation is becoming.

“Longer than you have been alive, probably,” responds Viago, and after a beat of stunned, uncertain silence, Anton breaks fully into laughter. One hand finds its way to Viago’s thigh, near the knee, radiating heat. Viago wonders if werewolves are always so tactile in their expressions of friendly affection. He finds he quite likes it. Without thinking, he covers Anton’s hand with his own encouragingly.

Holly titters politely, though her narrowed eyes speak to something more shrewd. “And how long—”

“Bloody hell, Hols,” interrupts Dave. “Leave the gents alone, they don’t wanna entertain you all night. Sorry about her, mate.”

“Don’t apologize for me,” snaps Holly, snatching up the glass of wine at her station. “I’m just being friendly. You never even want to come to these things with me, now I’m not allowed to talk to anyone else?”

“Not if you’re gonna be like this,” says Dave between clenched teeth.

“Hey,” interjects Anton amiably. The pack instinct seems too built-in for him to leave a brewing argument be. “It's all good, we don’t mind a bit of a chat. This is all pretty new for us, maybe you could show us the ropes once it’s got started?”

Holly mellows almost immediately. “I’d be thrilled,” she says. Then she turns to smack her husband on the arm with the back of her hand. "See? They don't mind."

She takes another long pull of wine and adds, “I just get so excited meeting other couples, but I reckon you two'd be keen on some time to yourselves, eh? I’ll be here if you’ve got any questions!”

With a wink, she scoots closer to Dave, and the two seem to pick up on whatever they’d been discussing before Anton and Viago arrived.

Viago glances sideways at Anton, who’s gone sort of still. He doesn’t seem upset, perhaps a bit stunned.

“Other couples,” he says softly to himself, thumbing at the corner of his mouth.

By the time the instructor—a peppy woman with curly dark hair and wrists full of clinking bangle bracelets—takes her spot at the head of the room, the appropriate clearances have all been made, and a pared-down portion of the crew is set up by Viago and Anton's station. Holly is beside herself with excitement.

"Are you a diplomat or something?" she asks Viago in an eager stage whisper.

"Something like that," says Viago awkwardly, cringing at the cameras.

“You must have some fascinating stories,” says Holly suggestively.

“He can’t really talk about it, though, can he,” Anton cuts in, eyes flicking to Viago, who shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, nah, really can't.”

“Shame,” Holly laments with a dramatic sigh.

At the head of the room, the instructor starts showing the class the basics of using the equipment in front of them while another set of employees goes around and portions out clay to the guests. Viago reaches for his immediately. He is already, not to brag, a bit of an old hand at this, and Anton will doubtlessly be very impressed by how well he can already manage on his own.

Anton nudges their shoulders together. “You aren’t going to take your rings off first?”

Viago pauses, looking at his hands. “Should I?”

“Don’t you usually? Reckon they’d get all mucky otherwise, and they’re awfully nice. Here, let me.” 

He takes Viago’s hand and begins sliding his rings carefully one by one down past fingertips already caked with clay. His touch is gentle, like it always is, and it occurs to Viago just how much they’ve been touching one another’s hands lately. Has it been an unusual amount? Surely it hasn’t been too much, either he or Anton would have to want it to stop for it to be too much, right? He doesn’t want that, and it doesn’t seem like Anton does either, so there’s no reason to worry about it. No reason to even keep thinking about it either, really, so Viago is going to stop doing that. Now he’s going to stop. Right…now.

Anton zips Viago’s rings into the pocket of his windbreaker for safe keeping, then rolls up his sleeves.

“Alright,” he says conspiratorially, nodding towards the instructor. “While teacher’s not looking. Show me what to do.”

Viago grins.

The night wends on; Holly and Dave get progressively friendlier, both with one another and with Viago and Anton, as more and more of their—and then Anton’s—wine makes its way into their glasses.

"What sort of wine is that?” asks Holly at one point, gesturing towards the bottle Viago hasn’t quite finished. “Some sort of German something?”

"Ah," says Viago, panicking a little. "It's not…alcoholic."

"He’s our designated driver," adds Anton helpfully.

"How interesting," says Holly, sounding like she has actually lost all interest in the matter entirely.

Anton waits until her attention is back on her burgeoning teacup to excuse himself to the toilet, as though making sure it’s safe to leave Viago alone. Which is almost flatteringly chivalrous, in its way, though completely unnecessary. Viago is nearly four centuries old, why he’d need to be kept safe from one nosy woman is beyond—

The moment Anton is out of earshot, Holly’s sharp eyes are back on Viago, a perfect mirror of the smile that fully reaches them this time.

“So how long have you two been together?” she asks.

Viago blinks, puzzled. What a strange question. “Since seven p.m.”

Dave gives a grunt of a laugh at that. “Ha! Good one, mate. Come on, Hols, leave him alone, yeah?”

When Viago recounts the interaction with Anton upon his return, Anton’s laugh is a funny, strangled thing, and Viago feels even more confused than before.

So the night wends and wends, and eventually, the class ends. Viago ends up with a shallow, lumpy bowl that he scratches his initials into the bottom of with the pride of Michelangelo signing the Sistine Chapel (assuming Michelangelo did that, of course; Viago had never gone to the Sistine Chapel in life, and it’s very doubtful that he’ll ever manage it now). For his part, Anton had ambitiously tried for a mug, though the instructor’s “Oh, what an interesting vase!” seems to cement his disappointment with the result. It’s a bit longer and pointier than most mugs Viago has seen, to be fair, but it has an undeniable character. He adores it.

“I think it is charming,” he tells Anton. “If you don’t want it I will gladly take it.”

“Really?” Anton looks like he can’t quite tell if Viago is messing with him. “If you’re serious, it’s yours.”

The employees collect their finished masterpieces to be fired, giving them the shop’s card so they can call to pick them up in a couple days. Anton accepts a damp paper towel from one of them as well; there’s clay smeared up his forearms nearly to the elbows, and a particularly impressive splotch where he’d caught Holly’s increasingly elaborate project and stopped it toppling over.

“It is a good thing you had your sleeves rolled up,” notes Viago.

“Good to be prepared,” says Anton. “But it’s fun to get a bit messy sometimes, too, eh?”

Viago makes a sound that hopefully sounds mostly like a laugh, his throat closing around it like his body is trying to contain the sudden, embarrassingly butterfly-esque sensation exploding up from his stomach.

“It can be,” he agrees. “Under the right circumstances.”

Anton clears his throat and spares the cameras a quick, self-conscious glance.

Holly insists on giving them her Facebook, teary-eyed at their parting. Anton gives her a tissue and promises to look her up. Dave gives them both an appropriately masculine handshake, and then the pair totter off towards home.

“Would it be weird if I said I’ll sort of miss them?” asks Anton, watching them go.

Viago bites his lip against laughter. “I suppose we’ll have to come back again.”

Anton smiles, a bit sadly for some reason, and shuffles his feet. "Yeah, I reckon we will. Went by so quickly this time, I almost don’t want to turn in, yet.”

“Oh.” This was all they had planned to do together, after all, wasn’t it? With the class over, what reason did they have not to part ways here? It makes sense. It makes sense, and yet.

There’s a story Deacon likes to tell about a time he’d taken a cross-country trip by rail—most of it is probably not true, Viago has come to learn, but it ends with him misjudging the departure time for his final train and having to chase it down and cling for several miles by his fingernails to the side of the car that held his coffin. He tells it with a fair bit of rather gruesome detail, which Viago doesn’t always appreciate, but he does think about it now, about the feeling of standing on a train platform and watching something important start to slowly pull away. About what he’d be willing to cling to by his fingernails through miles of unimaginable pain.

“We don’t have to,” he blurts, not even realizing what he’s about to offer before it comes out of his mouth. “We could go somewhere else! The Big—no, they probably would not let you in The Big Kumara, but there are a lot of places we could try.”

“Yeah? You’d want to?” asks Anton eagerly. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket, starts to say something else. Cuts himself off with a little sound of surprise. “Oh, I’ve still got your rings.”

“I had totally forgotten!” Viago starts to reach for them, then changes his mind. “Thank you for keeping them safe.”

He holds out both hands, palms down, and Anton huffs out a breathy laugh. One at a time, he takes Viago’s hands and returns each ring to its rightful place while Viago watches, heat rising in his chest.

---

As it turns out, a couple members of the pack do some bouncing on the side—”I wasn’t so keen on the idea at first,” Anton admits. “It seemed pretty dicey, and it sort of feels like a stereotype, you know? But they’ve really done me proud.”—so through a sort of friendship osmosis, Anton knows the bouncers at a few bars down the strip. They find a place with a familiar face fairly quickly. Stationed at the door is a big guy with a warm smile and arms thick with tattoos who pulls Anton into a half-hug and pats him on the back when he sees them.

“Hey, Anton, it’s been ages!”

“Good to see you, Maurice, you keeping up?”

“Getting by, mate, getting by.”

Anton crosses the threshold of the bar, and Viago feels it drop between them like a sheet of glass.

“You’re a friend of Anton’s?” asks the bouncer.

“Ah, yes,” says Viago uncertainly.

“Forgetting my manners,” says Anton with a tsk . “Forget my head next, eh? Viago, this is Maurice. He got Nathan the job here. Maurice, this is Viago, he’s one of Stu’s mates from Europe.”

“No joke? I’ve heard heaps about you, man, cool to finally meet one of you.” Maurice thrusts out a hand and Viago shakes it, his smile half nerves.

“You as well,” he replies. “Any friend of Stu and Anton is a friend of mine.”

“That’s mutual, mate.”

Viago’s eyes flick to Anton, who steps aside in the doorway. “Come on in.”

The threshold lifts, a physical weight freed from Viago’s shoulders. Delighted, he bids Maurice farewell and follows Anton inside.

It’s not as cool a place as Boogie Wonderland—the floor doesn’t light up, and there are no mirrored disco balls, but it’s still one of the better bars Viago has been to in Wellington (admittedly, it isn't an overwhelming pool of competition). While Anton grabs himself a drink, Viago waits by an empty table between a group of girls comforting a sobbing friend and a cluster of rowdy young men shouting and taking shots. The energy is invigorating. Viago loves spending time with his friends at home, but he forgets, sometimes, how much he also loves this, being in the midst of thronging, pulsing life, surrounded by strangers laughing and dancing and sobbing and taking shots. The heady smell of sweat and accompanying thrum of dozens of heartbeats at maximum capacity. 

It’s a good thing he’d eaten before coming here, Viago thinks, or a few of these party animals might be in real danger. 

Of course, that doesn't mean he'll be above a snack later on.

Viago gets bored of waiting for Anton to return fairly quickly. Antsy, he wanders towards the bar and finds Anton chatting with the bartender, one glass already empty by his elbow, another in his hand.

“Another one?” the bartender is asking. “Did you wanna open a tab?”

“Nah, this’ll be the last,” replies Anton. He shoots the remaining liquid in his glass in one go; Viago watches the lines of his throat as he swallows, mouth suddenly dry. Anton sees him and startles, then softens into an apologetic wince.

“Was I taking too long? Sorry about that, it’s the werewolf metabolism. Takes me three drinks to feel the one these days.”

Viago shrugs. “I just wanted to come find you. I hope I did not lose us our table, though.”

“Eh, we’ll find another one.”

The bartender returns with the next drink, sets it on the bartop. “Alright, let me get your total.”

Viago gets an idea. He nudges Anton with his elbow and leans in.

“This might not work,” he warns Anton in a low voice. But it will be very cool and impressive if it does.

“What might not work?” asks Anton, looking worried.

Viago raises a hand, draws a slow arc across the bartender’s eyeline. Tries to remember the way Vladislav used to describe it, not so much willing the thing as letting himself have it. 

“We have already paid for this.”

There’s a beat, and then the bartender goes wide-eyed. “That’s way too much, mate. I don't—you might as well just take the bottle, you want the bottle?"

“Yes, please,” says Viago, giddy with his success, and the bartender pulls the pour cap from a bottle of whiskey and hands the whole thing over the bar. Viago takes it with polite thanks and heads back through the crowd while Anton grabs his drink and follows.

"What was that?" whispers Anton, taking Viago by the elbow. "You just full-on Jedi mind-tricked him!"

"I don’t know what that means, but it was not a trick. It was vampire hypnosis.” Viago stops at an empty table and sets down the bottle of whiskey, spreading his hands along the tabletop. “To be honest that is maybe the best it has ever worked. Well, the second best. But it usually goes a bit funny somehow, as you saw.”

"What I saw deserves a lot more credit than 'a bit funny'," Anton insists. He nudges the bottle with the tip of his finger. “You don’t reckon the bartender will get in trouble, do you?”

Viago shrugs. “Somewhere like this, with all of these raucous young people? This can’t be the first bottle they’ve lost.” He tugs at Anton’s sleeve. “You are welcome, by the way.”

Anton laughs, breaking the contemplative funk he’d fallen into. “Thanks for using your grand otherworldly powers to steal me booze.”

“What are mates for?” grins Viago.

“RIght. Mates.” Anton makes a hollow, gutted sound and finishes his drink. Then he sets his glass aside, eyeing the bottle. “You know, I don’t really love partaking on my own. A beer or two, sure, but this is more than a beer or two. I’m not looking to get munted while you sit there sober and watch, that doesn’t sound fun for either of us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Viago notices one of the shouting men from earlier detach from his friends and weave his way towards the toilets. He grins, waggling his eyebrows at Anton mischievously.

“Then we won’t do that. Wait here!"

He hears Anton hiss a frantic “Where are you going? Viago?” as he turns to follow, but there’s no time for an explanation. He’ll see soon enough, and besides time is of the essence right now.

Fortunately, Viago catches his inebriated target alone at his destination, struggling with his flies with one hand while he props himself up on the wall with the other. Perfect, Viago thinks. He gestures the cameraman aside and locks the door, just to be safe, which catches the young man’s attention. He looks up, frowning blearily.

“Hi!” Viago greets him cheerfully.

“What’re you—”

“I am really quite ashamed to say it, but I'm afraid I have no time for pleasantries right now. Would you mind please just—?” He gets a good grip on the man’s shoulder, pinning him against the wall when he tries to push back. “There’s no need to struggle, I’m not going to kill you. Well, I’m going to try very hard not to kill you, okay? I just need to—”

The man’s skin has a potent, cloying patina of cheap cologne. Viago does his best not to gag. His fangs punch through with a satisfying snik, and then all the fight goes out of the man at once. Viago takes two, three, four long pulls, and his sinuses light up with the burn of alcohol. A moment later, it hits him everywhere else. Lazy, drowsy heat cups his face in its hands, seeping down into his limbs like dripping candlewax. He allows himself another indulgent mouthful, then releases the now-limp young man to sag against the nearest urinal with a vacant grin. Viago gives him a grateful little pat on the head.

“Thank you very much,” he manages around his uncooperative tongue. “You have been very helpful.”

The young man makes a garbled noise of acknowledgment and collapses to the floor.

Smoothing both hands aimlessly up and down his shirt, Viago makes his way back towards where he left Anton, who has clearly been keeping an eye out for him. He seems to recognize what’s happened almost immediately, which makes perfect sense, since he’s probably the smartest person Viago knows.

“Ah, I’m catching up to you now, then, am I?”

Viago dissolves into helpless giggles, pressing his forehead against Anton’s shoulder.

“If you would like to.”

A tug at his lapel, Anton and his thorough hands running a thumb along the seam.

“Got a bit of blood on yourself here, mate, did you notice?"

"Oh no," pouts Viago, frowning down at the fleck of red against the embroidered purple. "I like this jacket."

"It’s a good jacket," replies Anton agreeably. "Hang on, I'll get something for it." He gently disentangles himself from Viago's grasp and goes back in the direction of the bar. Viago has half a mind to pull him back.

Humming contentedly to himself, Viago leans against the table and closes his eyes, letting the buzz wash over him like static. The air thrums with music, heavy bass beats and the melody of voices, and Viago feels like he could spool out into it like unwinding thread, buoyed along by soundwaves and his borrowed blood alcohol content.

“There we are. You feeling alright?”

Viago opens his eyes and grins. “You're back! I missed you.”

It’s almost impossible to see in the dim lighting, but Viago swears he can smell Anton blush. He reaches to brush clumsy fingertips along the line of his cheekbone, savoring the heat of it.

“I missed you too, mate,” laughs Anton. “Now let me at that blood so I can stop it staining and start getting properly pissed.”

Viago manages to keep his hands to himself while Anton blots the blood with club soda—”What you’d really want is here hydrogen peroxide and some cold water, but this’ll do in a pinch.”—but it’s more of a struggle than he might have expected. He’s right there, and he’s kind and he’s smart and he’s cool, and his bare forearms are constellationed with freckles and solid with obvious strength. They’re both stronger than any random human, Viago knows, that comes with the territory of what they are, but Anton wears it differently, evident in the very lines of him. Viago wants to curl his hands around both of Anton’s shoulders and—he’s not sure. He wants to something . Mostly he just knows he really wants to touch .

“Look at that, like it never happened.” Anton gives the jacket a final swipe.

“Mein Held,” croons Viago, pressing his hand.

“What’s that?”

“My hero,” Viago clarifies, and Anton lets out a soft, breathy sound, fingers lingering along a line of jasmine.

“Becoming a bit of a habit, isn’t this?  A guy might start to think you’re doing it on purpose just to keep him around.”

Doing what on purpose? Getting blood on things? Anton has to know Viago wouldn’t make such a mess intentionally. Of course it is nice to have Anton’s help, but, well. It’s just nice to have him around in general. Something occurs to Viago.

“You are the guy in this scenario?”

“That would be me, yeah.”

“Would it work?”

“To keep me around?” Anton gives him a look he can’t quite parse, sort of taken-aback and fond. “There’d be easier ways to do it.”

Viago spreads his hands and shrugs. “I would like to know all of my options.”

Anton snorts into his glass, startled laughter that has him thumping his own chest against half-aspirated whiskey. Viago pats him helpfully on the back, thinking, this too, then . He can make Anton feel helpful, and he can make Anton laugh, and Anton will stick around. He’ll let Viago stick around.

Much to his delight, the night goes on, and Viago does keep making Anton laugh. He isn’t even trying, really, ignoring the part where he’s actually trying really, really hard. Still, Anton’s laughing, and it makes Viago feel invincible, like he could snap the world off at the edges until it’s just the two of them, the circle of Anton’s fingers around Viago’s wrist and the little lines that form around his eyes when he smiles. The wayward fringe that falls across his forehead, greasy with thwarted product. The pale hollow of his throat behind his undone collar.

Viago stares and worries at his lower lip. He doesn’t want to bite Anton, obviously, he wouldn’t ever do that, but he recognizes the place hunger takes up in him. Strange that he’d be peckish again so soon after how much he’s had tonight but there’s no mistaking it. He excuses himself for a brief jaunt in a dark corner, and when he returns Anton leans in to wipe a smear of blood from his chin.

“Missed your jacket this time,” he notes, eyes flicking to Viago’s mouth—to make sure he’s gotten everything, Viago assumes.

“That's a good thing, though, yes?” Viago doesn’t know whether to be proud or disappointed.

“It’s a good thing,” confirms Anton. Turning, he pours himself another two fingers of whiskey and downs them like a shot.

They lull into silence. It gives Viago’s mind time to wander, chin in hand, watching the unmoving line of Anton’s profile. It’s really something, how far they’ve come from two near-strangers exchanging cellular telephone numbers in the wake of an almost-bloodbath. And even before then, proper stranger-strangers posturing at one another in the park at night, and Viago wants to say something like, “Isn’t it funny, that we might have been enemies forever if Stu hadn’t become a werewolf?” but it doesn’t actually feel that funny at all, now that he thinks about it.

He does think more about that first night, though—both of those first nights, the two sort of drunkenly mingling in his memory into a single image of Anton with the other wolves at his back, steady and sure and full of unspoken authority.

Then Viago’s train of thought does several quick tipsy topples forward, and before he can properly catch up the question has tumbled up and out of him, and Anton freezes in place like a caught hare.

“Do I what ?”

Panic hits Viago like cold water. “We were not sure what it means, being the Alpha? I did not—Vladislav thought perhaps that was how things work, in a pack. Is that not—?”

“It’s not,” says Anton flatly. His voice sits at the sharp edge of anger, but it’s difficult for Viago to tell if he’s actually angry. He scrubs a hand across his face and takes a deep breath and adds, “I mean, I can’t speak for every pack. Maybe some are like that. Everyone does things a little differently, yeah? It seems like an unhealthy dynamic if you ask me, but that's. It's none of my business what other werewolves get up to. It’s whatever works for them. But that’s definitely, definitely not what works for us.”

“I never thought that it was,” Viago hastens to assure him, feeling scolded. “I told the other guys that, basically. I have just been thinking about it.”

“You’ve been thinking about me fu—doing that sort of thing with my packmates?” Now Viago really can’t read what Anton is feeling. He's holding himself perfectly still, but his fingers are slowly pressing divots into the tabletop.

“Ah, no, well. In a theoretical sense."

“Theoretical how ?”

It occurs to Viago, as he is opening his mouth to answer, that there is no cool casual way to explain to your best mate that it isn’t that you’ve been thinking about him having sex with anyone in particular, but you have been thinking about him having sex, but not like that, just that you're realizing that the potentials of who and how and when and how often have been taking up a lot of room in your thoughts lately. But it doesn’t have to make anything weird, you promise. You’ve just been curious because of the whole Alpha thing, it isn’t. It doesn’t have to be a thing .

"Um," Viago stalls.

" Fuck .” The word sits like gravel in the back of Anton’s throat. He swipes the bottle of whiskey and downs near half of the remaining contents in one long gulp, then pushes himself away from the table. "I need some air."

Viago watches him stride out, feeling lost. He looks at the cameras dumbly, then down at the table, at the deep curved dents that end in ten shallow scratches.

"Is it very close to a full moon?" he asks the producer. He thought he'd checked, but maybe he'd made a mistake. It's an easier thought to hold than the idea that he's fucked up so badly, made Anton so angry that he'd be the sole reason Anton was in danger of losing himself.

"Still a few days away," replies the producer apologetically.

Viago stares towards the door, gnawing at his lip.

He finds Anton just outside, leaning in the alleyway between the bar and an all-night dairy. He's a bit hunched over on himself, head in his hands, sucking in deep, slow breaths. He drops his arms when he hears Viago approaching, staring dead-eyed at the brick of the alley opposite.

“Can we walk?” he asks before Viago can say anything. “Reckon a change of scenery might do me some good.”

“Of course,” allows Viago, gesturing Anton ahead. Something sharp twists in his chest.

Anton glances at the cameras, mouth thinning, and starts to walk. Unsure where he’s leading, Viago hies to keep up, hovering nervously by his elbow. Anton slows enough to press their shoulders together, and the brief contact goes through Viago like an arc of electricity; he's struck with the lightning-crack realization that he would follow Anton anywhere, right now.

Fortunately, right now, anywhere just turns out to be the park. It’s still as a cemetery this time of night, for all that someone like Viago knows that cemeteries never really get all that still. Anton slouches up one of the footpaths, still sort of hunched up and holding himself with the tense stillness of someone cradling an injured bird against his chest—or a live grenade.

Viago stumbles along beside him, catching at his arm every now and then for balance, pointedly aware that he’s drunker than he ought to be for whatever is happening here, but also drunk enough to be distracted from that by the shadows Anton’s eyelashes cast against his cheeks in the moonlight. His fingers itch with the urge to touch.

“What a lovely night,” he murmurs thoughtfully.

Anton stops short and sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. Shakes his head like he's shaking off water.

“Can I—when vampires bite people,” he says, clearly trying for casual, “is it a sex thing?”

Viago needs a moment to catch up to the question. “I am begging your pardon?”

Anton turns to him, jaw tight. “Just trying to figure out where I stand, here.”

Viago isn’t entirely sure what he means by that, but turnabout is fair play, he supposes, after his question in the bar.

“Um, for some vampires it can be, sometimes.”

“Not for you, though.”

“Not for me, no. I mean, it can be quite an erotic act, what with the, uh, the penetration and all that, and it typically feels very euphoric for the victim if done neatly. It can hurt quite badly if you mess it up, though, as I have gathered over the, um, the years. Usually I concern myself more with making sure that anyone I am planning to drain completely has a nice time beforehand, not so much during the whole—” he waves a hand vaguely. “—process itself.”

“A nice time?” asks Anton, brows raised.

“Not like that,” replies VIago, flustered. Anton must be feeling at least a little more like himself, going by the teasing in his tone. “I just think it’s—it makes sense, doesn’t it? To want someone to have a good day if you know it will be their last one?”

Anton nods, then frowns. “Does that make it easier to live with?”

“Make what easier to live with?”

“Killing people.”

Viago considers that for a moment. “I would say it is more courtesy than a way to cope. Maybe it started the other way around, but I have been a vampire for so long now, there are a lot of things you just accept after a while, I think. Does that sound harsh?”

Anton shakes his head. “Nah, I’m not here to judge. You’ve got to do what you need to survive, yeah? I envy that a little, if I’m being honest.”

Viago edges closer, tangling his fingers in Anton's sleeve. “Because you have also killed people?”

Anton flinches under his hand. “Not recently,” he stresses, voice rough.

Confusion creases a line between Viago’s brows. “But you would like to?”

“What? No, of course not! I can control myself now, that’s the whole point. Why do you think I bother with, with the deep breaths and werewolves not swearwolves and all that daft shit? It’s because —” he lowers his voice and leans in, the smell of whiskey leaning in with him. “—because when I don't control myself I kill people, Viago.”

"You love all that daft shit," scoffs Viago.

Anton's expression is a rictus of indecision, anger and laughter and terrible fondness, and then he drops his face into his hand and sighs heavily. "That doesn't change anything."

“So you have killed some people," shrugs Viago. "And you, what, you have felt bad about it every time? Every time ?” Viago finds that difficult to believe. “That sounds exhausting. Even I have killed some arseholes for fun. You have never killed anyone you thought deserved it even a little bit?”

“Getting torn apart by a wild animal? Who deserves that?”

Over the crest of the next hill, two familiar figures approach the playground from out of the trees and take up stations on the swingset. Even without knowing their vampiric nature they're an eerie sight, lone little girls in the dark, their faces familial in their similarity despite the true disparity of decades between them. Viago and Anton are still some distance away when the girls' ears pick up their approach, heads swiveling to face them. After a beat, they raise their hands in perfect tandem greeting.

Viago waves back excitedly at them.

"It's Lily and Rose, you guys!" he turns to the camera crew and gestures. "Some of you have already met them, yes?"

The girl on the left—Lily, Viago thinks, though it's difficult to tell from this distance—leans forward on her swing to sniff the air. Her mouth twists into a canted line, and her gaze hones in on Anton.

Anton goes stiff. “Viago, are those little girls vampires?”

“They are both at least as old as you are, I think,” Viago tells him, nudging him with an elbow. “Or older, actually, unless you are in your seventies?”

“Not as far as I know,” replies Anton. Both eyes are still on Lily and Rose, who look back with unveiled curiosity. "But what sort of dickhead bites a little kid?”

“A bored one, most likely,” sighs Viago, knowing how some vampires can get. “Or a far nastier sort, it has never seemed polite to ask.”

As they stand there, a nervous-looking man shuffles out of the treeline, glancing shiftily about himself. His collar is turned up like he fancies himself some sort of spy in disguise, hands clawed nervously around one another. When he spots Lily and Rose his posture eases, and he approaches them grinning openly.

A low, roiling growl rolls up from Anton’s chest. “That’s the nastier sort, then, is it?”

“It’s their speciality,” confirms Viago. “I imagine they do not feel so very bad about it,” he adds meaningfully.

Anton looks at him, expression caught halfway between shock and—oh good, that’s interest, isn’t it. Viago grins, feeling that deep vampiric thrill of a promised hunt start to pump through him. He isn’t actually all that into hunting, to be honest, but a hunt with Anton, to see what he’s like in his full werewolfy glory, has suddenly become the most exciting thing he can think of.

Of course it would be better if they had time to ask Lily and Rose about it; joining in on another vampire’s meal without permission is definitely what Nick would call a ‘party foul’.

“Is there—do we have to have the cameras on for this?” Anton turns to the producer. “It's only, I've got a day job. I—bugger all, I can’t believe I'm even considering this.”

The producer gestures at the camera operator, who lowers the camera, though the little red light keeps blinking. “Are you nervous about transforming without taking proper safety measures first?”

Anton sighs. “You could say that. And I’ll lose these trousers in an instant.”

It’s inevitable for the amount of noise that they’re making; the man talking to Lily and Rose glances in their direction, freezes. At this distance he likely can’t make out many details but the film crew and all their equipment are a difficult detail to miss. 

There’s a moment of perfect, suspended stillness. Then he bolts.

Viago has always liked Rose and Lily; they’re remarkably level-headed for how young they were turned, and though they both have a streak for savagery unmatched in any other vampire Viago has ever met, they save it exclusively for hunting. They lean their heads together briefly, then stand from the swingset, turning to offer Viago and Anton a sort of come on, then gesture before disappearing after their quarry.

From beside Viago comes a deep rumbling that has no home in any human vocal chords. He feels it like the aftershock of an earthquake, the air prickling around him like storm-static. Against his shoulder: solid pressure, radiating heat, eager enough to nearly knock him over despite Anton’s obvious efforts to rein it in.

“Ready?” asks Viago, receiving the business end of a cold, wet nose to his cheek in response. He bats Anton away, dissolving gleefully into giggles when it’s followed by the slick pad of a tongue. “Yuck! You are supposed to be eating that pedophile, not me!”

He gets one final snuffle at the crook of his jaw for the reminder—"Hey, that tickles !"—before Anton lets out a rending howl, and then he's bounding away, a lithe dark shape in the night, Viago at his heels as they join the chase.

When he thinks back on this night, Viago will remember this part of it in pockets of sensation: the whip of cool air against his face, the burn in his overfed muscles, the crack of bone as Anton's jaws snap shut on a leg and shake . The bright taste of laughter on his tongue, and that one bug he accidentally swallows.

Lily and Rose don't stick around long afterwards; they take the lion's share and then their gracious leave, which bothers Viago on neither count. He and Anton are their guests, technically, sort of, and Viago’s already done quite well for himself tonight as far as feeding goes. It’s only fair, and if it means that he and Anton are on their own again, just the two of them, well. All the better that, too.

“—even managed to lose the cameras, eh?” notes Anton as he ties his windbreaker around his waist to assist what little is left of his pants. “How long do you reckon it’ll take them to find us?”

He bounces on the balls of his feet, punchdrunk with adrenaline, lit from behind and grinning at Viago with teeth that are still a little sharper than usual. Viago feels oddly like he's standing on the edge of a cliff, somehow, fighting against the urge to keep his balance.

"You have a bit of blood right here," he tells Anton, touching the same spot on his own face.

"What, here?"

"No, more to your left—"

"Here?"

"Ah, no, that was my left—"

"Here then?"

"No, no, may I—?" Viago steps in to thumb at the corner of Anton’s mouth, painting a huge smear of blood up onto Anton's cheek. Startled, he looks down at his hands, which, as he might've assumed, if he'd considered it at all, are solid red from fingertip to wrist.

Anton looks between Viago's stricken expression and the blood all over his hands. Unrolling his tattered sleeve, he scrubs the back of his wrist against his face; it comes away streaked with blood, and as the dots start to connect in his head a nasal snrk of laughter escapes him. His eyes go to Viago, ringed with yellow and bright with joy, and the second Viago meets them something snaps like a shattered femur.

Viago won’t remember later who laughs first, but it’s not long before they’re both, for lack of a better word, howling with laughter, clutching at one another to stay upright, leaving behind a bloody roadmap of where their hands have been. Viago laughs until tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and something swells in his chest like a breath until his whole body aches from it.

Anton butts his forehead against Viago’s temple, his breath against Viago’s skin coming in short, erratic bursts. One hand curves against the side of Viago’s neck, the underside of his jaw. Viago hmms happily at the contact, curling his fingers in the remnants of Anton’s sleeve.

“You smell fucking amazing ,” Anton informs him thickly, voice low and rough in his throat. The sound of it strikes and sizzles down Viago's spine like scattering sparks.

“It’s, ah, probably all of the blood,” he replies feebly. He is heat from heel to hairline, suddenly, achingly aware of every superfluous follicle on his body, half-terrified and—oh no —half-hard, which is not an appropriate response to be having towards his best mate at all right now.

Is it? No, no, definitely not.

Anton’s mouth opens against Viago’s neck as he responds, and Viago swallows a whimper.

“Right, yeah, all the—oh shoot! Viago, your good jacket!”

He seems to sober in an instant, pulling back to survey the damage. The night is suddenly very cold without him plastered up against Viago’s side. He tuts and pouts and fists his hands in his hair to keep from touching any more, devastated in a way that Viago currently can’t even begin to comprehend.

“Aw, mate, I’m sorry, I should’ve been more careful.” 

"As if it is your fault."

"I feel responsible," insists Anton. 

Viago grins, plucking playfully at Anton's ruined collar. "Does this mean I get to keep you around?"

Anton’s breath hitches, both hands clutching helplessly at empty air. He looks at Viago with a fraught, searching expression, not quite sad and not quite sick, and for a moment Viago thinks he might start crying. Then he laughs, a small, wonderful sound, and takes Viago’s face in both his hands.

If Viago had a pulse, it would quicken. “Anton—?”

“Could I kiss you?”

It hits Viago in the way they describe being staked, in those salacious paperbacks Nick brought into the house and everyone but Vladislav pretends not to read—a clean, solid blow to the chest that radiates out to every inch of him, resonating like a struck bell. He feels cracked open, shaken clean. Blissful. Ecstatic. Appallingly turned-on.

He clutches at the front of Anton’s shirt, “Yes, yes, please—” and then they’re grabbing inelegantly at each other, colliding in a messy, desperate crash of teeth. Anton makes a sound that rumbles through Viago like thunder, rattles his bones and all but liquifies him. He manages to get both arms around Anton’s neck and cling, distantly convinced that if he isn’t touching as much of Anton as possible right now his immortality will simply give out and he’ll die gracelessly on the spot.

Anton kisses and kisses and kisses him, with a hungry eagerness that all too quickly has Viago squirming against him with restless, desperate lust. His hands bracket Viago’s hips, thumbs pressing just under the waistband of his pants, and Viago moans against his mouth, hips bucking. 

Could they have been doing this the whole time? How long has Anton wanted to kiss him? Maybe it’s just the heat of the moment and that very clever thing Anton is doing with his mouth along Viago’s jaw but he’d swear on his own grave that he’d have been up for this way before tonight. 

Anton backs Viago into a tree, and Viago reels him closer, hitching both legs around his waist. The angle has Anton immediately grinding against him, dropping his face to pant into the crook of Viago’s neck. Viago threads his fingers into Anton’s hair, presses a kiss to his fever-hot temple.

Why haven’t they been doing this all along? What’s been stopping—

It hits Viago like a blow, the foggy arousal in his mind clearing just long enough for reality to cut through like the beam of a lighthouse. Katherine. Oh fuck, what has he done?

Panicked, Viago bats up and out of reach, tumbling sideways to land hard on the dirt, knocked back into his normal form. Anton is there in an instant, concern twisting his features as guilt does the same to Viago’s gut.

“Everything good? You alright?” He’s flushed and breathless and beautiful, and Viago wants nothing more than to yank him down to Viago’s level and get back to what they were doing. He wants, he wants —

Oh. He wants Anton.

Stupid, stupid—how long has he felt like this? How has he been so unforgivably obtuse? He’s the one who fancies Anton—or he and Katherine both do? And here he’s been leading everyone along like some sort of heartless strumpet. He can’t, he has to—

“I have to go,” he says, hearing himself as if from a distance.

“What?” Anton’s voice breaks, ever so slightly. “Can I ask why?”

Viago scrambles to his feet. “There is, I must make an amend, it isn’t—oh hell.”

He kisses Anton hard, once, murmuring apologies against his lips before changing again and fleeing into the night.

The camera crew breaks treeline just in time to catch Anton standing alone at the edge of the footpath, staring up at the sky, his face an unreadable mask. Then he drops his face into his hands, his voice muffled as he yells into them.

“Fuck!”

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 3

In which: Danny getting yeeted into the Lazarus Pit yields anticlimactic consequences and Bruce Wayne converses with a fruit loop.

AO3 | Prologue | 2 | [ 3 ] | 4 |

DANIEL BARELY HAD TIME TO SCREAM before he’s plunged into the green depths of the Lazarus pit, primeval waves crashing against the walls of the pool. Talia flicked her wrist, signaling the ten League members hidden in the shadows to approach. Each one spaced equally apart around the pit with smoke pellets synthesized from blood blossoms held in their hands, ready to drop at a moment’s notice.

Pit madness rendered the majority of the living uncontrollable, with even the weakest of humans imbued with a strength that could only be induced by the purest of rage. The League was not taking chances as to how a being like her son would react to it.

The waters stilled.

Then—

A bright flash of light. Then, faster than the eyes could follow, a figure erupted from the waters. Bone white hair that twisted and curled as if it were still underwater. Skin lightly tinged frostbitten blue and clad in a suit of black and white and shrouded in an aura of blinding light. Phantom appeared from the depths, floating above the pit like a god reborn.

His eyes burned a toxic green.

“What the fuck was that?”

But not pit madness green.

Talia ordered her assassins to at ease with a raise of her hand. She slowly walked to her father’s side just as her son—Phantom—landed at the edge of the pool. Idly, Talia noticed how different Phantom seemed in comparison to her son. Physical attributes aside, Daniel tended to make himself smaller. What venom that may coat his words and the vitriol in his glares dampened by the way he held himself. Shoulders hunched and head tilted down. Non-threatening. Hands always needing to do something, whether it be holding his arms or shoved inside his pockets or constantly brushing it through his hair. No matter how she and his instructors taught him how to hold himself like a warrior, like a soldier, he still tended to present himself as a skittering little animal.

Phantom was different. He squared his soldiers and lifted his chin high, unafraid to stretch out to his fullest height and use his defiance of gravity to make himself look bigger. Stronger. His arms held steady at his sides, curled into tight fists. Green eyes—green as the Lazarus pit yet without that spark of madness that so consumed everyone else—burning with righteous fury.

“You fucking threw me into the weird green pool. What even—who does that?”

Ra’s tilted his head. “Fascinating. It seems you have a resistance to the pit madness.”

Phantom blinked, caught off guard. “Pit…madness,” he echoed. A statement, though from the wrinkle in his brows and the look he shoots Talia, it was more a question than anything else.

“It is one of the side effects of the Lazarus pits.” Talia approached her son with caution, holding his face with both hands and inspecting for any differences. “While the waters rejuvenate, restore, and even temporarily imbue one with supernatural strength, it also tends to inflict users with temporary insanity.”

“Insanity?” His eyes widened, trembling hands coming up to hold her wrists. Strangely, Daniel did not pull away from her touch. “I could have gone insane?”

Those bright eyes of his looked so frightened. Haunted. Pupils dilated to mere pinpricks of blackness, lost in a sea of Lazarus green. “Oh habeebi, only temporarily.”

“Like that’s better!” He yelled. “Even temporarily, I’m—” He staggered back, breaking out of her hold. Harmless Danny Fenton bleeding into proud Phantom as he ran his hands through his hair, unwilling to look at anyone.

Ra’s continued to watch, his arms crossed beneath his sternum, muttering to himself. Her father had prided himself on being one of the most knowledgeable about the Lazarus pits and its effects. Now, faced with a new mystery, the scholar within the Demon’s Head emerged as he observed his grandson.

“No,” Ra’s said, mostly to himself. “Perhaps less of a ‘resistance’ and more of an ‘immunity’ to it, given how both Daniel and the Lazarus pit have similar compositions. It would be a fascinating tangent to follow.” He chuckled to himself. “How droll. The life-restoring Lazarus pit holding a connection to the land of the dead.”

Talia turned to her father. “So, Daniel will not feel any of the pit’s side effects, then?”

Daniel perked up at the sound of his name, halting in his pacing. “I…might not go insane?”

“Perhaps, though it is too soon to tell. You have the waters of the Lazarus pit flowing through your veins, Daniel.” Ra’s smiled; eyes gleaming with the sparks of pride. “You and it are made of the same chemicals, the same reality-defying compounds that can bring the dead back to life.”

“Well, great. I have the same chemical makeup as a glowing hot tub, what else is new—” Her son staggered, and she caught him. Impossibly bright rings formed at his abdomen and then split, transforming Phantom back into a human. Mortal. His face haggard and sweating from the temples, eyes back to her beloved’s pale blues.

Her father did not bat an eye. “The pit’s healing effects are slowed down, then? Or perhaps it is because he has no wounds to heal?” Ra’s hummed; chin cradled in his hand. “Set him back into the pits, Talia. I believe young Daniel has yet to absorb all his needed energy.”

“Sure, yeah, that’s fine. Put me back in the crazy water, why not?” Daniel tugged at her shoulders. “Just…gently, please?”

Talia smoothed down his dark hair with a smile. “Of course, habeebi. I will even stay with you as well.”

When he looked at her, it was something almost akin to gratefulness.

------

In Gotham City, the upper echelons of society gather together at the Gotham Expo Center. The shining halls, which had been used as the site of a week-long exhibition of new scientific research, was reoutfitted to serve as the venue for the exhibition’s final event.

A gala. The hunting ground of the nouveau riche and old money families. Corporate moguls and debutants made their rounds across the floor, chatting with heirs and politicians and the who’s who of the upper class.

Scientists and researchers attempted to step out of their shells and dazzle the crowds. Wanting to fish a willing patron with deep pockets to fund their next project. Reporters huddled together like schools of fish, warily approaching the predators in their midst for a question or a photo. Both things many of the wealthy and affluent are easily ready to give, as long as it only showed off their best side in tomorrow’s society papers.

Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, and society’s darling observed everything as he always did, in that most people believed he barely noticed anything beyond what’s right in front of him. He raised the flute glass of champagne to his lips, pretending to take a sip as he listened to the chatter of sycophants around him. A few were even some promising researchers of which he made a mental note to pass along to Lucius.

Two nights ago, Bruce received a tip of unusual movements from the League of Assassins. The organization had been quiet as of late, and while Bruce had been very carefully monitoring their activities in the background, the sudden tightening of their security prompted him to take a closer look.

There had been sightings of the League of Assassins centered around a small town in Illinois—Amity Park. A rural tourist trap championing itself as the most haunted place in America. Something that Bruce would normally scoff at or zealously research about if not for John Constantine’s warning to “never go within a ten-mile radius of that hellhole.” With similar sentiments from others in the occult community, the Justice League decided to take that warning to heart. Bruce’s curiosity may have been piqued, but even he was tactful enough to avoid courting more trouble.

Suffice to say, Bruce—and especially Batman—could not afford to ignore Ra’s al Ghul’s movements. Whatever his plans were involved whatever anomalies were going on in Amity Park. And wasn’t it simply serendipitous that one of the guest lists for tonight’s gala was Vlad Masters, the mayor of Amity Park?

“Vlad Masters, is that you?” Bruce, slapping on his signature Brucie smile, masterfully detached himself from his previous group, quickly heading towards the nearby bar where he spotted Vlad getting another drink.

“Why, Bruce Wayne, it’s been so long!” The two shook hands, of which Bruce was slightly surprised at how cold to the touch Vlad was. A health condition, perhaps. Then again, there was something in Vlad’s appearance and stature that spoke of a deeper reason.

“It’s been, what, two years? What brings you to Gotham?”

“Business; the usual really.” Despite whatever friendly aura they’re projecting, Bruce Wayne and Vlad Masters weren’t friends. More acquaintances that have been forced to mingle a few times because of the nature of their business and the demands of high society. From what Bruce knows, Vlad is a business tycoon that’s as blindingly charismatic as he was infamous for his quick rise to wealth and a few rather shady dealings.

Bruce stuck his hand in his pocket. “Well Vlad, last we all heard was you dipping your toes into politics. You’re a, uh, what, a governor?”

Vlad let out an obviously fake chuckle. “Oh nothing as grand as that. I’m only a small-town mayor, really.”

“Right!” Bruce snapped his fingers. “So, what’s that like?”

“Oh dreadful work, really. So much paperwork, so many things to do or oversee, but rewarding in its own way.” He puffed out his chest. “Many of the people in Amity Park do rely on me, you know. Though I’m afraid my schedule’s busy enough that I barely have time to go home!”

“Well, we’re very happy that you made room enough to visit us here in Gotham.”

Bruce sensed Damian coming to stand beside him and instinctually placed a hand around his shoulder. Though his youngest had been steadily adjusting to his new life here in Gotham, he still preferred to stick to his father’s shadow than mingle with those of his own age groups at galas. (Then again, Bruce was very similar when he was younger so perhaps it was a genetic thing).

He smiled down at Damian—frowning as he’d rather be patrolling the streets in uniform as opposed to schmoozing with people he hardly cared about. “Have you met my son, Vlad? Damian, this is Vlad Masters, a business partner and a, uh—” He scrunched his face, pretending to remember what Vlad’s current occupation is. “Mayor of some small town out west.”

Bruce turned to look at Vlad, expecting to see some variation of ‘insulted but trying to keep up a polite façade’—only to freeze.

Vlad’s face paled considerably. His beady eyes comically wide as he looked at Damian, the fingers curled around the stem of his flute glass bone white. Damian, unnerved, steadied his stance but shifted minutely closer to Bruce.

Well, this was interesting. “You alright, Vlad? You looked like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Vlad jerked his head towards Bruce. Surprise—and fear? —contorted his features for a brief moment before smoothed back down into a proper mask. “Mayor of Amity Park, yes. My apologies,” he chuckled. “Young—Damian, was it? —only reminded me of someone I knew once.” He shifted his gaze back to Damian. “The resemblance is actually quite uncanny.”

Damian furrowed his brows. “Amity Park?”

“You’ve heard of it, Damian?”

“I would be surprised if you did.” Vlad masters took a small ship of his champagne. “Then again, it should be expected that you might have heard of it. The town does love it’s ghosts.”

Bruce laughed. “What, like Casper?”

“Something like that, yes.” There’s a tightness to Vlad’s voice. “Amity Park is its own breed of strange. We’ve handled things well enough on our own in the past, and quite honestly you get used to all of the spooks eventually. Though I must say the shadows are quite new—I’d often ask myself if I should petition your city’s vigilante and put him on the case.

“Shadows?”

Vlad easy smile shifted into a faint grimace. “They have a rather nasty habit of snooping.”

------

Despite Bruce and Damian’s attempt at plying Vlad for more answers, Vlad kept his mouth shut, evading questions and changing topics skillfully. Something that only raised Bruce’s alarm that something was going on.

“So,” Bruce unbuttoned his suit as he stepped into the car, “How did you hear of Amity, Damian? Ghosts and ghouls don’t exactly seem like something you’d be interested in.”

He waited for Damian to buckle his seatbelt before shifting the Bentley into drive and pulling out of the Expo. They had stayed at the gala long enough, making their rounds and giving the media enough for a headline in the society pages.

Damian rested his hand against the window. His face scrunched as he watched the looming facades of Gotham’s architecture pass by. “Mother mentioned the name once or twice,” he said. “I was not…privy to every operation that happened in the League, so I don’t know anything despite that my grandfather took an interest in Amity.”

“And I’m sure that from Masters’ odd phrasing, Ra’s didn’t just magically lose that interest either.” He narrowed his eyes. “Contact Oracle and have her dig up everything we need to know about the situation in Amity Park. I think it’s time Batman made his introductions to some out-of-town guests.”

[phantomphangphucker]

Wild Masters - Chap. 5: From Rags To Riches

Vlad shows his face, queue a lot of snark and an exasperated Flynn.

Danny turns to the lab stairway, “I’ll get it”, glancing at everyone as he starts heading up, “I’ll holler if it’s Vladdie!”. His dad gives an excited double thumbs up.

Sticking his head around the kitchen entryway into the living room confirms that it is indeed Vlad, in his pompous ass suit and now staring at him looking extremely supremely unimpressed. Danny snickers at him before walking into the living room proper, sticking his hands in his pockets, “sup, vampy. Come to see your brat? He’s twenty-four by the way so don’t bother trying to groom him into your prime villain protege or anything. Also-”, snicker, “-he doesn’t how to read, so there’s that”.

Vlad glares, “you must be joking”. Making Danny snort, “I fucking wish actually, he doesn’t know what a cellphone is. What twenty-something doesn’t know fucking cellphones? He’s probably never seen a meme before. The horror”. Vlad rolls his eyes as he steps in, “yes, that is certainly the biggest issue with that problem. I’m sure”.

Danny gives a very cheeky, “yup”, before turning his head to shout towards the lab door, “HEY YO FLYNN! IT’S VLADDIE! GET UP AND GREET YOUR POMPOUS-PAPPIE”. Turning to look back to Vlad, who has decided to grace him with a flash of his red ‘scary eyes’. Oh how rare and bless-ed he must be today to get a glimpse of those ruby reds. Note: he was being sarcastic as fuck there, green eyes are way better anyway. So there.

Flynn steps only halfway out from the doorway, leaving half of himself hidden but making his staff absolutely fully visible and just stares at Vlad. It’s actually vaguely creepy.

Vlad stares back.

And Danny just looks rapidly back and forth between them. “Whelp, this is just a touch awkward”.

Flynn huffs and continues staring.

Danny pulls out his phone and waves it around, “these things come with a timer, you know. So I can totally just start that up and you two can make this dick measuring contest genuine”, pointing at both of them, “or we can talk like good little adults”. Flynn glances at him, “shorty”; making Vlad smirk at Danny’s expense. Danny frowns in fake offence, “hey”. But at least that gets Vlad to tug on his suit jacket to straighten it and step forward to actually greet Flynn, so hey, it’s something.

Sure Vlad’s form of ‘greeting’ is looking the half of Flynn that he can actually see over and giving a snide, “well at least you’ve got some build on you”. Which Danny rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over, “wow, way to be a dick, frootloop”. Vlad side-eyes him, “I’m still debating your demise”. Danny throws back a very apathetic and unaffected, “mmm okay”. Resulting in him having to dodge a very half-hearted swipe from the man and bounce out of Vlad's easy arm reach, “gotta be quicker on your toes, old man”, smirking, “what? that old age catchin’ up to ya?”, vaguely dancing over to Flynn and grabbing his Minotaur shawl thing, yanking him fully into the kitchen, “and get fully in here you, and face your maker”.

Flynn glares and huffs at him. Expected. Half the sounds the guy makes seem to involve either huffing or grunting. Wonderful sign of some serious lack of socialisation right there. Vlad’s rich asshole circles are going to love him so fucking much. Just like how they love Danny. Once again, note the generous helping of sarcasm he is mentally pilling on there.

Turning to look at Vlad and holding out the photo of alternate Vlad with alternate Maddie, “anyway, proof ‘cause I know you just love that stick that you’ve shoved so far up your ass you might as well be a popsicle”. Vlad leans forward, inspecting, and blinks vaguely disbelievingly. Danny rolls his eyes at the man not touching the photo, “let me guess, this has been in my pocket and is thus too dirty for you to sully your hands with?”. Vlad nods at him quickly with a smug smirk before straightening back up, “though the atrocity that I’m wearing in that deserves to be surrounded by the filth that fills your pockets”.

Flynn blinks, “yah, yer rivals. Tho figured ya’d be evenly matched”, looking to Danny -though Danny’s pretty sure this guy is trying to just play off the whole ‘meeting my dad for the first time in fourteen years and instead of being a dad the guy shit talks my half-brother’- Flynn points at Vlad while speaking at Danny, “ya could end ‘im. Don’ end my pa tho”.

Danny sputters and bends over wheezing while Vlad looks offended, “hear that vampy?!? He’s saying you’re weak!”.

Flynn instantly jumps to his defence, “‘s not that he’s weak. Ya’re jus... excessive”. Making Danny snicker, “can’t argue that”, because yeah Danny knows he’s over-fucking-powered. That’s kinda what happens when you’re the literal King of the entire Realm of the dead and all the ghosts therein. Regardless Danny keeps laughing and slaps his knee repeatedly. Which Vlad scoffs at, “get ahold of yourself, my boy”.

Danny can hear the raised eyebrow in Flynn’s voice, “‘my boy’?”. Danny looks up as Vlad huffs at Flynn, “yes I guess it would be rather rude of me to be calling Daniel that with you here”. Danny snorts, “like you care about rude, Mr. Plots Others Demise Directly In Front Of Their Faces”. Vlad waves a dismissive hand at Danny, “their intellect and worth is beneath me to care. Family has at least earned some level of attention from me. You should know that by now”.

“Still not your son”.

Flynn grunts, “an I am. Ya might be ‘ore stuck up than my ya”, then Flynn smirks and Danny has a feeling the guy is gonna say something that’ll piss Vlad off, “makes sense wit name like Plasmius”. Oh yeah, Vlad’s gonna be mad.

Vlad snaps his angry red eyes on Danny, sounding more than just slightly violently angry, “you told him”. Danny just bends over further and wheezes. Flynn pokes Vlad’s chest aggressively with the tip of his staff, “back back, no fightin’ in food room place”. Danny just wheezes more at that, “Ancients, it’s called a kitchen, man. Oh Zone”. Flynn grunts, glares, and removes his staff from Vlad’s chest to smack Danny over the head with it. “Ow”. Sure that didn’t actually hurt but it’s the point of the matter.

He can hear Flynn’s scowl, while the guy looks back to Vlad, “an ‘sides, I’d know what ya are any way”, gesturing the staff tip around Vlad’s body while Vlad quirks an eyebrow at him, clearly more curious about Flynn than pissed at Danny. “Can sense it ‘round ya an smell it on ya’s clothes. Yain’t all human. ‘Ore human than tha red one wit her suit on tho”.

Danny straightens up and brushes off his pants, snickering, “yeah he knows about Valerie too, surprise knowledge. Did you not notice his glowing green ass eyes?”. Watching Vlad squint and hum at Flynn, who just sits and lets Vlad stare at and analyse his eyes, “hmmm so you can see my ecto-field then?”. Flynn shrugs, “‘ore er less”. Danny chuckles, “you could say that that ‘bout sums it up”. Flynn looks to him and squints, “not addin’ anythin’”. Making Danny facepalm, “it’s another saying, man”. And Vlad actually has to turn to the side and sigh into his hand, it looks like the man is having a very hard time not insulting Flynn repeatedly and in ever-increasingly deeming ways; huh, guess he was willing to actually try to not be a complete and utter dick to his own son. That earns him a few points in the ‘not the definition of evil’ category.

Vlad looks back after a steadying breath, “be that as it may, I’d rather you not divulge my ghostly status to anyone. Flynn was it?”. Flynn squints, “that’s my name, ya”, looking to the side and huffing, though not letting Vlad out of his sights, “an I won’”, looking fully back to Vlad and sighing before just slowly poking the man with a finger. Both Danny and Vlad elect to merely watch and see what this previously non-existent Zone nomad will do next; Danny’s just glad his folks stayed downstairs or this entire meeting would be a bajillion times awkwarder. Danny wouldn’t be able to make such blatant jabs at Vlad, Flynn wouldn’t be able to discuss anyone’s ghostliness, Vlad wouldn’t be able to even be in the ballpark of honest.

Flynn pokes Vlad again, muttering, “yer real”. Alright, okay, the whole ‘here’s your father’ thing might have just hit the guy properly now. Vlad tilts his head ever so slightly, “indeed”; and Danny suddenly feels like he’s intruding on a very personal and private moment or something.

This is too much for Danny. Danny shoots both his arms out to the side and smacks both of the men on the back to smush them together, “ugh! Just hug already goddamnit!”. Both Vlad and Flynn sputter and cough, screwing up their faces; but they immediately separate and effectively turn their backs on each other.

“Don’ do ‘hugs’”.

“Neither do I for that matter”.

Danny practically growls, “oh for fucks sake”, and just telekinetically maneuvers them into forcibly embracing each other: which predictably and obviously gets him a pink ecto-beam straight to the face hard enough to send him crashing out the kitchen window immediately after he cuts it out. Flynn also pelts him with a rock, but that’s not exactly something that would cause Danny any notable kind of damage; though he is kinda curious where the rock came from.

At least they fucking hugged. Mission accomplished.

He can hear Vlad huff, “anyway. Now that Daniel’s finished being his insufferable self, I imagine you rather need legal documents. Since I doubt you exist in the legal system”. Flynn just huffs so Vlad continues, “right then”. Danny can’t help snickering to himself as he lies in a pile of rubble and some bushes when Vlad speaks up again actually sounding ever so slightly befuddled, “it would seem you already do”.

Flynn sounds slightly more befuddled, “what”. So Danny takes that as his queue to crawl back in through the shattered window, “oh yeah, blame Tuck. Dude probably preempted what I would have eventually asked him to do and just did it before I asked him to”, grinning smugly at the two men, “yeah my friends are awesome like that”, looking to Vlad specifically, “sure is nice to have genuine friends, eh Vladdie?”; Vlad points at him with a scowl and shoots a small ecto-beam. Danny doesn’t bother blocking or even moving and just lets himself get knocked back into the rubble/bush.

Flynn blinks, “... Red girl was ‘ight, do ya know tha word ‘dodge’ at all, shorty”. Vlad makes a sound that is almost a laugh.

“Hey”. Flynn shakes his head and Vlad smirks as Danny scramble crawls back in through the window, “I will have you know-”, grunt, “-I took that hit for comical effect”, landing on the floor with a not so graceful ‘oof’ before righting himself to be cross-legged and looking up at the two men, “and if anything is gonna get me hurt then it better be my terrible sense of comedy”.

Vlad rolls his eyes, “at least you know it’s terrible and unpleasant”. Danny points at him, “my name’s a literal pun, of course it’s terrible. Not unpleasant though. Also-”, holding up a finger and grabbing out his phone to quickly scroll through it, “-and yup! Tuck hacked the gov! Man my main man really should scare the government more or at least enough for them to properly put him on a watch list or two, geez”.

Flynn blinks, “ya lost me”, while Danny pockets his phone. Vlad also blinks. Okay wow there are similarities here and it’s kinda freaking Danny just a tiny bit, it’s creepy alright. Vlad shakes his head at Danny, “you can let your tech boy know that for once he has impressed me”. Danny grins slightly manically, whips out his phone, goes to the voice memos app, and holds it up ready to record, “care to repeat that?”, grin never faltering. Vlad sighs into his hand, sounding truly and exaggeratedly pained, “Tucker, you have impressed me”. Danny cheers, “yes!”, quietly to himself while double fist-pumping.

Flynn shakes his head and mutters, “ghosts”. Probably deciding that this behaviour is very befitting of ghosts, which yeah is probably true. Least Flynn just seems amused by it rather than annoyed like Danny’s folks would be. Vlad seems to agree as he sighs and side-eyes Flynn, “at least you seem unbothered by our more... ghostly behaviours, most humans get put-off just enough to make them rather unsuitable for any kind of close relations”.

That gets Danny to inhumanly quickly jump to his feet, startling Flynn enough to get that staff pointed at him as he near shouts excitedly, “did you just admit you can’t make friends!”, pointing animatedly at Vlad, “I’ve spotted character development!”. Vlad just glares at him, which is fair, while Flynn relaxes his stance. Danny sticks his hands back in his pockets and relaxes against the countertop, “anyway, since you’ve apparently given Flynn here your fatherly approval -congrats on the kid by the way, what should I bring to the baby shower?- you gonna stick him as your heir instead me now. Pretty please?”, and gives an overly innocent smile.

Vlad sighs, “I’m going to murder you”, and shakes his head, “you’re the High King, of course not, I’ve certainly got to keep you in my relations somehow”, grinning smugly, “I can certainly have two heirs. I don’t see why not. Try as I might, you know how I am quite a greedy man”. Danny snorts because that’s bullshit, Vlad absolutely doesn’t try to not be greedy; but well... when possession is your Obsession... Danny chuckles, “and try as I might, I just can’t keep that hero complex down. Guess I’ve just gotta keep an eye on your dealings with Flynn here, huh old man?”. After all, when protection is your Obsession...

Flynn promptly smacks both of them with his staff, “Obsession posturin’”. Danny rubs his head and grumbles incoherently. Vlad acts like nothing happened, instead insulting Danny’s behaviour, “well don’t you sound kingly”. Danny flips him off. Vlad looks to Flynn, ignoring Danny entirely, “regardless, you’ll definitely be my heir too. Whether you want to be or not”.

Danny snorts, “I don’t think you need to threaten the guy to be your son, vampy, geez. Would it kill ya to be nice?”. Vlad grins, “yes”; which Danny rolls his eyes at. Flynn huffs and shakes his head, “heir’s some money thing, he’s my pa not money loan”. Danny blinks, surprised the guy knows what a money loan even is. Chuckling, “eh heir’s kinda the best you get from old Vladdie here”, and jabs a thumb at Vlad.

Vlad scowls, “that is because you keep snubbing me and refusing to renounce your fool of a father, Daniel”, side-eyeing Flynn, “Flynn doesn’t seem to have that particular issue”, and then gives Flynn a truly stiff and awkward head pat. Flynn looks like he’s judging him heavily for that, “I’m stayin’ ‘ere. I don’ trust ya”. Danny coughs and laughs while Vlad jerks and looks like he just got stabbed clear through the heart and Core. Ouch Vladdie, looks like someone got snubbed again. Tough luck, try not being evil next time. Or maybe it was the awkward head pat that did it?

All three flinch or jump at Jack’s sudden excited, “yes!”, while popping out from the lab doorway, practically shoving Vlad out of the kitchen, and very quickly side-hugging Flynn who very obviously stiffens and shrinks away from the contact. Oh shit, how long have his folks been there?!? Fuck. His mom also giggles from the doorway and walks in giving Flynn a sweet smile while pulling Jack off him, “as we said, there’s definitely room for you here”. Flynn just nods slightly while slowly relaxing as Maddie pushes Jack out of the room to go clean the spare room upstairs with her. Danny, meanwhile, is busy side-eyeing Vlad as the man borderline flat-out snarls at Jack’s receding form.

Flynn stares at Vlad himself, muttering lowly at Danny, “he hates ‘im. He really really hates ‘im”. Danny sighs and watches the deep violent hatred shining in Vlad’s eyes, “yeah, yeah he really does”, frowning and probably sounding sadder than he really means to, “I wish that wasn’t how things were. Everything would be a lot different”; because really? If Vlad didn’t despise his father, the two only natural halfas in existence would probably get along. Maybe be genuine family or healthy rivals even. Instead of the weird toxic degrading bantering archenemy thing they’ve got going on and have been actively -and mutually, if he’s being honest with himself- fuelling. Maybe, maybe, that mentor/apprentice situation, that Vlad dreamed of and Danny had needed, could have became reality; but that ship has long since past. In Danny’s more introspective and thoughtful moments, he mourned that fact. Part of him hoped Vlad acknowledged and mourned that fact too, instead of just feeling bitter and ripped off. Maybe. Hopefully.

Flynn frowns at him, “yer ghosts an yer humans. Act like it”. Danny blinks at him, “uh, I don’t think you exactly know how humans act. No offence”. Flynn huffs at him, “am one, know ‘nough”.

“Uh, I’m not gonna agree with you on that one”, glaring slightly and whispering, “also, sssshhhh about the ghost shit, man”. Flynn rolls his eyes and promptly catches Danny off-guard, “an I’m keepin’ tha Masters name”. Danny chokes slightly, well damn; Vlad’s gonna get an ego boost from that.

Vlad, having of course heard -damn you ghost ears- snaps his head around and grins triumphantly at Danny then approvingly at Flynn. “Flynn Masters”, grinning smugly at Danny again, “might just have a better ring than Daniel Masters”.

Danny snorts and rolls his eyes, “if you’re trying to make me jealous it ain’t gonna work”, snickering, “but FM, like FM radio”. Now Danny’s wearing the smug look while Vlad glares at him. Danny finger guns at Vlad as he starts walking towards the steps, “now how about I let the Masters caspers not have to be actors due to me being one of the present factors while y’all deal with your family matters”, saluting, “so seeya later gangsters”. Vlad’s left eye twitches, “I will murder you, boy”.

Flynn blinks and looks to Vlad, “he always like this?”. Vlad sighs and nods, “unfortunately”, shaking his head, “he certainly has a taste for puns and word games, I think it’s born from some form of a sadistic side”. Flynn huffs, “dramatic”, huffing again, “an I need a drink aftar all yer ghostin’, pa”, and uncaps his liquor bottle for a swig. Earning raised eyebrows from Vlad and the same lean over sniff that Danny did, “ahh, you’re a fan of alcohol”.

“Make mine own”.

Vlad nods approvingly, “I've dabbled in the art of wine making myself in my spare time”. Flynn offers his drink earning him a quirked eyebrow from Vlad, who of course tries some. Leaving him humming to himself and tapping his chin, “you’ve been at this for a while. You might be a son of mine yet”.

Flynn huffs, “‘ere I thought we ‘ready established that. Yer my pa. Pas that”. They were, in fact, already past that. Vlad just rolls his eyes but pulls a flask out of his pocket and offers it to the guy, “here. Since you’re a Masters, you drink whiskey like a Masters”. And Flynn talking a swig from that is what Danny walks back downstairs to, “so what y’all talking about?”.

Vlad turns to him, “just how you were going to apologise for your years of abuse to me all in the name of brotherly love”.

“That doesn’t sound like me at all”. Danny then blinks at them, with Flynn lowering the flask and shrugging at. Danny throws a slight glare at Vlad, “really? I leave for what? ten minutes? and you start boozing the guy up? Really?”, muttering more so to himself, “I mean sure, Flynn started drinking after ten minutes, or whatever, of meeting me. But still”. Vlad smirks some, “yes, being around you for any prolonged period of time could drive anyone to drink. Why, the first thing I did after meeting you was drink”.

“That’s because dad assaulted your prized football, you going senile on me?”.

Flynn glares at Danny and takes another swig of the whiskey flask, which Vlad looks oddly triumphant over; especially considering Danny just insulted him. Flynn shrugs again and side-eyes Vlad, “eh, mine’s bettar”. Vlad waves him off, “you just don’t have a taste for it yet”, tapping his chin, “though yes, yours is quite good”.

Danny blinks, “did the Vlad Masters just genuinely compliment someone without it being backhanded or a thinly veiled threat? Shocked! Betrayed! Dismayed! The horror!”, tilting his head, wait a fucking minute, “wait, did you drink Flynn’s stuff? You know that’s ectoplasm in there, right?”. Flynn grunts, “well he does now”. Vlad blinks and Danny is detecting just a hint of shock there; Vlad is also clearly eyeing Flynn’s liquor hip bottle with a fair bit more appreciation now. Flynn making a disgusted face kinda cuts off Vlad’s appreciation though and Danny feels like he’s getting a flashback to that time Tucker had to eat all those blood blossoms. “Are you gonna throw up?”.

Vlad scowls, crosses his arms, and sticks his nose up in the air, “of course not, a Masters can handle his liquor”. Danny rolls his eyes while telekinetically moving a trashcan over to Flynn, “I don’t think that’s the problem here”.

Both of them look down as Flynn just kinda sits on the floor, puts his staff to the side, and throws up; at least he aims into the bucket instead of onto the floor. “Congrats Vlad, I think you just poisoned him”. Danny furrows his eyebrows a bit though when Vlad actually holds his hands out, bends down, and pats the guy on the back. Okay... guess Vlad’s being decent... Danny doesn’t actually know what to do with that. Ah the fact that he doesn’t know what to do with Vlad acting like a decent human being is probably actually concerning, come to think of it. So Danny does the logical thing and slaps himself across the face.

Vlad gives Flynn a not awkward head pat this time, “there there, just get it out of your system”, he hums, “I am rather surprised though, two sips isn’t exactly much”.

Danny sighs and taps his chin, “well when you consider the fact that he’s lived off nothing but ectoplasmic fauna and flora, makes sense that his body would kinda have forgotten how to fucking digest human food you stupid nutcase. Geez, for a guy who plays chess you’re not very smart”. Vlad looks back to him and glares slightly, “I’m surprised you know that. Did you actually pay attention in health class for once?“. Danny rolls his eyes at that particular jab, “one of my friends only eats plants and one only eats meat, what do you think happens every time some bull crap happens where they have to break their diets?”.

Regardless Danny sighs some and bends down next to Vlad and Flynn, joining Vlad in the back-patting/rubbing. Snickering at the guy some though because people taking you too seriously or being all nice ‘n shit when you’re throwing your guts up was more embarrassing than helpful, “maybe don’t eat or drink shit without ecto in it, yeah?”.

Flynn grunts, expected, “ßhût üp, ßhørtŷ”. Making Danny and Vlad blink, Vlad grins like an idiot while Danny chuckles, “huh, guess you speak ghost. Though talk about a thick accent there, Ancients”. Vlad shoves Danny head, which Danny let’s knock him over on the ground, “it’s͢ ͘q͟u͘i͜te͞ ͞a̕ ̧useful ̡sk̛i̡l̡l͜,̡ ͜why I̕ thi͡nk he̕’s m͏o͠re f͏l̴u̸e̵nt͠ tha͏n҉ ͜yo̶u, Dan̕i̵eļ”. Danny stays laying on the ground, “I’m̕ ̸a̡ na͏t͠iv̵e spea̡k̷ȩr, so̧ ̛I̕ ͠don̕’̡t͞ ̡th̶ink̷ so”.

Flynn leans back, pushes away the bucket, and puts his arms on his knees, “ÿæ ßtåŷįñ’ thërë¿“. Danny nods with a grin from the floor and gives a thumbs up, earning a head shake from Flynn.

All three snap their heads to the kitchen entranceway as feet pound down the steps and Maddie and Jack come barging in, everyone then looking to the lab door as Jazz pushes it open while dusting off her pants and grumbling, “I so do not envy Danny having to clean that all the time”, pausing and looking up around everyone before zeroing in on three people sitting/laying on the floor, “Flynn! Danny! What happened!”, and runs over while glaring at and obviously blaming Vlad, who stands and readjusts his suit like he’s embarrassed to be caught caring. Well get caught by anyone other than Danny anyway; which makes sense ‘cause Vlad would probably be all caring about Danny if Danny wasn’t, you know, not evil.

Danny rolls over onto his back, looking at Jazz, “guess who can’t stomach human stuff?”, and jabs a thumb towards Flynn while Maddie rushes over and helps Flynn stand. Well okay, Flynn mostly waves off said help and stands up on his own, but still; Flynn also promptly grabs up his staff again. That staff’s probably some kind of comfort item for the guy.

Jack laughs as he comes to stand next to Vlad, “guess we’ll be cooking with a lot more ecto!”. Danny can practically feel malicious intent wafting of Vlad. Flynn grunting, “I’m ‘ine”. Which Maddie looks at him sweetly over and Jazz shakes her head at, “well let’s move into the living room anyway. Then you-”, glaring at Flynn, “-can sit down, and we can all hear what happened to you”. Vlad nods and hums, “yes I would like to know how I acquired a son from another timeline that’s been living nomadically in the Ghost Zone”.

Jack laughs as they all walk into the living room, “yup! Most we know is that some darn ghosty called Misery Vex took you at some point!”. Maddie and Jazz watching Flynn with slight worry as they walk. Danny just eyes Vlad to see if Vlad shows even the slightest amount of recognition regarding this ‘Misery Vex’, he doesn’t -fuck Danny’s luck- but Danny can’t exactly expect the man to know of every ghost ever. Regardless Danny skips over, puts his hands behind his back and sticks his face next to Vlad’s, “guessin’ you don’t know who that is either?”. Vlad scowls, “‘fraid not, but when I find them, and I will, I’m going to make them beg me to end them and then I’m going to find out how good ghost skin is at reupholstering my dining room chairs”.

Danny blinks, “I forgot there was a reason you and Skulker got along. Also, I doubt you have the skill set to be skinning anyone. Also also, I’m amazed you care that much”, and smirks.

“Must you mock me so, boy”.

Danny grins, “well.., how would you like me to mock you? I’ll hear your requests”, shrugging, “sure I might ignore them, but I’ll certainly hear them”. And finally flops to sit down on the love seat, Vlad sitting next to him with scowl. Jazz opts to sit with Maddie and Jack on the couch, while Flynn takes the chair; got to give the loner nomad his personal space after all.

Flynn huffs, “yeah, Vex’s is tha one that pulled me in ta tha Infinite Realm”. Jack doesn’t give him a chance to say more, tilting his head, “is that what ghosts call the Ghost Zone?!?”. Danny and Vlad both quietly sigh into their hands. Flynn squints at the large man, “ya nevar asked ‘em?”.; at least Maddie and Jack have the decency to look sheepish. Flynn squints more, “it’s what it’s called. Propar name”. Danny chuckles and waves Flynn off, “eh, then Zone can be slang”, ‘Zone’ was in fact common slang. Flynn rolls his eyes.

Vlad sighs quietly again, “linguistics aside, was there a reason Vex took you? And I’m just to assume you’re in this timeline purely due to your old one ceasing to exist”. Which Danny mutters, “duh”, at. Everyone ignores him as Flynn shrugs, “don’ know, like I’ve said ‘ready, ain’t stickin’ ‘round half spider creature-”. Danny’s wondering if the guy’s getting tired of explaining that. “-bark armour wasn’ friendly lookin’ eithar”.

Danny eyes Flynn’s bark armour, “guess yours doesn’t make you look all that approachable either”. With Maddie jumping in, “did you get that idea from It?”. Making Flynn blink at her before looking to Danny, “I did say Vex’s a lady, ‘ight?”. Danny nods but Jazz is the one to audibly sigh, drawing Flynn’s attention as she talks, “yes but-”, side-eyeing her parents, “-ghosts don’t get pronouns”.

Maddie rolls her eyes not unkindly, “now honey, we’ve talked about this, ghosts aren’t sentient or complex enough to understand gender and we don’t call plants ‘he’ or ‘she’-”. Danny coughs into his hand, “Sam does, you know”; which goes ignored. Maddie continuing, “-so why would we do so for ghosts? It would be like assigning gender to lightning”. Danny sighs internally, and he bets both Jazz and Vlad do as-well.

Flynn just stares at her for a while before blinking, “moron-”. Danny has the distinct feeling his folks are going to be hearing Flynn calling them ‘morons’ an awful lot. “-they have preferances. Blobs are no gendar, not tha Cored”. Vlad sighs dramatically, “what does gender have to do with my son's abduction”. Danny chuckles to himself faintly, guess Vladdie really grabbed onto the whole ‘I have a son’ thing with absolute confidence. Made sense. Ancients if Danny accepted him then the man probably wouldn’t stop using the word ‘son’ at every possible opportunity for a solid month.

Jack laughs almost awkwardly and scratches his head, “nothing! I guess”. Vlad scowls at him.

Flynn clears his throat, “well she-”. Nice passive-aggressiveness going on there. “-couldn’ ‘xactly follow me aftar I slippin’ inta some rock crag”, grunting, “ghost can’ go through rocks ‘n what not there”. Jack looks like he’s physically restraining himself from peppering Flynn with questions about that. Danny thinks this should be obvious though, since ghosts not being able to phase through ectoplasmic constructs/formations is literally how ghost shields worked. Like, duh.

Vlad just nods with a hum, “so you’ve been on your own since?”; which Flynn nods at. Maddie huffs, “I’m amazed the ghost didn’t chase you down”; Flynn shrugs, clearly not about to claim to understand why himself. Which yeah, abducting a kid through a portal seemed like a lot of effort to put in to just turn around and let the human run away; probably thought that this random human child wouldn’t be able to effectively avoid capture or survive on his own. Well surprise mother fucker! Flynn’s a Fenton -well a Masters too but whatever- being able to handle ghost shit is in his genes.

Danny decides to ask something that’s actually mildly important for him to know, “so bark armour and the lower half of a spider, anything else?”. His mom quirks an eyebrow at him so Danny elaborates/makes up an excuse, “wouldn’t it be good to know what a ghost that may come after him looks like?”. Earning an approving hum from her. Danny’s more interested in Vlad muttering to himself, “an Arachne then”; sweet, he’s got a species now.

Flynn grunts, “purpal skin, lotsa black eyes, bare bark crown-”. Danny almost chokes at that and he’s sure Vlad at least went slightly wide-eyed, because crown implied royalty. Which just great, that meant Danny was going to have to deal with whoever all kingly and shit. “-an clothes were shinebettle, I think-”. So basically shiny latex leather? Alright, that’s a look. “-an wendigo mane pelt ovar spidar half-”. Well that all but confirms Danny’s suspicions that Vex is from or at least frequents the FairLands. The only wendigo’s that didn’t just turn to ectoplasmic ash when destroyed were the faebeast ones. Hooray for having to probably go see Oberon. “-She had a fauchard ta”. Danny nods to himself.

Jack taps his chin, “that still doesn’t explain why though”, earning shrugs all around. Jack grinning, “we should hunt Vex down and find out!”. Which Vlad actually grins at, “yes, you go do that”. Danny kicking the man subtly and whispering, “Vlad no. Bad”, he knows the only reasons Vlad’s encouraging that is ‘cause his folks might torture the ghost and because the ghost might harm/kill Jack.

Maddie shakes her head and chastises Jack, “you’ll be doing no such thing, we don’t know the Zone is actually safe”, glancing at Flynn, “regardless of Flynn’s survival. Flukes happen”. Danny thinks it would make way more sense to guess it's safer than they thought than to just assume Flynn got lucky. But hey! At least he doesn’t have to worry as much that his folks are just going to run wild in the Zone anytime soon.

Vlad rolls his eyes though speaks somewhat sweetly, “dear Maddie, always being the voice of reason”. Maddie grimaces, and Flynn glances between them with a slight frown. Vlad digs in his pocket when his ringer goes off though. Speaking up after reading the screen, “seems some of the underlings are too moronic to deal with some problem alone”, looking up to everyone, “so I must be taking my leave now”, and stands up.

Jack jumping up, “well we can finish up Flynn’s room and he can join us after you’ve said your goodbyes! Wouldn’t want to interrupt that!”, and laughs. Maddie smiling sweetly and following him once again upstairs. Jazz sighs and moves to follow them, “I’ll make sure they didn’t get carried away”; while Danny just stretches and lounges out across the loveseat. Watching Vlad talk down at the still seated Flynn.

“I guess I’ll have to leave dealing with this Misery Vex in your and young Daniel’s hands. I don’t particularly have time to deal with petty ghost squabbles”, side-eyeing Danny, “he’s quite experienced with those though, so I doubt he’ll fail to be an effective meat-shield if needed”.

Flynn rolls his eyes, “I don’ care ta ‘deal with’ her at all. ‘Ine as is”. While Danny snorts at Vlad, “Ancients, you’re such a fucking pissant”.

Earning squinting from Vlad, “I’m the mayor and one of the richest people in the world”, huffing, “and I’m nothing to scoff at power-wise”.

“You are staying that... to the literal king... of death”. Danny smirks, “I’m fucking lucifer, bitch”. Vlad and Flynn blink and stare at him. Danny rubs his neck, “eh, too much?”. They both nod slightly. And there the similarities go being creepy again. Vlad shakes his head slowly, looking back to Flynn, “ignoring that, you can contact me for anything. Particularly if you decide being here isn’t worth the effort or annoyance”, and pats Flynn’s head, “you’ll want for nothing regardless”, making shooing motions at him, “now run along and help your mother and sister stop that imbecile from installing an anti-ghost auto-detection machine gun on your ceiling or some other nonsense”. Danny vaguely hates that his dad might actually do that. Though he’s surprised that Flynn actually does as he’s told with only a mild amount of suspicious squinting. Maybe he’s tired of Vlad’s existence? Doubtful but Danny can hope. Probably more likely the guy just wanted to get closer to being able to have some alone time, and room set up was an effective way to do that.

Danny waits till Flynn disappears upstairs to speak up, “hey Vlad?”. Vlad doesn’t even look back at him, instead just staring up the stairs, “hmmm?”.

“Don’t fuck this up. You know, like you always do”. Danny glares seriously at Vlad as he goes to stand up and Vlad actually looks to him with a quirked eyebrow, “but if you ever hurt him you won’t need to wonder where your god is anymore, because he’s coming for you and he’ll be fresh outta mercy”, squinting, “all these fucks will have flown off, never to return again. And you will be left crippled, withered, dried up and crapped on. At the bottom of a shitty little well where people will throw out their rotten fruit down on you and the remnants of your shitty little life”, glaring more, “we clear”. Vlad nods a bit stiffly; after all, when the king orders something or warns you, you fucking listen. Danny decides to really hammer it home though, “the fucking heat death of the universe will not be able to even approach the level of damage that the amount of fucks I will no longer give will cause you. What I’m saying is, I wouldn’t mind tearing out a length of your intestines, rolling it in a pan, sprinkling on some nice cinnamon and maybe some raisins. You know, for texture and a little added surprise. Then sliding it right into the oven for a nice little cinnamon bun”, chuckling meanly, “there’s even some icing pre-made in the fridge. So I’m all ready to go, bitch. Then I could use your hollowed-out torso to ride you like a meat toboggan. I’m sure your fucking intestines could be utilised as perfectly fine ropes to control my descent down the bloody snow-covered hill all the way into the depths of madness that you were birthed from years ago”.

“Daniel... you’ve made your point”, Vlad actually sounds slightly disturbed. Danny rolls his eyes and puts his hand in his pockets, “yeah well, so long as you don’t go making god sacrificing his only son look like a good parenting technique”.

“I... won’t”.

Danny pats Vlad on the arm, “good talk then”, and finger guns before heading upstairs, “and I’m still not your fam, frootloop”. Vlad just scowls at him and leaves, closing the door slightly louder than necessary. Return to normalcy achieved.

[duhragonball]

Hellsing Ch. 70-76

I guess anything I say here is a spoiler, so yeah, this is “Heart of Dreams”, “Relics”, “Heart of Iron”, and the arc “Finest Hour”.  Oh, and “Lunatic Dawn”.   Gotta lotta ground to cover.    Treacherous ground.

Not a whole lot to say about Anderson’s death.  He tried to become a monster using one of the Holy Nails from the True Cross, and then Alucard defeated him anyway, once Seras gave him a little help and a reason to go on living.   Alucard was pretty upset about Anderson’s demise, but Anderson says a few soothing words, and reminds him that Al only became a vampire because he couldn’t stand being a human, so it doesn’t make a lot of sense for him to cry now.  

So yeah, as determined as Anderson was to kill Alucard, he’s a pretty good sport about losing this fight, and he seems to genuinely pity the man.   He wonders how long Alucard will go on living with his regrets, and Al replies “Until my expansive future shatters my expansive past.”  So, if we want to take that literally, I guess he’s trying to find redemption by being a good guy to make up for his years as a bad guy.   Well, he’s been a vampire for 523 years, and a servant of Hellsing for 101 of those years, so I guess maybe he figures if he trucks along for another 321 years that’d balance the scales?  

And maybe I’m finally starting to appreciate some of the complexities of Alucard’s character.   The Team Four Star Abridged series spent some time on his desire for redemption, but I couldn’t tell if it was based on the original material or something they came up with for their own version.   For instance, the Abridged!Alucard rejected the forgiveness offered by God himself, but later Anderson spoke of his desire for redemption and Alucard didn’t dispute that.    It seemed contradictory to me at the time, but the manga does seem to support that.    As Vlad Tepes, he refused to ask God for anything, preferring instead to fight and drive himself and his followers to the limits of endurance and decency as proof of their faith.   

I find that idea heretical, because it suggests that a person can “earn” God’s favor, or God’s forgiveness, or a place in heaven.    Arguably, Anderson tried to do the same thing, but I think he was coming more from a place of doing zealous deeds out of gratitude for the Lord’s grace, rather than trying to earn anything he didn’t already have.  

The difference with Alucard is that he seemed to be really wrongheaded about his faith, trying to use violence to become a good person.   Then it didn’t work, and he became a vampire, devoted entirely to his own selfish desires, and I guess he’s spent the 20th Century realizing that he’s back where he started, trying to fight his way to redemption, only now he has centuries of red in his ledger instead of mere decades.   

Oh, anyway, while this is going on, Integra takes a sword and stands it upright so it looks like a cross to mark Anderson’s death.   It’s like this quiet sign of respect.   I’m not sure whose sword that is, but it looks like the one Alucard was using in his Dracula persona.   

Anyway, fuck all that, because Walter finally shows up and stomps the ashes of Anderson just as everyone was having their final farewell with the guy.  Rude.

Young Walter just looks kind of stupid to me.  Why is he still wearing the monocle?  He’s trying to be 14 and 69 at the same time and failing at both.

Seras asks what Millennium did to him, but Walter makes it clear that this isn’t some brainwashing trope.   He’s doing this of his own free will.

He also doesn’t consider himself loyal to Millennium.    They turned him into a vampire, but he’s doing this for himself, and he’s only cooperating with them because their goals are in alignment.  

Yumiko Takagi tries to kill Walter for... Was she mad at him for stomping on Anderson’s remains?    I mean, Alucard’s the one who actually killed Anderson, so shouldn’t she be mad at that guy? 

It doesn’t matter, because Walt just slices her into pieces with his magic filaments.    Now Heinkel Wolfe wants revenge, because she was her long-time partner in assassin stuff.   The TFS Abridged series implied that they were lovers, too, which seemed authentic at the time, but I’m not sure there’s any confirmation to be found in the manga itself. 

But before she can take the shot, the Captain shows up and shoots Heinkel in the face.    Like, through one cheek  and out the other, and the only thing saving her from serious injury was that she happened to have her mouth open at the time.  

Side note: I caught myself referring to Heinkel as “him”, which frustrates me because I’ve known she was a woman for like five years now.    When I first watched the OVA, I was confused, becuase I could tell it was a female voice actor, but maybe that just meant he was really young, like with Schrodinger.   But the Hellsing Wiki set me straight, or so I thought.    I didn’t think I’d still be making this mistake. 

On the other hand, Yumiko sometimes looks a lot like Goemon from Lupin III, so her wearing a nun’s habit isn’t as heteronormative as it might seem.  I’m getting off-track.

You’d think this would be leading up to some big double-team on the Hellsing group, now that the Iscariots are out of the picture, but the Captain’s only stopping Heinkel so Walter can have a clear shot at Alucard.    That’s the sole reason Walter turned traitor, you see.   He wants to fight Alucard and win, and for the last 55 years they’ve been on the same side.  

But is that all it is?   I never got to read or watch “Hellsing: The Dawn”, the prequel manga Kouta Hirano created after Hellsing.  I’ve heard that it never got finished, but also an anime adaptation was released with the home video release of Hellsing Ultimate Episode VIII.  All I really know about it was that there was this time where Alucard and Walter were fighting the Nazis, and the Captain showed up, and Alucard ran away because he didn’t think he could beat that dude. Presumably, he left Walter to fend for himself?   But all three of them survived until 1999, so I’m not sure what the outcome of that was.   I always wondered if Walter held a grudge over that.   But maybe I’m reaching. 

There’s also a suggestion of professional jealousy.  Walter was a rockstar vampire hunter in his youth, but he’s been overshadowed by Alucard, who is--let’s face it-- a living legend.  This would be doubly true in the 90′s, when Integra reawakened Alucard, and Walter having to step back even further from the spotlight.  The only way for him to reclaim his former glory would be to challenge the greatest of all vampires and win.    He’d go down in history as a traitor, but at least he’d be cemented as the absolute best.  

Or... or, you can go with the TFS version, where Walter hints at his motives, only for Alucard to take the wind out of his sails and announce “because you wanna fuck me!”   And I love that theory more than any other explanation, because it just brings everything together a lot more neatly.   I guess you don’t need Walter to have had a crush on Alucard for 55 years, but it’s a lot more compelling than revenge or professional jealousy.    Those things have weight, sure, but they work better as distractions, the things Walter might admit to because they hide the deeper reason that he can’t bring himself to say out loud.   

And it’s not entirely rejected by the manga.  Alucard remarks on how much more beautiful Walter looked in his old age, compared to this treasonous knockoff vampire look he’s sporting now.   The last time he spoke this way, it was when he flirted with Queen Elizabeth II.   The next time he does it, it’ll be with Sir Integra when she’s in her early 50′s.

Speaking of QE2, she’s safe and sound, because the Secret Service evacuated her to a fortified location in Dover before Millennium attacked.   If things get really hairy, they’re prepared to send her to Canada, and if London can’t be secured, they’ll nuke the whole city, though the Queen is certain that Integra and Alucard will win the day.  The vampires acting as Millennium agents outside of London are being contained and destroyed, so things seem to be getting under some semblance of control.  

However, the Royal Order of Protestant Knights, also known as the “Round Table” is down to just three surviving members.   Integra’s in London, but here we have Rob Walsh and Hugh Irons, reflecting on the death of their fellow Round Tabler, Penwood.  

This whole scene struck me as a complete non sequitur when I first saw it in the anime.  Walter’s betrayal seemed to sudden and poorly explained that it felt like the author was just winging it by this point, and now we have these two dudes struggling to provide some justification for the twist.    But reading this manga in 2021, I find that it makes a lot more sense.    We’ve already seen tons of Britons in rather lofty positions, all willing to sell out their principles for a chance to become a vampire.   Walter is no different from any of them.   It’s just more personal when he does it because we actually know the guy.  

But as Walsh discusses the utter debacle of this Millennium invasion, he deduces what we’ve just learned back in London.   There must have been a traitor in their ranks, because that’s the only way Millennium could have made it this far.   I mean, they just flew a bunch of giant blimps full of rockets right into British airspace.   That only worked because they had traitors sabotaging the U.K.’s defenses and communications, and Hellsing was especially vulnerable at the same time.  

The only thing Walsh can’t figure out is who the traitor was, since it had to be someone at the Round Table, but they’re all dead now, except for Integra, Irons, and himself. 

But Irons fills in the missing pieces.   It doesn’t have to have been one of the Round Table’s members, but someone close to one of the members.   Years ago, Irons warned Walter about Richard Hellsing.   Irons knew that when Arthur died, Richard would try to make a play for the Hellsing estate.   But when Irons’ fears came to pass, Walter wasn’t there.   It’s like he wanted things to play out the way they did.  

But why would Walter want events to play out that way?   On her own, Integra had no choice but to unseal Alucard to defend herself, and she’s kept Alucard active ever since.   And now, lo and behold, Walter reveals that he turned traitor just so he could take on Alucard.   It’s like he arranged for all of this to happen years in advance.   But how many years?    Fifty-five, Irons wonders.   

It’s never explicitly confirmed, but Irons’ reasoning makes too much sense to ignore.    Earlier, the Major said that he decided back in ‘44 that Walter “Angel of Death” Dornez would have been a good “get” for his side.    Now, Irons is suggesting that Walter might have agreed in the same year.   So maybe Walter and the Major made a secret agreement even then.   It’s possible that they might have done it later, but why not in 1944?

I mean, the whole backstory here is that Millennium is a continuation of a secret Nazi Vampire project that Walter and Alucard destroyed in 1944.   Except they didn’t destroy it at all, which sure makes Walter and Al seem very bad at their jobs, unless Walter let them escape and covered it up.

Meanwhile, the Captain tosses a first aid kit to Heinkel, kind of like he’s saying that he doesn’t want to kill Heinkel, but he can’t let her interfere either.   We’ll talk about the Captain later.

As for Alucard vs. Walter, Al wants to check with Integra before he goes through with it.   He asks for orders, repeating his big speech from when he killed all those cops in Brazil.    Yeah, Walter’s a traitor, but he’s been a close mentor and advisor to Integra for all these years.   Does she really want Alucard to killerize his ass?

Yes, she does.   If Walter stands against them, then he’s the enemy, and Integra has already ordered Alucard to destroy the enemy, no matter who (snif!) they may be.  Integra doesn’t relish this command, but she refuses to compromise over sentimental feelings.

Man, fuck you, Walter.  

Then the Major lands his airship near the battlefield and invites Integra to come aboard and fight all of his remaining guys.    Alucard orders Seras to join her while he deals with Walter.   I can appreciate Seras’ concern here, because the last time she watched Alucard fight alone, he took a flaming bayonet to the face.   She probably doesn’t care for Integra and Alucard splitting up like this.

Before she goes, she thanks Walter for all of his support, which disarms Walter for just a moment.   Man, fuck you, Walter.   Seras is so nice and grateful and polite and cool and you just go right ahead with your 55-years-in-the-making Nazi Vampire Jilted Lover scheme.  Fuck you, Walter.   You don’t deserve to be in Seras’ life.

So the gals go on board the airship and Schrodinger’s there and Integra just shoots him right between the eyes without bothering to slow down.    This is maybe my favorite Integra moment in this thing.    I sort of wish Kouta Hirano had done a spin-off of Integra and Seras doing cool shit like this for 30 years.

Alucard taunts Walter with the fact that he no longer gets to be a part of Inegra or Seras’ lives anymore.   It sounds kind of petty, but when you think about it, it’s a pretty sick burn.    Walter may have been planning this for 55 years, but he still had to live that double life, and it’s not like he can just say he was faking it the entire time.  

So they fight.   Walter’s magic wire powers seem to be amplified, either because of his restored youth or maybe the boost offered by vampire powers, or maybe he’s always been this strong but now he no longer needs to hold back anymore.  For instance, he can make mesh screens with his wires to deflect Alucard’s bullets.   And when Alucard summons that dog creature he used to dispatch Luke Valentine....

... Walter just bisects it with a flick of the wrist.   You really begin to see why he was “The Angel of Death” back in his heyday.  

I never understood what this dog familiar was supposed to be.   Walter refers to the Hound of the Baskervilles, but as far as I know that’s just a legend confined to the Sherlock Holmes novel of the same name.   But apparently that concept was based upon “black dog” folklore of the same region.  There’s a whole laundry list of “black dog” apparitions in Britain alone.   Black Shuck, Padfoot, Hairy Jack, Bizarro Snoopy, and so on.   So I’m not sure if Hirano is saying that Alucard was the source of these legends, or if they were all based on a single creature which Alucard eventually defeated and absorbed into himself.   

Al tries to use the Jackal to kill Walter, but that’s kind of stupid, since Walter designed the gun in the first place.   In the anime, I thought Walter somehow triggered a bomb he had planted inside it, but maybe he used his wires to make this happen.   It doesn’t really matter, because we already saw that the Casull was useless against Walter’s defenses, and not because it had smaller ammunition.  

Then Luke Valentine emerges from the black dog’s body.   This part never made any sense to me, but I loved how the Major recognized him, but barely.  “Oh yeah, it’s that guy from Volume 2!    The guy with the brother.”

The doctor suggests that when the dog was killed, this allowed Luke to reassert himself from inside the dog.   Something about a “control ratio”, whatever that is.  Like, he was absorbed into the dog’s mass, but now that the dog is no longer conscious, he can think for himself again.    Notably, only half of Luke actually makes it out .   It’s like he’s half-Luke, half dead dog monster. 

But before he can do anything else, Walter puts his wires into Luke and starts controlling him like a puppet, mostly so he can use the dog half to attack Alucard.

Alucard seems more impressed than threatened.   Keep in mind, Walter was doing pretty damn well against him early on.   You’ll notice Alucard’s missing his right arm along with one of his guns.   This is better than Anderson managed to do.   So why does Walter even need this Luke-dog puppet thing in the first place?

Well, it’s because Walter’s body is giving out on him.   Earlier, when the Doctor was performing the procedure to turn Walter into a vampire, he spoke about how rushed the operation was.  I mean, he had to finish the whole thing in one night, after all.   And Walter’s a lot more powerful than Dandyman, whom the Doctor considered his finest artificial vampire work.    So maybe Walter’s just too powerful for this, and he can’t sustain this form.   The Luke-dog-thing is just to keep Alucard busy while he coughs up blood.

The Major sees this development, and likens Walter to a high stakes gambler who’s mortgaged everything for a single hand at a high stakes table.   Walter’s risked everything just to tangle with Alucard, and it still isn’t enough.

Alucard does manage to finish off the dog-Luke thing, and this sets him up for Walter’s next attack, and then he goes to finish him off, so things seem to be going Walter’s way...

But Alucard used a decoy, disguising Luke’s severed torso as his own, all so he could sucker-punch Walter in the face.   As it turns out, Walter’s physical breakdown is making him younger, which amuses Al to no end.

So Alucard follow suits and assumes the form he once used when they fought the Nazis in 1944.   Yeah, say hello to “Girlycard”.   I’m not sure why Alucard looked like a 14-year-old girl during World War II.   I’ve heard this form described as a Japanese 14-year-old girl, and I can’t dispute it, but it also makes Girlycard seem even more random somehow.   

I mean, I guess the idea here was for Walter and Alucard to be able to move inconspicuously through enemy territory.  No one would suspect a couple of kids until it was too late.   I’m imagining a similar scenario to the ones presented in “Cross Fire”.   Heinkel and Yumi would play innocent bystanders, then whip out their guns and swords and go ham on the bad guys.    Knowing Hirano’s style, maybe Girlycard and Young Walter operated the same way.  

And this further supports the Walter-had-an-unrequited-crush-on-Alucard theory.   He might have understood that Girlycard was a disguise.  On an intellectual level he might have known, but maybe he still carried a torch, and told himself that there was some way that they could be together.   Was he just in love with this disguise, or does he love the real thing?  Alucard says that he told Walter the truth decades ago, and claims that this is the reason Walter turned traitor, so yeah, it sure feels like Walter couldn’t handle Alucard’s true nature, one way or another.   

I mean, let’s assume that this isn’t just about Alucard not being a cute girl.  Maybe Walter fell in love with Alucard in all his forms, whatever that means for his sexuality.    The bigger issue is that Alucard’s a vampire, and he’s just fundamentally different from Walter, and maybe that was the problem all along.   It’s interesting to think about, but the point here would be that there was some kind of problem, and Walter couldn’t let it go.

Meanwhile, Seras and Integra are busy looking like total BMFs.   Just HBIC’s.   What’s better than this?   Two gals bein’ pals.   

Hell yeah!

Bad ass!

The vampires on board this airship are happy to meet their doom, and Integra recalls what her father once told her about how vampires want to die on their own terms.   Seras doesn’t get it, because if they want to die so badly, they could have just died in the war they were already in fifty-odd years ago.  

So the Major gets on the PA system and explains to her that they want more than just a glorious death.   They want bigger, better, more perfect battlefield, so as to make their deaths as meaningful as possible.  That’s why I don’t understand that airship captain from a while back.   Everyone else in Millennium seemed to understand that they weren’t necessarily fighting to win.   Britain is prepared to nuke London if they have to, so it’s hard to imagine anyone in Millennium surviving past today, even if they won.  

Anyway, as the Major explains all of this, the Captain appears before the gals.  It looks like he’s here to stop them, or is he?

[ecclecticentities]

To Be A Hero ~ 1

Chapter One: A Close Match

Bakugou x Fem!OC

Wordcount: 2.4kish 👀

Summary: The battle between Bakugou and the unknown opponent comes to an end but who actually won and who the eff are they?

A/N: I’m still mucking round with this idea but have a decent idea of where it’s going. Let me know what you think and reblog if you like it! 

Bakugou's hair was wet against his forehead when he starting to wake up. He kept his eyes shut as he assessed his surroundings via his other senses to know where he was and what was happening. He was damp, still in his hero costume but his gauntlets had been taken off. It smelt like chemicals, cleaning...no not cleaning, medicine. He must have gone down during the battle. It was quiet, a slight murmur of machines and people talking in another room. He was inside. In Recovery Girl's office. A groan beside him. He wasn't alone. Bakugou groaned himself as he reached up and ran his fingers through his hair. His body was stiff after the fight and the memories of what had happened began to flood through him.

Rain was pouring over them, luckily those in the stands were protected by the covers of the stadium. His hair fell over the tops of his eyes slightly and he struggled to see more than ten feet in front of him. He'd figured out three facts about them so far.

They were female with a standard athletic build. Clearly active with flexibility and fast reflexes. He'd figured that out after several attempts at a full frontal attack where they were easily able to counteract his attacks.

That was another thing he'd learned. By being that close he was able to take a close look at their hero costume. They weren't in his class, and he didn't recognise them from 3-B. So he had no intel on who they were or what their quirk was. But from their costume alone it too him they weren't mutated, they didn't have a creation quirk like Ponytail or a hardening quirk like Shitty Hair. They wore a a similar helmet to Tape Face without the tape cutter thing, do they have a name? Off topic. It was gold and had wings on the ear pieces on either side with a black face. He couldn't see their face. The rest of their costume was simple, a white long sleeve shirt that stopped at their waist, its a crop top with a back brace, that's where they kept the STUPID FUCKING METAL RODS THAT THEY'RE ALLOWED FOR SOME FUCKING REASON THAT HAS TO BE CHEATING. Gold decorative arm braces and bracelets on their wrists to match the helmet, gross. Black cargo pants with gold winged black combat boots to match the rest of the get up. But their quirk clearly had nothing to do with flight.

Their quirk? Well he hadn't actually learnt that yet. His theories though? Two options, first, they were stupid and quirkless and this was a joke punishment for something he did from Aizawa. Second option was that it had something to do with the lightning, they were able to conjure it and aim it where they wanted but they hadn't hit him yet thankfully. But that was stupid it was probably the first option, so why the fuck won't they quit if this is a joke.

"You ready to give up!" He yelled through the storm, thunder was heard from behind them as they walked closer to them, the rods held tightly in their hands as Bakugou readied his stance.

"Babe I'm just getting started," said the female voice. Blue lightning wound around the rods from their arms and down to the ground. "Why? You need a break?" There was a smirk in her tone even though he couldn't see it and he couldn't help but feel some sort of familiarity to the figure in front of him.

"Not even close," he said before launching towards them.

They jumped towards each other, Bakugou's gaunlets lit up with his explosions as lightning rippled from his oppositions rods and arms.

"WOAH LIGHTNING!" Midoriya yelled as he continued to write everything he saw of the new hero in training in front of him. He'd never witnessed a lightning quirk before, not anything like this. None of them had. This was new, a stranger who came in a looked to match Bakugou in fight and energy.

"Shinso how could you keep them from us! Their skills are on par with Bakugou look at those reflexes they must train constantly! That's so manly!" Kirishima yelled, the rest of the classes on their feet cheering on both fighters with 'woo's and 'ahh's.

Shinso stayed quiet in his seat as he watched his friend fight. They knew each other closely, had fought against and trained beside one another for a year now with their own teachers outside of the normal UA training. He worried what this meant, he knew the end goal, he knew the backstory but never thought they would try to get into the hero course this late into their time here at UA. Was there even enough time? Sure they had the skills in one on one battles but being a hero was so much more than that. Shinso learnt that before he'd even gotten into the course, he remembered back to his own qualifying that Aizawa had put him through. The team battles against Vlad's class and how much he had realised he didn't know in that one day. He was so far behind and had worked so hard to catch up but he was still scraping through in some parts even now. How did they expect to make it?

Lightning struck beside Bakugou as he leaped back from his opponent, somehow they always knew where he was, where he was coming from. He couldn't escape it, it's like they had eyes on the back of their head! He could feel his body losing energy, his breathing heavy as threw fist after fist and a kick towards them. They were matched, he'd realised that early, but there was no way their stamina matched. By the heavy breathing of his opponent worse than his he knew they didn't have much longer. One massive explosion at full force would easily do it.

He had to be wary of their defences, one rod had flown away earlier but they still had one left, so a fake was the best way to do it. Distract their attention with one explosion and then come from the side for the stronger blow to hit them out of the ring and end this. Simple, to the point and there was no way it could fail.

It didn't fail. But it wasn't completely successful either. It seems both fighters had come to the same conclusion. Both had reflexes that were similarly matched. They counter attacks were also something to be wary off. Bakugou was able to multitask in fights but through his blast his visibility was limited, add the torrential rain on top and it was even worse. The next time he came at them with an explosion was their opportunity for their own attack.

Bakugou's right hand came down at them with an explosion, their rod lifted to block it as they hit on another. His left hand came from underneath where his opponent had left their body exposed and he hit them in the side with an explosion bigger than his first. At the same time though as they had gone flying into the pillar at the edge of the arena lightning had struck by his landing spot and the shot had thrown him the opposite way hitting his own concrete pillar on the edge.

That was the last thing he'd remembered. They'd both expended their quirks and the blow back caused them to pass out. But surely he won right? His hit first so like, he won the battle. Take that Aizawa your lil prank punishment didn't work, I'm still on top.

Bakugou opened his eyes to the room around him. He was right in his guessing earlier, he was in Recovery Girl's office on a bed where he'd obviously been taken straight form the arena. He sat up slowly, ready to leave this godforsaken place and head back to class to face his victory when he looked to the bed next to him.

Still asleep lay his opposition. He could see her face now, soft and calm as she still slept, her hair plated but falling out as it fell against the pillow and Bakugou had to stop himself from reaching out to the scar on her face from jaw to forehead. It crossed just past her eye, a lightning strike similar to the ones he'd witnessed close up from her own hand. Maybe she was like Kiri, dumb enough to hit herself with her own quirk.

Kinda pretty though..."still a loser extra" he muttered under his breath. She shuffled in the bed, a hand coming up to rub at her eyes as she woke up and saw Bakugou staring down at her as he stood awkwardly between their beds.

A small yelp before she shot up out of the bed and down onto the ground on the other side out of his sight.

"What the fuck was that?" He said walking towards the door.

"WAIT!" She called out and he stopped in the doorway.

"What?!" Let me leave.

"Do you see my helmet?" She asked with her head down at the floor, her back to him. Bakugou looked around the room and couldn't see the golden helmet until he peered into the office and it sat on the a desk by the nurses.

"It's out here, get it yourself." He answered walking out into the offices towards the door to the hallway.

"Please can you just chuck it at me like I do not care I just can't go out and get it if there are people out there."

As he walked past the desk he picked up the helmet from the desk. It was sturdy, barely even marked from their fight par from some dirt and threw it through the door onto the bed beside her. A small 'phew' came from the room but Bakugou was already out the door. "Dumb extra."

"That was AMAZING!" The class was in awe at the fight they had witnessed, just like all of them during the day it showed the true potential and talent of their fellow student. But unlike the others it introduced them to someone they had no idea about. Someone who gave Bakugou Katsuki a run for his money.

"Who were though?" Mina asked.

"Who cares I want to know who won!" Kaminari exclaimed but the class was already being shushed for a debrief by their sensei.

"Everyone shut up." He deadpanned.

"Can we at least know who they were!"

"Are they joining us like Shinso did?!"

"Can I tell them now Shouta?!" Hizashi Yamada a.k.a Present Mic was practically pouncing next to Aizawa who merely pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down.

"Sure."

"SATSUKA YAMADA. QUIRK: THUNDERSTORM. SHE CAN CREATE THUNDERSTORMS AS LONG AS THERE IS MOISTURE IN THE AIR AND THE RAIN ALLOWS HER TO SEE MOVEMENT THROUGH THE STORM. WATCH OUT FOR THOSE LIGHTNING STRIKES BECAUSE IN HER STORMS THEY CAN DEFINITELY HIT TWICE!"

Present Mic, the announcer for UA with his own radio show used his best voice for the quirk announcement of the mystery student. He'd never admit he'd practiced it several times in his head beforehand but that's neither here nor there.

The class erupted in 'wow's and 'awe's excitement running through them at the introduction to new competition. They may be in their final year but the excitement of new quirks and people to train with was one that will always get these students heroes into overdrive.

"Alright now that that's out of the way, let's debrief the day."

"Aizawa sensei, I have a question?!" Todoroki piped up from next to Iida and Midoriya. "If I'm not mistaken, she has the same last name as Present Mic, is she a relation of yours?"

"Hey yea! You're right Todo!" Mina exclaimed, "IS SHE YOUR SECRET LOVE CHILD!"

"Phew, I wish!"

"Hizashi shut up."

"She's family, but not my daughter kids." The hero replied, hoping that would give the class enough of an answer to shut them up.

Satsuka quickly pulled the helmet back over her head and stumbled in a hurry out the door of Recovery Girl's office. Her arms ached from overusing her quirk. Bakugou had really made her work for it but she supposed that was the point. She was there to prove herself to Aizawa and the entirety of Class 3-A. She deserved to be there. No matter what. Even if it was late if she was able to learn even a little from this year that still gave her an advantage to become a hero. And that was the goal.

"You're a lot slower out of class." The deep voice spoke through the quiet of the hallway as she steadied herself, the door closing behind her. "Clumsy too."

Bakugou stepped off the wall opposite her and took lazy steps down the hallway, slight puddles following his foot prints from his soaking costume.

"Now who the fuck are you?" He stopped and looked over her shoulder. Her helmet was back on, he could read any expression on her face and that irked him.

"Satsuka Yamada, I was a guest to training today as a part of my training with Present Mic." She stayed in her spot in the middle of the hall and he mumbled something under his breath that she couldn't make out.

"Yamada...?"

"I'm not his kid, we're family."

"Must be nice being favoured by a pro." He sneered and turned back towards the hall in front of him, his feet moving before he could even think about it.

Satsuka cringed at his comment. That was the one opinion she didn't want people to have about her. But Bakugou couldn't help but think it. No wonder she didn't sit right with him even in the fight. She hasn't worked nearly as hard as him to get where she is. She's just another favoured idiot. Like Deku or Half n half. They had pros in their corners before they even started. Like Shinso she thought that just because a pro thought she was special she could come into his class and think she's top shit. Not on his watch.

"That won't make you a hero." He called back to her before turning the corner and out of her sight.

Previous Chapter ~ Next Chapter

[datawyrms]

Expectations Fulfilled

Dannymay 2020 Day 18 : Horror (As a warning this is way too long? I don’t know how this happened. The answer is way too much setup.)

The last fight with Valerie had not gone well. Danny had hesitated a beat too long, seemingly frozen in indecision and took a nasty blow to the chest for it. That was their friend for you, get too worried about hurting the person trying to kill you and forget to dodge again. At least he’d dropped out of the sky over a wooded area, giving them a chance to pull him out of the fire yet again.

“Danny, you have to change back before she sees you!” Sam hissed at the glowing boy who was clutching his head. “Do you need us to carry you?” her eyes scanned the branches above, it didn’t look like he’d taken any down by slamming into them, but he could always just land badly.

“I will totally put you in this thermos over letting her drag you off to Vlad.” Tucker warned, listening for the tell tale hum of the ghost hunter’s jet board.

“I-I’m okay.” Danny finally responded, starting to get back to his feet. “Don’t soup me. Hate that,” he shook his head still rubbing at it with one hand. “I’m just a bit dizzy”.

“You’re not fooling anyone with that hero act anymore, you hear me?”

“Hurry up!”

The ghost gave a stiff nod, finally clear headed enough to switch back to human form. He stumbled, but the three of them had enough practice by now to get moving quickly. It wasn’t likely Valarie would connect the three of them with Phantom, but with their luck she’d assume a ghost was what had gotten Danny limping along.

“We really need a better plan for when she catches up to you, talking it out isn’t working.”

“What, I love being blamed for beating myself up.”

Sam scowled at her flippant friend. “I know you’re worried about hurting her, but she can probably take a few hits. Just so she’s a little more cautious about going after you so hard.”

“Probably wouldn’t take a fall from that high up very well though.” the half ghost grimaced as he watched the sky.

“Dude, you barely took that fall. Sam has a point.” Tucker handed over the backpack as his friend steadied, keeping close in case Danny was only acting like he was good to go again.

“I’ll think about it.” Which was basically Dannyanto for ‘no’, but there wasn’t much use in trying to convince him.

That is why it was so strange the next day in school. Tucker spotted Valerie running out of class with a flimsy excuse, but Danny hadn’t even made an attempt to leave. It could have been something that wasn’t ghost related, but spotting the large white and green serpent ghost slammed to the ground from the window confirmed it was indeed a ghost thing.

“Hey. Aren’t you gonna go out there?” he leaned over with a hiss, Lancer too distracted by the potential danger to his students to really be picky about talking in class.

“Huh?” Danny stared at him blankly.

“The ghost? That Val’s fighting?” he clarified, wondering if his friend had simply slept through his ghost sense.

Danny looked out the window, looking more bored than alarmed. “Nah. She has it.”

“Dude, are you okay?”

“You guys were the ones saying we needed a plan. So I’ll just let her deal with it,” he shrugged, slouching back in his chair.

That didn’t really seem like a plan he’d normally come up with. Sure, it was sensible, but that’s why it didn’t make any sense. Danny looked normal enough though, maybe he was just tired of getting yelled at by someone he was helping. “If you say so. It is just an animal ghost,”. He dropped the subject, taking several looks back as their teacher ushered them all off to a ‘safer area’. Valerie probably wouldn’t have any trouble alone, but his friend’s complete lack of interest was a little creepy.

Sam’s opener at lunch meant he wasn’t alone in that thought. “Aren’t you maybe a little too carefree about this?”

“No? If she gets beat up then it’s not my problem anymore,” he focused back on his sandwich, ignoring the twin looks of bafflement he was getting for a few minutes. When they continued he muttered “What? I’ll deal with it if it threatens you guys, you’re my friends”.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Your parents don’t have some weird ghost mood changer or something?”

“I’m fine Sam. I finally agree with you guys and now you’re surprised I’m not acting like a superhero, sheesh.” he rolled his eyes, irritation creasing his brow.

“You gotta admit it was pretty sudden. We know how stubborn you are,” Tucker crossed his arms, unable to shake the feeling that something was off.

“You said it enough that it made sense. She hates me and wants to waste me, so why keep bailing her out? See how she likes the ‘evil ghost’ not helping,”

“You’ll help if she gets in serious trouble though, right?” Tucker hesitated before asking.

“If I feel like it.”

Sam and Tucker shared a look, biting back any further questions. Whatever was up with Danny, they probably wouldn’t get out of the half ghost himself. They’d have to invite themselves over tonight and take a look around for anything new and dangerous.

“See? Totally fine.” Danny prompted them to look around, spotting the ghost hunter entering the lunchroom with a scowl.

“Uh Danny, she’s a little hurt. See her arm?”

He raised an eyebrow. “So? I take worse, you’ve taken worse. Why do you care?”

Sam really wanted to ask him why he didn’t care, but the elbow from Tucker had her reconsider. With the weird apathy, it probably wouldn’t be the best idea to get on his bad side.

Yet they couldn’t find any sort of weapon or tool that might have explained why their friend had flipped from being completely unwilling to aggressively defend himself against Valerie to ignoring ghost fights he had no interest in. Any questions or nudges to help were always met with reluctance, as if he resented the very idea of assisting. Sure, he’d go the second a ghost might threaten his family or friends, but otherwise he seemed to have set the rest of the town in a ‘not my problem’ box.

“Maybe he wants to focus on his studies. You know he can’t work for NASA if he keeps pulling his kind of grades.” Jazz was a little put off by his behaviour, but couldn’t deny that the increased amount of sleep and downtime was reversing her brother’s downward trend in school.

“Isn’t it weird though? It’s not like it was our idea for him to use his ghost powers to help people, he did that on his own,” Sam pointed out, frustrated that Jazz would just ignore all of that.

“You know I can totally hear you guys, right?” Danny called from upstairs, and they could swear the room had gotten colder.

“Yup! Eavesdropping is rude little bro”

“So is gossiping behind my back!”

Jazz gave a shrug, covering up a laugh from his irritated retort. “He’s not acting all that different guys, really.”

“Which I’ve been saying on repeat all week.” Danny groused, hands in his pockets as he slouched into the room. “I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not. So I stopped. Is it really that big of a deal?”

“You weren’t pretending, you were really helping people,” Sam pressed, earning another eye roll.

“Sure. That’s why everyone hates my guts. Or wants to poke around in them.”

“Well it’s up to you dude. Just let us know if anything feels off?”

“I’m fine! Sheesh!”

-

Phantom had been strange since their last fight. In some ways it had been nice, not needing to constantly chase the pest down only for him to get away yet again. She was pretty sure she’d caught more than the glowing terror had this week, mostly because the ghost barely showed up. Perhaps it had finally decided the weaker ghosts were beneath it, or didn’t get it enough attention. She didn’t miss the ghost, but she could admit she was running more ragged than usual for it.

“Get out of my way.” the ghost had the audacity to bark an order at her after flinging Ember to the ground, making her completely miss her shot.

“You’re the one in my way Phantom.” she growled back, getting some satisfaction as the ghost’s eyes snapped to her hands and the ectogun she held. “You can’t fool me, I know you’re just an evil ghost”

The green eyed ghost glared at her for that “Am I now?” he paused in midair, eyes flicking between Ember who was getting back up for another go, and the red clad ghost hunter in front of him. “Hey Ember!”

“What! I don’t need any of your awful puns, dipstick”

“How ‘bout a truce? First one to get the hunter grounded wins.” he ducked quickly to dodge the shot Valerie fired.

“‘Bout time you learned what fun is, kid. You’re on!” the ghostly musician regained her place in the air, apparently willing to forgive a punch to the ground if it meant ganging up on a ghost hunter.

“Hey Val? I suggest you run.” With that he fired on her, only managing to dodge the blow by having her board stop floating. She always knew the white haired boy was evil, but she never really expected him to team up with another ghost. Still, she was a better ghost hunter than most. She could take them.

She flew low, counting on the extra obstacles to throw off the ghosts aim. The side benefit of not having far to fall was a notable one as well as the larger soundwaves Ember could launch kept clipping the sides of the board, a little too wide to completely dodge. She rocked wildly but was able to keep her feet, using the time in between volleys to launch a few attacks of her own back. Judging by the grunts she’d hit one or the other a few times, but not directly. She urged the board to go faster, eyes scanning for a good place to turn the tables on the ghosts. It wasn’t a great spot, but the two buildings could provide cover once she got behind one. The board shrieked at the hard turn she demanded of it, but managed to get down the alley without clipping the sides.

“Who’s the rat now, huh?” Ember’s taunt was infuriating, but she forced herself to wait. She had to take at least one of them out. The first shot took the ghost by surprise as she rounded the corner, but the second was a little too far down.

“The thing about corners is you can’t really surprise me if I don’t come that way.”

She jerked in surprise, trying to face the ghost who had somehow gotten behind her-though the building of course how had she been so stupid-? Yet she couldn’t dodge the punch that threw her off the board and on to the ground, skidding to where the guitar wielding ghost was waiting.

“Well, that was fun. Should do it again sometime!” she gave the ghost hunter a kick before taking to the air, eyeing Phantom a little warily. “Didn’t think you had it in ya.”

“Surprise. Touch my friends and I’ll kill you again. Got it?” he started cheerfully enough, but the warning was nearly a snarl.

“Chill out dipstick. Weird little humans off limits, got it!”

Valerie tried to rise as flame-head fled, but was forced back down by Phantom’s boot. She managed not to grunt in pain, but she didn’t have too many options to remove the ghost’s foot from her chest at the moment.

“As for you, Valerie,” he ghost was still clearly furious, but seemed a little lost now that he’d actually knocked her down. 

“Danny?”

Valerie’s heart raced. Tucker? He was a bit of a dweeb, but she couldn’t let this ghost scum hurt him. She struggled, trying to unbalance the ghost while it was distracted, rolling free and dragging the ghost down with a grunt.

“What now?” Phantom seemed peevish, ignoring the ghost hunter completely after getting back up. As if she was so little threat he could just ignore her.

“I think you might be going a little far dude.” Tucker really shouldn’t be trying to reason with this monster, but it was giving her time to ready her weapon.

“Hey, she wanted evil!”

Tucker looked incredibly uncomfortable, eyes darting between the ghost and his disguised classmate. “How about no more fighting for today, okay?”

“You can’t be defending this monster! It can’t hide what it is!” she aimed her reclaimed weapon.

The ghost’s more relaxed air died the second she finished speaking, temperature plunging as he whirled to face her. It was strange how he seemed more fixed on her hand than the barrel of the gun, but that didn’t really matter all that much with the ghost’s hands and eyes glowing a furious green.

She stuck to her guns, ready to fire and distract the thing so Tucker could run Yet he didn’t run, instead pulling a Fenton thermos quickly out of his backpack, looking more worried about her than anything else.

“Yeah okay, you need a time out. Sorry.” The ghost didn’t even react to the words, though it blinked a few times once it realized the Fenton’s invention was pulling it away from its intended target. Otherwise it didn’t struggle, leaving Tucker to quickly cap the thermos. “Okaaay. I’m just gonna. Go now. Bye!” he sprinted away before she could demand he hand over the thermos so she could dispose of the ghost inside. Didn’t he see how dangerous it was?

-

Thinking simply hurt. Tucker and Sam were worried sick, babbling on and on about how he was acting weird, that he could have seriously hurt Valarie. As if hurting her mattered. Maybe it did? Urgh. He just wanted them all to stop talking and let him figure it out.

“Danny, this isn’t normal. We just want to help,”

“Why is any of this surprising? I’m always like this.” he insisted, only earning worried frowns again.

“No, you don’t usually decide to attack people for calling you evil. What’s gotten into you?” Sam was looking him in the eye. She did genuinely seem to be concerned, even though it didn’t make any sense.

“Nothing? I’ve been half ghost for a while,” he crossed his arms.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere. We need to ask Frostbite to check him or something.”

“There’s no way we can get to the Farfrozen if we start now, and we can’t trust him to go on his own right now.” Tucker frowned, punching plans into his PDA.

“I’m right here guys.”

Sam dragged her hand across her face. “Danny, you were going to waste Valerie, we get to question your judgement right now.”

“Of course I was. I’ll show her a monster,” her muttered, eyes flaring green in annoyance.

Tucker paled a little, still looking at the PDA. “Yeah that? That’s what we’re worried about.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you guys.”

“Danny, that’s not the problem here!”

The half ghost sighed, slumping on his bed. They still weren’t making sense, and everything was starting to itch horribly. He rubbed at his shoulder, but it only seemed to make the itching sensation worse. Something was in the way of what needed scratching, but he couldn’t quite reach it. Very annoying.

“Can you stop dropping the temperature? It’s like a meat locker in here.”

“I’m not doing anything.” he stared at the stickers on the ceiling, idly wondering if something had happened to the others to make all of them make zero sense. Or to make them forget that he was a half ghost. Of course it was cold. He kept scratching at his shoulder, nails desperately trying to find whatever it was that was making him feel so uncomfortable. Something tight and restrictive that itched furiously.

“We go Friday. There’s no way we can sneak away that long until then.”

“You’re overreacting guys.” That, and a trip to the ghost zone would be pretty boring.

“No, you’re under reacting. Just trust us, okay?”

Sam and Tucker remained weirdly on edge, watching him like he was some sort of bomb that might go off at any moment. Shouldn’t they be used to all this by now? So what if he found it a little fun that people were too scared to keep eye contact with him for very long? They were only unsettled, and the fear always gave a welcome kick of energy. It distracted from the itching.

He wanted to be a little more scary than just simply unsettling, but Sam and Tucker insisted the school was a hands off zone now. Maybe he should have picked different humans to be so attached too, as these ones were being incredibly boring all of a sudden. Didn’t they want to have a bit of fun? Simply being unsettling with his presence was all well and good, but it wasn’t the same as a proper scared-for their-lives affair. They didn’t even approve when he went after Skulker for daring to set foot in his territory! He’d been ‘too careless’ for dragging the ghost near some of the fleeing humans while they fought. Of course he had! What was the point of fighting if he wasn’t going to get some good back from it? He could do what he wanted with his food.

Really, it just made him want to tear his hair out. They were the ones who had changed, but they kept insisting it was the other way around.

Valerie was incredibly weird though. She kept talking to him as if they were friends. It always made the itching worse, trying to pretend he was glad she was at school and not a smear on the sidewalk. Humans were stupid. It wasn’t like he was hiding what he was. Though it was one of the times that she approached him that he finally solved the itching problem, nails finally tearing through the obnoxious, too tight skin.

She’d backed away with a gasp, as if the green stain on his hands should be some sort of surprise. “What happened to you? Don’t worry, I’ll get help!”

She seemed confused when he laughed at her nonsensical question. Flexing his freed claws was fun, but he really did need to get the rest of this restricting mess off. His right hand clawed at his arm, the ectoplasm that oozed from his self inflicted wounds was both freeing and soothing at once. Stop hiding, stop pretending. 

“Nothing happened to me.” He flexed his freed arms,  green black skin more like tar than anything else, giggling when the girl recoiled from the new green eyes that bubbled to the surface to watch her squirm. 

Maybe she was that oblivious. “Someone will help you Danny, just hold on!” she insisted before sprinting down the hall. He’d chase her, but there were so many people simply watching in mute horror that he couldn’t resist trying to get a few screams out of them. No killing, Tucker and Sam wouldn’t like that, but a few scratches wouldn’t hurt all that much. Dash ought to know how kind he’d been in not retaliating sooner, really. The disgusted sounds they made as he clawed at his face was entertaining, someone fainting as he flung the discarded skin away. Some of his hair remained black, but the white went nicer with his pointed teeth, in his opinion. He let out a snarl, relishing in how they fled from some twisted half human ghost. Tucker and Sam were wrong, he absolutely should have done this sooner. Well, he’d let them know that when they showed up. They usually did. It really was a bit of a shame to just let them all run away though. Oh well.

Maybe he should free his feet, but getting through his shoes might be a bit of a pain. It was easier to drag his claws against the lockers and listen for the sounds of running feet and muffled screams. They were so scared they didn’t even need to see him.

“Danny, do you recognize us?”

Oh, there they were! “Hi. I fixed the itching.” he clawed idly at his neck, feeling more flexible with every scratch. It was much easier to keep an eye on them with the arm eyes, freeing his head to glance around the rest of the hallway.

“We noticed. Uh. I think you left half of yourself on the floor.” Tucker looked ill, pointedly ignoring a red and green splatter on the wall next to him.

“Finally. So much scratching. You have no idea how annoying that was.” They didn’t seem happy for him though. More worried. Why? They knew he’d never hurt them. They were his humans, his favourite ones. No one got to hurt them.

“Can you...change back?” Sam asked, approaching cautiously.

“Change back to what?” his brow furrowed, fixing the blue eyes of his face to double check he was seeing correctly. Was she upset? Weird. This was a good thing. 

“Back into yourself. Human, like us? Remember?” Tucker had taken one of his hands, careful of the claws. They were still the same general shape, even if Tucker’s skin was thin and weak and warm.

“I’m not like you though. You were there.” he tilted his head, wondering if they’d forgotten that too somehow.

“You’re still human, Danny,” Sam stepped in as Tucker seemed distracted in wiping the green and black film off of his hands.

“Nope. Something in the middle.” he let out a hum, sure he’d heard something. “Being split like that was wrong. Like playing pretend all the time.” The beast stretched, the cracking of his lower back like gunshots in the abandoned hall. Two more steps. So there was a sneak around!

“This isn’t you, you know that. You don’t want to hurt or scare people.”

“Mmm? That’s what monsters do, isn’t it?” Why did Sam decide to hug him now? He couldn’t get at the rest of his torso like that.

Tucker was very confusing, rubbing at the water from his eyes. “Just let us try to help you fix this, okay? You aren’t a monster.” 

“Sure I am. What else could I be?”

“Who told you that? Why would you listen to them over us?” Sam was brave as usual, shaking him a little instead of backing away.

“I told you that too! Are you sure you guys aren’t the ones forgetting stuff?” he frowned at the two of them, ear twitching. More steps. The sneak was close, and he was pretty sure he knew who it was.

“It doesn’t matter who it was. Can you switch to ghost form?” Tucker sounded calm, but his face was still leaking. Sam had joined him, though she was more biting her lip than dripping like a faucet. 

“I’m both right now. I just said that!” They really weren’t listening very well. “I’m done hiding what I am, it was uncomfortable.” The confused muttering from the sneak was fun to overhear, but it would probably be more fun if Tucker and Sam were in on it. “They don’t know what I mean by that, you might have to explain it for em.”

“Explain what? To who? No one’s here Danny. It’s just us.”

“Us and the sneakkkkk.” he sprang forward, grabbing on to the corner with his claws, twisting his neck to look down at the sneak who backed away with a yelp. “Hiiii Val. You gonna run again?” he snickered when her fear morphed into anger, apparently recognizing him now.

“You sick creep! What did you do to Danny?”

“Valerie! Don’t make him mad!” Sam called out, the two of them sprinting over to join the  sneaky ghost hunter.

“No one listens! I’m Danny. I’ve always been Danny. You just didn’t notice! That’s okay, almost nobody did.” Oh she was very funny when she glared at him like that.

“You’re lying. Danny is nothing like you.”

“Danny is everything like me. Right Tuck? She doesn’t listen to ghosts. You sure I can’t just kill her?” he glanced back at his friends, disappointed to see the no already written on their faces.

“No! That would be bad, don’t do that!” Tucker stammered, unsure where to keep his eyes. He’d have an easier time if he had eyes on his arms like he did now. Maybe his friends could be half ghosts too. Hmm.

“Valarie, I know this doesn’t make any sense, just listen and don’t set him off.”

“Sam, this thing has done something awful to your friend and you’re worried about the ghost’s feelings? What’s wrong with you?” the ghost hunter stood her ground even without her fancy gear, glaring up at the perching mutated mess above her.

“All of that up there is Danny, okay? Something’s wrong, and we’ll explain it once he’s better, but you just need to trust us right now.”

“Mmmhmm. A monster just like you said.” he rocked back and forth a little, blue eyes fixed on Valerie’s clenched fist. “You’re lucky my friends won’t let me kill you Val. Even though I’m not hiding anymore.”

Tucker noticed how Danny’s blue eyes seemed fixed on the girl he was tormenting, elbowing Sam to point it out.

“None of you are making any sense. He’s just possessed or something, why are you acting like this is okay?”

“Annoying.” Danny growled, showing far too many fangs. “This is what you wanted! You say I’m not a hero so I stop.”

Tucker and Sam looked ill. “Valarie, what do you have on your hand?”

“Why does my jewelry matter now?” she didn’t look at them, too busy scowling at the monster on the wall. “I didn’t say anything like that to Danny.”

“Yes you did! You are awful at this. Phantom was Danny and vise versa. Keep up!” the hybrid snorted. “Both are me. Both are very, very tired of you and your orders.”

“It’s important! Where did you get it?” Sam had apparently decided she didn’t have time for Valarie to be confused, trying to grab at her hand and cursing when she saw it. “Nevermind, I don’t care, just smash it!”

“You still aren't’ making sense.” She was reaching for a blaster that wasn’t there, looking between all three now as possible threats.

“Then you say I’m evil. So I comply. Now I stop hiding and still you are complaining! Make up your mind! Or let me kill you, that’d be fun.” Plaster cracked beneath the creature’s claws as it leaned forward, uncomfortably close. The out of place blue eyes flicked from the red ring to her face and back again. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted Val? Or should I call you master?”

(oh look a sort of continuation)

[blackevermore]

x Secrets of The Lake: The Company of Misery and Pain

{ Chapter 8 }

Summary: Vladimir Masters’ family tree has always been tainted by secrets swept under the rug. From generation to generation there have been countless reasons the Masters’ family had seemed to keep private from the public. Even to this day, Vladimir was no exception. But what was one to do when a restless spirit from the settlement years finally breaks free from restraints and demands you answer for your ancestor’s crimes? Vladimir doesn’t know. However, Clockworks does.

Notes: We just having fun, rewriting some of the canon, new adventure new characters. I will apologize now for any grammar, spelling, weird sentence structuring in advance. My brain writes faster than my fingers and even when I go back through to reread it I still miss things. Sorry about that!

Word Count: 2681

P.s: Fighting scenes are haaaaard :)

The morning went by in a flash as the Masters household found itself being decorated head to toe by 4pm. Not many people showed up to the party luckily, many chose to just enjoy their day off which was no sweat off Vlad’s back. The less the merrier. Another reason he hosted it at his home instead of at an event center. In the back of his mind though he did enjoy getting to brag about his riches to those that did arrive. The company gathering started at 6pm which left just enough time for Vlad to tell Dani yes and no for all the antics she swore she was going to get away with.

“I feel as though I don’t have to tell you not to throw any form of ice powers at the guest. But I know you well, Danielle, so no throwing ice powers at the guest.” Vlad stood in the middle of his foyer supervising the ghost staff hanging up streamers. Dani flew around helping out where she could and rolling her eyes as her father spoke.

“I won’t” She replied before shooting off towards the living room which was converted to the winter section. “Unless they ask.”

“No!” Vlad yelled and shook his head but let her be. She was in a good mood and that’s all that mattered.

“Also I invited Danny as my plus ghost.” Dani flew back into the foyer sucking on a slushie. Vlad rose a brow and nodded, not really having anything to say that would be good. Hopefully the two wouldn’t cause too much trouble, if they did, he would just brush it off and distract his guest till it was fixed. Vlad let out a big yawn feeling the sudden tiredness starting to take over. He had missed his 12pm nap due to finishing emails and the paperwork from last night. He had been running on one cup of coffee and toast and now he could feel the crash coming. 

“You could go take a nap and I’ll finish this, you can trust me.” Dani smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

“Hmm as much as that sounds lovely I prefer to be awake.” He wasn’t going to tell Dani about the dreams, that would have just undid all the work he did to get her away from the topic of the ghost. Vlad held up a hand to excuse himself as he let out another big yawn and Dani shook her head at his stubbornness. “I’ll just have an espresso and tough it out.” Vlad walked towards the kitchen and asked one of the chefs to make him a cup. As he waited he sat at the kitchen table patiently, crossing his legs he pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was five minutes to 5pm and that left an hour for him to mentally prepare himself.

“Here you are, Sir.” The chef floated over and placed the cup on the table and Vlad nodded his thank you. Taking a sip he could feel his sense heighten back up once again. The party only lasted for two and half hours, if he could make it through the party he could spend the rest of the day however. Hopefully however wasn’t cleaning up any messes left by Dani and Danny. Vlad took in a deep breath and looked around the kitchen. The food was perfect as he expected and the dessert tower looked ever so daring. Ghost hurried in and out around him setting up stations, it oddly felt homely having so much activity around him, that was how lonely he had been for so long. 

Vlad snorted and turned to look out the giant bay windows and saw how beautiful the sun lit up the view of the garden. He had just ordered new roses and lilies to be planted along the side of the house. A very expensive statue of a woman holding a vase above her head was the centerpiece and brought it all together. Not many people knew it, and if they did they were miles away, Vlad had a keen eye for gardening and landscaping. His mother had a giant garden and when she died he took it over and always impressed his step mothers with arrangements. ‘I need more plants inside the house’ he thought and finished his cup before standing and leaving. He floated upstairs through the ceiling and into his room to ready himself with a shower and a fresh suit. Once he was dressed he stood in his mirror looking himself over and decided to leave half of his hair down for the occasion. Making his way back downstairs he noticed that tonight's entertainment was slipping through the floor talking to each other. They looked worried and some flatout had a terrified expression plastered across their faces. 

“Is there a problem?” Vlad called out to one of the groups which had two female ghosts dressed for the spring and one male ghost for the summer. They looked nervous to say anything but finally one of the girls spoke up.

“You don’t feel that?” Vlad narrowed his eyes and looked towards his sides then back to her and shook his head.

“Feel what exactly?”

“That uneasy feeling, it's everywhere in here and everyone is talking about it. Surely you’ve noticed it, dude.” The male ghost spoke in a typical Cali accent and shook in fear. Vlad tried to make sense of what they were saying but for the past few days his home had felt like his home. Nothing other than his dreams seemed out of place. And the only uneasy feeling he had was only related to what happened in the Ghost Zone. Vlad cleared his throat, not allowing the other ghost to see his face shift into worry and put on a gentle smile.

“I can assure you there is not a problem here, if there were I would have handled it by now. Now come along and get ready for the party. If there is a problem I will handle it.” The ghosts looked between each other then slowly nodded before flying away. ‘Everyone is talking about it?’ Vlad hadn’t heard anything from his two maids nor the chefs he hired on. If there was a threat his security would have alerted him and he’d wouldn’ve dealt with it by now. Or maybe the uneasy feeling was from the Ghost Zone and the ghosts he allowed in were just shaken up. He hadn’t heard from anyone that the screaming was back but that didn’t mean that Tayonna’s weird emotional side effects had worn off. Vlad had to push the thought to the side as he nearly ran into another ghost who came through the floor.

“Sorry, Sir!” It was a child ghost dressed in a pilgrim outfit, seconds later her parent were following right behind them trying to catch them. This ghost however was dressed more like an autumn spirit with falling gold and red leaves as a cape.

“I’m so sorry.” The adult ghost said with a nervous smile and Vlad stepped out of their way.

“All is well. Carry on.” He still couldn’t believe he allowed Dani to convince him to allow one ghost dressed like a pilgrim. 

As the clock ticked on slowly his employees started to arrive, he greeted them at the door and watched as their mouths dropped as they saw the theme. Some couldn’t make it through the door before asking him about the ‘effects’ he set up. As more poured in Vlad could help himself to a few more yawns, he tried his best to excuse himself when he felt them coming, but it also seemed like they were consistent. The expresso must have worn out and Vlad told himself he had to make a pit stop in the kitchen to refresh. As the last guess filed through the door, Vlad thanked whoever above the number of guests was less than last year. That meant the party wouldn’t likely drag on like years before. Straightening himself he made his rounds once again greeting and thanking everyone for coming and hoping they enjoyed themselves. A solid hour had passed as he did his rounds, engaged in conversations and lied about how much money it was to hire these magicians.

“Must have cost you no more than a penny,” one of the guests joked and Vlad only chuckled and agreed. Even if the ghost were real people he hired it wouldn’t really put a dent in his wallet. While talking he found Kate had actually arrived and she busied herself at the autumn station watching the show. Of course as her face didn’t move much she seemed very bored. He stopped at a few stations to ask if the ghost were alright and they seemed to be having more fun than the humans. A few of them showed off their powers which amazed the simple minds and Vlad felt at ease. Then his ghost senses went off and he spun to look around. He didn’t see anything or anyone and he swiftly made it to the living room. He clicked his tongue as he saw Danny had arrived, of course not coming through the front door like a normal person. Danny and Dani were putting on a snow act which earned him a lot of ‘ooo’s and ‘ahh’s and ended with them making slushies for those that asked. When they finished Danny looked up and noticed Vlad in the crowd and quickly shot over to him.

“Nice party but we have a problem, a very big problem.” Danny’s green eyes were wide and Vlad could see fear in them.

“Care to explain?” Vlad narrowed his eyes and leaned in as a few guests walked by and waved.

“Ethay ortalpay inway ouryay asementbay,” Danny pointed downward then looked over his shoulder to make sure Dani wasn’t in ear shot. Vlad’s eyes widened and he turned on his heels like they were on fire and headed towards the hallway. The party was only located in the large foyer and the two living rooms, no one was allowed to go past there which gave Vlad a great excuse of having to grab something from his downstairs office and being right back. When he made it away from everyone else he sunk through the floor and into his basement. Vlad could almost feel his core run cold when he noticed his security system completely busted up and the portal cracked open as the Ghost Zone leaked out. The basement looked completely wrecked as things were knocked over and broken on the floor. The only thing that lit up the room was the faint green glow that peaked through the crack door of the portal.

“I asked the other ghost if this happened when they arrived but most of them said they didn’t come through your portal at all.” Danny now stood behind Vlad looking over the damage. “How come you didn’t notice this?”

“Daniel, I have a job I have to keep up with, and mind you, I was unconscious for three days. I didn’t feel the need to come down here as of recently.” Vlad marched over to his equipment with anger but also with a broken heart. It took a lot of work building this and a lot of money as well. Vlad tried to touch the switches but purple static shot out from the controls. Vlad grumbled and cursed sweet treats as he tried to touch it again but small shocks licked at his fingers. Finally he had enough and used his own electric power to reshock the system causing the system screen to turn back on. Through the badly cracked glass the words 'intruder’ flashed. 

“This isn’t good,” Vlad turned towards Danny who was by the portal wiping at something on the ground. Vlad walked over and stood above him and noticed the puddles of water. “You don’t think-”

“I-I have no idea.” Vlad cut him off and before Danny could say anything else a loud scream came from upstairs causing the two to jump into action. They quickly slipped back through the floor in the hallway and hurried out to the foyer. When they did they slowed as they felt their feet become wet, the floor had become flooded with water to their ankles.

From the living room Dani flew out and looked at them with big eyes asking them what was going on. Guests started to panic as they tried to find a place to stand that didn’t have them in the water. The water was still but it seemed to get higher the longer everyone stood there. That’s when all three halfas noticed the ghost guest started to panic and frantically flew out of the house.

“Wait what’s going on?!” Danny called out as a ghost shot past him and he reached out to grab their wrist. It was one of the spring girls. 

“There is so much uneasiness here! It’s not good we have to leave!” The girl snatched her arm away from Danny and quickly flew off with her company.

“Um guys?” Dani flew closer to the others and pointed downward as the water began to ripple in large symmetrical ringlets. The guest gasped but stood frozen in their spots as they watched on. Vlad knew he had to get everyone out of here before Tayonna started to rear her head and appear. 

“Everyone I’m sorry to say there has been a terrible burst in my pipes and we must exit.” Vlad said loudly trying to get everyone’s attention and pointing towards the front door. The guest all agreed and started towards the door but when someone in the front tried the handle they couldn’t get it open.

“The door won't open, Sir!” Danny quickly set into motion flying over and trying the door himself and worried when he couldn’t open it either. The water was now reaching up to people's knees and panic started to set in as a few of the female workers started pushing and shoving others to get to the door. Danny gave a harsh ‘stand back’ and shot the door handle off then rammed it open. Vlad knew it wasn’t appropriate to think of how much that would cost to get fixed but the thought still lingered. When the door busted open the water and the guest quickly rushed out. Vlad quickly hurried out to calm everyone down with minimum questions and send them on their way.

“Well that was one hell of a party, Sir.” Kate held up her dress and continued to sip a glass of wine as she walked up behind him.

“Send out a message that tomorrow is also an off day.” Vlad rubbed the bridge of his nose and huffed.

“Right.” Kate handed him the glass and walked away. When everyone was either in their cars or already gone, Vlad strolled hastily back towards his house. Danny and Dani were already inside and he could hear the sound of Danny yelling. When he made it inside Danny was stanced and ready for attack.

“Tayonna we know you’re here, you fucked up a cool party and scared for the guests. Come out already!” Danny yelled.

“Don’t talk to me, boy. You are in the way.” A voice echoed around the room like thunder then it became solid as another puddle of water formed in the center of the floor and Tayonna rose from it. Her bright green eyes were sinister as black tears fell down her face. She stepped out of the water and both Phantoms held up their hands ready to send off ectoblasts. Tayonna was unphased and flipped out her hands to send an electric blast towards the both of them. When they dodged it and it crashed into the wall only a few feet away from Vlad. Danny tried to counter attack but was quickly caught by a tentacle from the water pulling him down. Danny blasted the tentacle to break free but couldn’t make it out of the way before an ectoblast shot him down. Dani managed to land a hit on the ghost and did a quick cheer. But the way Tayonna turned and stared deep into her eyes caused the younger Phantom to still and become breathless. Dani’s head started to flash through every bad memory she had and broke her. Within seconds Dani was shakenily falling to the floor with tears in her eyes.

“S-stop it! Stop it!” Dani yelled out gripping the sides of her head trying to shake away the thoughts and the hurtful feelings. Dani looked back up towards Tayonna then down again when she felt half of her body starting to break apart. Danny let out a yell to leave her alone but Tayonna was already making her way towards the child.

“Why do we allow them to keep hurting us?” Tayonna asked and Dani couldn’t understand her question. “He hurt you and yet you choose to stay with him.” Tayonna reached out a hand and wiped the tears from Dani’s face. Just then a hand shot out and grabbed Tayonna by the throat and threw her to the ground.

“That is enough.” Vlad commanded and stood between the two. “You may come after me but you will never harm her.” Tayonna coughed and pushed herself to sit up, her eyes narrowed as she looked between Dani and Vlad, like lighting her body shot back up and she stood.

“Is this how you protect her?” Tayonna asked but Vlad refused to answer and kept his ground. Dani was still on the ground but her body was pulling itself back together. “You hurt her and used her, but yet you love her.”

“You know nothing about us.” Vlad hissed and stuck out a hand to shield Dani.

“I know what it’s like to trust someone and have them betray you.” Tayonna brought her hand up to her chest and looked away panting a bit before her hand turned invisible and sunk into her body. She let out a painful cry as she dug her fingers into her core and Vlad felt it. He fell to his knees as he felt his core once again being attacked. It wasn’t as unbearable as before but it still took a lot out of him. Tayonna pulled her hand away from her chest and panted as she came closer and stood above him. She was about to strike him again with a blast but Danny stopped her by shoving her out the way.  When he tackled her he quickly let her go and flew back into the air and shot her with shot after shot. Tayonna let out a cry of pain as she tried to protect herself. When Danny thought he had done enough he held back his final throw to watch the smoke clear. When it did, fear set into his stomach as he felt a sudden gust of wind brush against his neck. He tried to shield himself as Tayonna placed her hand on his body and electrocuted him. The shock ran deep inside him and touched the base of his core. Every muscle in Danny’s body tightened and a cramp ran up his left leg. The only time he ever felt something like this was when Vlad managed to get ahold of him. When Tayonna removed her hand smoke rose from Danny’s body and he began to fall.

Danny fell to the ground with a hard thud. Vlad had managed to get off the ground and told Dani to go and get his guns. He had to weaken Tayonna before she not only killed Danny but also him and Dani. Dani sank through the floor and Vlad stumbled about still feeling his core pulse sporadically. She had somehow tied their cores together during their first fight and could easily weaken him. Vlad noticed though that when she did this it also hurt her. Vlad had never touched another ghost’s corem he only took the liberty of learning the basics of them. Had he known back in his crazed days that crushing them would hurt like hell he may have done it to Danny. An idea formed in his mind he knew would work but also cause him a great amount of pain. If whatever he did to his core tied back to her then it was worth doing, not only to save himself but his guest and also his house.

“Tayonna!” Vlad called out, grabbing the ghost’s attention, he brought his hand to his chest and sunk it towards his core. Tayonna knew what he was doing and quickly shot towards him to stop him. Vlad wasted no time placing his hand on his core and sending a high voltage electric shock through it. They both cried out in pain and fell to the floor. Tayonna began to cry and claw at her chest and Vlad shocked them back again. Each shock made him woozy and on the verge of passing out but he had to keep her down. With another shock he pulled his hand out of his chest and rolled to his side. He was weak and Tayonna was barely moving. He could see she was still conscious but she laid limp with only the sound of crying coming from her body.

“Vladan, please stop...Vladan, please stop.” Tayonna’s begging was broken and she had  managed to shakingly move her head and look up to him. Vlad, though hanging on barely and unable to move, brows knotted as he looked at her. The small voice in his head told him he should feel worried for her, sad even, to maybe reach out a hand and apologize. But that voice was quickly shut out by Vlad’s consciousness telling it to shut up. This ghost had caused him so much trouble, why should he feel any sympathy towards her? His name was also most certainly not Vladan! He didn’t know her and yet he wanted to pull her towards him and tell her he was sorry. As Vlad found a bit of strength he pushed himself up on his elbow, panting and groaning he sat up and moved away from her. Dani came back with two guns and quickly placed one down to take aim with the other. She shot it towards Tayonna and caught the ghost in a string with two metal balls that wrapped around her and shocked her even more. Tayonna let out her infamous wail causing the whole house to shake before passing out on the ground. 

Dani threw the gun down and ran over to Vlad first with tears in her eyes, “Dad! Are you okay?!” Vlad could barely keep his eyes open as he held his chest and breathed out.

“I’m fine,” he managed to get words out even if it was a lie. He pointed towards Danny and told the youngest Phantom to go check on him. Dani wanted to protest but Vlad insisted and she ran over to the other. Danny was beat up but he was fine, way better than Vlad, the boy groaned and sat up wincing when he turned his back. Dani quickly helped Danny up and brought him over to Vlad.

“No dying on us fruitloop, that’s so unlike you.” Danny stumbled to his knees and reached out a hand to rest on Vlad’s shoulder. The older halfa huffed and chuckled as he pushed Danny off.

“Only in your dream, little badger.” They sat on the ground for a moment trying to catch their breath before turning over and looking at the ghost now wrapped up.

“What do we do with her?” Dani asked, scared more than the others, she could still feel Tayonna’s powers through her mind. Dani hadn’t thought about any of that for years and the sudden rush of emotions really made her uneasy.

“Handcuffs, we need to place them on her and keep her here to figure this out.” Vlad coughed out, he was starting to feel his powers about to tap out and he couldn’t fight it. Dark rings formed above him and he was back in his human form. Danny seemed almost worried and ready to ask him what happened while he was out but held his tongue. The young man reached towards his side and grabbed the ghost handcuffs he always kept on him and got up. He limped over to Tayonna and clamped them on her with ease and they auto activated. Danny gasped as he saw dark rings form around her and transform her into a more human appearance. 

“Well this is a lot messier than I thought,” Danny mumbled and moved out of the way for the others to see. Vlad held his breath as he saw Tayonna as she was in his dreams. She was now human with dark skin and messy dark brown hair and her clothes even had changed colors. A pit in Vlad’s stomach sunk deeper and he felt like he was about to throw up. He pushed Dani away and turned his head as his stomach emptied itself. Instead of stomach acid and food it was all ectoplasma mixed with a bit of blood. Vlad panted heavily and tried to push himself away so he wouldn’t have to look at it. But as he did so a red mist floated off his body and a face formed through it. It was his own, sadden and staring him down like he had done the worst possible thing. Vlad didn’t have time to react as he felt his eyes grow heavy and his body fall back onto the floor.

He knew this wasn’t right, sneaking out of the cottage as his family slept, trying to make it to the trees behind the house without making a sound. He told himself over and over he shouldn’t have agreed to something so crazy especially with a servant. A servant! Of all the faces that passed him in the town square or even while he was back in Europe, he chose to follow a servant. But those beautiful haunting green eyes stole his breath away every time he stole a glance. He had cornered himself and struck up conversation with her when he could and found her exciting. She seemed far beyond the cold soils of the colonies, especially when she spoke about where she came from. 

“Africa is home of the true earth bound people, we all come from there but so many left for colder places.” Her words sound like poetry and he wondered where she learnt that. It had only been a year since he arrived and he longed to be taught by her as he would do to she. Stumbling through the line of trees he grumbled and pushed past the wild grass and broken twigs. When he finally made it past the fallen wild life he came to a clearing that stretched into a pond. The moon seemed so much closer here than it did when he left the house and it shone graciously, illuminating everything in its wake. Vladan was taken back by how beautiful nature was at night and took a moment to himself to take it all in. He lowered his eyes when he saw the person he was looking for and quickly came up behind her.

Tayonna stood by the edge of the water and looked down at her reflection. She was dressed only in her night clothes, unlike Vladan who still wore his day clothes, with a purple shawl wrapped around her. Her wild hair was out of its bonnet and rested gently just above her shoulders, wild and untamed curls stuck out in various places but it made her look even more in tune with nature. Vladan took his place beside her causing her to smile when his reflection showed up.

“I was sure you wouldn’t come,” she said and turned towards him with a warm and welcoming smile.

“I had to as I promised.” Vlad slipped his hand into hers and brought her knuckles up for him to kiss. It made her heart stop a bit and her breathing quickened. This was the first time he had ever done that.

“I’m glad,” Tayonna responded and slowly leaned in for a kiss that Vladan had already indicated. When their lips met, Tayonna jumped back in fear as he felt so cold, her eyes widened as he reached out to touch her but turned to mist and blew away.

Tayonna’s eyes shot wide as she laid on the ground still tied up and unable to break free.

“She’s awake!”

[lindyloosims]

Johnny:

The next ten minutes or so consisted of Lilith asking round the room about their progress on getting the humans the hell outta Dodge. It seemed that the other 9 vampires were on good terms with the human population of Forgotten Hollow, which was nice to hear.

DEMETRIUS TROYER: I’ve managed to get my hands on a couple of old school buses that I was hoping to transport the evacuees to Newcrest in. It’s one thing getting the humans out of here but another to have the homes up and ready over the border for them!

MARKUS CROW: Um, yeah about that? It’s been hard goin’ tryin’ to keep my workforce in the dark over what we need those houses for! I managed to convince them that there is an influx of refugees from Selvadorada due to an infestation of deadly spiders hehe!

LILITH: Really good work boys! Anything else to report?

BRANDY WOOD: Yeah, that this could have waited until the weekend! *tut*

LILITH: You are free to leave Brandy, if you feel your presence is unnecessary?

BRANDY WOOD: *grumble* No!

ELLE DEVAMPIRA: I have left a very discreet clip board in the public toilets in the square, I’ve managed to collect quite a few names that way. Maybe you can give me the details of your bus journeys Demetrius, that way I can give my humans hope that there is a definitive plan to get them out?

DEMETRIUS TROYER: Sure thing Elle, I’ll give you the deets after the meeting.

ELLE DEVAMPIRA: Excellent!

INNA CENTS: Well I can’t seem to get anyone to listen to me! I’m flogging a dead horse with that! Perhaps I can help with road blocks or journey timetables?

LILITH: Whatever you feel is best Inna, you have our full support I’m sure!

SAMANTHA GRATZ: I’ve been getting word around my school about crusty old Straud so that the kids will go home and give their parents grief so they have no other choice but to evacuate!

LILITH: Well done Sam, keep up the good work!

MISS HELL: I’m sorry to be that vampire but...what if Count Straud finds out what we’re up to? Then what do we do? I for one am not sticking around to be staked or tied to his statue in the square before sunrise!

VLAD BLOODVEIN: Well you’re free to run now Miss Hell, nobody forced you to join this order! You were the one who wanted to sever your ties with Straud in the first place, came begging here at Wolfsbane Manor for Caleb and Lilith to forgive you and show you mercy!

INNA CENTS/ELLE DEVAMPIRA: *nodding* Yes!

When the meeting was adjourned, a couple of vampires left immediately to carry out the tasks they had agreed to do, but most of them stuck around to catch up with one another. I noticed Inna Cents and Demetrius Troyer were very friendly. Lilith confessed to me that she’d had a thing with both Demetrius and Markus Crow, it made me feel jealous...yeah I really was falling for her! Miss Hell and Caleb were at each other’s throats once again, Lilith filled me in on how Miss Hell turned Caleb and he never forgave her despite embracing the vampire life to its fullest. Maybe Kat Cave was right, maybe they really did need to sleep together to end this! I looked at Lilith, there was so much I wanted to ask her, so much I didn’t know, now was as good a time as any...

Previous_Next

From The Beginning

[kind-wolf]

Happy Birthday 

to one of the loveliest people I have the pleasure to call friend! 

@angelaiswriting​

I wrote you a little story. Although it just recently dawned on me that I f*cked up by showing you the writing from my prime time. In comparison, this seems a bit lame. But I did my best. Hope you can enjoy it at least a little!

"You can not just get her flowers for her birthday, Volodya!" Anatoly insisted.

"She's also getting this." his brother replied, suggestively grabbing between his legs.

Anatoly sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He was no expert in women and relationships either, (he still thinks it was pure luck that brought him and his wife together), but he was certain that giving your girlfriend only flowers and sex on her birthday, was not a good idea. And it certainly was not enough for a woman that puts up with his brother.

And as soon as he voiced that very thought, Vladimir rounded on him, scowl deeply etched into his features. "What do you mean put up with me?"

Toly, long used to his brother's temper only leveled him with a look.

And thus Volodya ended the discussion by huffing and storming into his office.

But in private, Vladimir couldn't help but think about his brother's words. Angela and him were so different, she was sweet and innocent, far too good compared to his calloused hardness, yet she doesn't seem deterred by his gruff behavior. But she is probably expecting more from him in this case. Something nice. Like her.

They had met in the little Russian corner store Ulyana always insisted to go to when he helped her with her groceries. It had been obvious, not only to him but also to the old Lady that this young woman was somewhat lost between all those foreign products. If it had been for Vladimir, he wouldn't have spared her a second glance, but of course, Ulyana insisted he goes and offers some help. And there was a glint in the old woman's eyes, he didn't like. Not one bit.

From that moment on, things escalated quickly. So quickly in fact that he can barely recall how it all happened. But here he was, months later, thinking about whatever birthday present his girlfriend wants. Fuck.

Days. Fucking days, countless packs of cigarettes and a very persistent headache later, he finally figured something out. It was perfect for her.

He would have to suffer though. But what is a little suffering after spending years in that shithole in siberia?

Also, a small part of him felt gleeful over the fact that it wasn't something she could or would want to return, even when she some day inevitably decides to leave him. This will be something from him that stays with her. A constant reminder.

~~~~~~~~~

Working on your own birthday sucked. Not that you had any big plans. It was a weekday and everyone had to work, so you figured you'd have a nice dinner with Vladimir, his brother and your friends on the following weekend.

You perked up a little when you came through the door of Vladimir's (who were you kidding? You basically lived here.) apartment and saw that the lights were on. He was home. Unusually early. Another exception made for you, after already getting up early today to get you fresh & gluten-free cupcakes, coffee and flowers before you had to go to work. You smiled to yourself. The softie.

When you entered the living room where he was sat watching some serial killer documentary with a drink in hand, you immediately spotted something out of the ordinary in the corner. Something big and square that was hidden underneath two blankets.

"Hey Volodya!" you greeted him with a chaste kiss after plopping down besides him. "What's this in the corner?"

He grinned. "Suprise for my birthday girl." When you sat up, clearly intending to have a look, he grabbed you around the waist and pulled you closer to him again. "For later." he amended. And to effectively distract you, his other hand came up to gently grasp your chin and guide you to him.

Kissing Vladimir still gave you butterflies every time. He always saw himself as this rough gangster, but when he kissed you his true self always shone through. It wasn't harsh or demanding. Sure, sometimes it was rough and dominating, but only in those moments. In general, it felt like the perfect mixture of adoration and passion. He rarely says how he feels. In fact, he had only ever said I love you once. But his kisses, they tell you every day.

It took you a second to get your bearings when Vlad pulled back. "Go get changed in something comfortable. We're picking your birthday present."

You were confused. "I'm supposed to pick my own present?"

"Don't start with that look. You'll like it. Promise." Vladimir assured you, giving you a rare genuine smile.

"Fiiiiine."

It wasn't long before Volodya pulled into the parking lot of a building, you had walked by a thousand times but never dared to go inside.

"The dog shelter!?" you exclaimed, voice raising with excitement. "We're getting a dog?l"

"You are getting a dog. You always wanted one, no?"

Instead of using words, you answered him by basically leaping across the seats and smothering him in kisses. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

Vladimir chuckled and carefully pushed you away. "Enough. I thought dog might try to lick my face. Not you."

You wiggled your eyebrows playfully. "I know, you prefer when I lick something else."

"Don't start. Get out. Before I change my mind." Vlad growled, not able to hide his grin at the end.

He was probably bluffing, but still, you wouldn't take the chance and quickly hopped out of the car, almost running to the entrance.

In the last second however, Vlad caught up to you and stopped you by grabbing your wrist. "Before we go inside, you have to promise one thing, Мышка."

He was using his serious gangster tone, as you liked to call it, so you just nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"It will not sleep in bed."

"But if it's..."

"нет!"

"But when you're..."

"Not in bed."

"Alright, alright."

When you two stepped thru the door and up to the counter, the woman behind it greeted you with a friendly smile. "Ah, Mr. Miller, back with your wife now I see!"

You startled, confused not only at the way she greeted Vladimir, but also at the word wife.

Before you could correct her, Vlad gave her his version of a friendly smile. "Yes. She can pick one now."

She directed another smile at you. "Very well. Let me just get my colleague, she'll show you around."

As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned to Vlad, eyes still wide. "Mr. Miller? Wife? What? You've been here before? What?"

Vlad snorted at your obvious confusion. "да. Been here and asked what we need for dog. And to get papers ready. With fake information."

"So that's the box in the living room." you mused out loud. And before your brain could catch up with your mouth, you added: "You shouldn't have made me your wife. I don't even wear a ring."

Vlad gave you one of his calculating looks, where you couldn't tell what was going on in his brain. "So, you don't want to be my wife. I'll remember that."

"Oh. I- I didn't... That's not.. " you stuttered, face heating up immediately. That was really not what you were thinking. It just caught you off guard. Especially since you didn't think he would be the kind of guy that thinks about marriage.

Volodya's quiet chuckle and his hand squeezing yours stopped your brain from going into overdrive. "Мышка, it was joke!"

Thankfully you were saved from further stuttering by the woman returning with her colleague.

Time to pick your new companion!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Vladimir couldn't stop the smile from showing on his face as Angela's eyes lit up at seeing the first dog.

"Look Volodya! He's so fluffy!"

"Awww! Such a cute snout!"

"Those eyes!"

"What tiny paws!"

"See how she's wagging her tail!"

"His fur is sooo smooth!"

"Naww! How gentle he is!"

It went on like this for what felt like forever. And he knew they would spend the whole night here if he doesn't reign her in.

He stepped closer to the bars of the cage she was currently petting a little creme-colored rat-chaser. "You have to pick one Мышка. You know that?"

Her head whipped up and her mouth opened, ready to protest, but it seemed that reality slowly dawned on her.

The light in her eyes dimmed a bit. "I know. But howww?"

He extended his hand for her to take. "Pick one. If you don't like it we bring it back." Vlad offered with a shrug.

Instead of taking his hand Angela smacked his arm. "What? No! Don't be mean."

"Just pick one." he grumbled in return, clearly not seeing an issue with his statement.

She wandered slowly along the cages, Vladimir silently following behind.

"I- I think it's that one. He just looks so sad." Her voice nearly cracked when she crouched down and stuck her hand thru the bars of one cage.

Vladimir, feeling this weird prickling in his chest, crouched down beside her and pulled her against him with an arm around her shoulders. "Won't be sad anymore when he's with you."

A tiny smile from her was all the confirmation he needed. So he pulled her to her feet and gestured to the employee that has been waiting at the end of the corridor.

And since Mr. Miller had been here the day before, only the dog's information needed to be filled into the adoption papers before they could get out of there.

Angela struggled to carry the slightly too-big-to-be-carried-by-her dog, but she insisted on carrying her new baby.

"I really hope the other dogs will get adopted too." She said, while they waited at the counter.

Before he could comment, the employee came back with the papers. She handed Vladimir the dog's ID and told him the adoption fee.

Angela's concerns fresh in mind, Vlad hesitated only a moment before thinking fuck it and pulling a thick wad of cash from his pocket.

As soon as he pushed it over the counter, the woman's eyes went wide. "Sir, that's... that's way too much, we only ask for..."

"Rest is donation." He cut her off, with a tone that made it clear there would be no further talk about it.

"Oh. Ah, thank you then. And I hope you will be happy with the new addition to your family."

Once again a smile plastered on her face, Angela thanked the woman before walking out the door Vladimir was holding open for her.

"That was really sweet Volodya!"

He glared at her, even tho he already knew it didn't have that much effect on her anymore. "Get in car."

Angela giggled, knowing he hated it when she pointed out his soft moments.

It's been a week. A week with that little furry pest.

And while Vladimir usually looked forward to coming home, especially knowing she was there, waiting for him, his excitement was slightly dimmed these days. It wasn't that he doesn't enjoy seeing her so happy. He did. It was just, that dog needed too much attention. He couldn't even sit down and have a drink and just be, after a long day surrounded by idiots, before that little thing was climbing into his lap, trying them like his face, or even worse, chewing on the seam of his pants.

This day when he closed the door of his apartment though, it was eerily quiet. And neither Angela nor the dog came to greet him, despite it being not that late at all. He scowled but resisted the urge to immediately reach for his gun. With slow and silent steps he crept through the hall.

His posture relaxed though, when he stepped into the living room.

There, in between a mess of toys the two were. Curled up and peacefully sleeping on the floor in front of the couch.

Vladimir's little scoff must have finally alerted the dog to his presence because he blinked at him and thumped his little tail against the floor.

"You have to get better at guarding your мама." Vlad mumbled while slowly approaching them and bending down to pick Angela up. She stirred when he pushed his arms under her, so he tried to sooth her. "Shhh Мышка, 's just me. I'm taking you to bed."

Despite his efforts, her eyes slowly blinked open, while he walked to the bedroom. "But I still gotta walk him."

Vladimir tried to keep his face neutral and suppressed a sigh. Still, his voice sounded grumpy, even in his own ears. "I will do it."

"But, you don't want to." Despite her protest, her eyes were already closing again while he placed her onto the bed and put the blanket over her.

"Sleep, Мышка." He insisted, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head.

So there he was, walking the dog.

Suffering, just as he predicted.

Was it worth it tho?

да, she was worth it.

[phoenixkaizen]

It’s On

Summary: So I went to tumblr and asked (begged xD) for prompts. This one I recieved from itsthefandommash (I love this username, I sang Monster Mash with fandom in my head) which as Erasermic with a simple prank war, like putting flour in a hairdryer. The second the words, "It's on." left Shouta's mouth, Hizashi knew he screwed up. Or how Hizashi started a prank war with his husband and somehow Class 1-A gets to witness it all. Author's Note: So this was really fun to write. I've had a bad case of writer's block with I Want It That Way (which is very infuriating) and hit up tumblr for prompts of fluff and not angst. I write so much angst. I'm actually really open to prompts, I do pretty much anything. (NSFW usually has to fall under what person I have for bottom/top or I just can't bring myself to write it.) But like I need more fluff in my life and can never come up with anything xD So anyway on with the fic.

Hizashi Yamada poked his head into Class 1-A's homeroom, double checking to make sure the coast was clear. The curious eyes of Shouta's students watched his movements as he grinned and entered the room. Rushing over to the closest, he grabbed out a ladder and set it up at the door. Chuckling to himself, he reached back out into hall and grabbed his bucket that was full of water and glitter. "Mic-sensei, what are you doing?" Kirishima questioned, watching the Voice hero. Hizashi looked over his shoulder and threw a smile to the boy. "Just pulling a little prank is all." He stated. Climbing up the ladder, he connected a string to the handle and carefully placed the bucket on the edge of the frame. Carefully pulling his hands away, he smirked as it stayed. The sound of footsteps in the hall caught his attention, he clambered off the ladder and rushed it back to the closest. Letting out a small chuckle, he took a seat at Shouta's desk and waited. "I don't think this is such a good idea, Mic-sensei. Ribbit." Asui muttered. Hizashi didn't get to reply as the door slowly slid open. Shouta stepped into the room. The class held their breath in anticipation. Most of them ready to watch Shouta jump out of the way. The Erasure hero let out a loud gasp and the water and glitter mixture fell on his head and down his body. Completely soaking his hair and top half of his hero costume. "What the actual fuck?!" Shouta hissed, his quirk activating as he looked around the class. He stopped at the pure terror written on his student's faces before a fit of giggles filled his ears that belonged to someone he was very much knew of. Shouta peered over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing on Hizashi. The look only caused Hizashi to go into a louder set of laughter. "The look on your face." Hizashi said through heaves as he tried to catch his breath. "Oh my god. That was priceless." The blonde's laughter ceased to exist as a small smirk came to Shouta's face and a familiar glint in his eye. The second the words, "It's on." left Shouta's mouth, Hizashi knew he screwed up. x Shouta growled for probably the hundredth time as he scrubbed at his skin and hair in attempt to get the vile glitter off of him. Water would be one thing but glitter? Did Hizashi not realize how incredibly annoying it is to try and get glitter out of hair. It sure didn't help Shouta's case that his hair happened to be black and glitter shows up best on black. Growling in frustation, Shouta turned off the tap and grabbed the nearest towel. Cursing to himself as a shampoo bottle fell off the side, he leaned down to grab it. He stopped as he realized it was Hizashi's very stupidly expensive shampoo. The bottle was completely full so Shouta knew it was brand new. Looking into the trash can, he spotted the old bottle and swiped it up. Payback time. Jumping out of the shower completely, he quickly threw on his clothes and marched his way into the kitchen. Pulling on one of the drawers, he pulled out a funnel. He went quick to work. Unscrewing the lid, he put it to the side and opened up the cabinet above his head. He grabbed one of the larger bowls and placed it on the counter. Walking over to the fridge, he pulled out the carton of eggs from the door. He broke all 12 eggs into the bowl, quickly throwing away the evidence. Grabbing a fork from the dish strainer, he whisked the eggs in the bowl until it was mixed up nicely. Fortunately, the color of mixed eggs, matched the color of Hizashi's shampoo. Once it was mixed, he grabbed the funnel and slid the end into the bottle. He grabbed the bowl and tilted it over the funnel, watching as the eggs disappeared into the empty bottle. Once the liquid was in the bottle. He pulled out the funnel and screwed the lid back onto the bottle. Shouta cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes and putting them away to keep Hizashi from getting suspicious. He went back into the bathroom with the now egg filled bottle in hand and placed it in the spot that Hizashi's shampoo had originally been in. The full bottle with actual shampoo, Shouta hid underneath the sink behind some of his own stuff that he knew Hizashi would get into. Smirking to himself, he left the bathroom and waited. His plan didn't go into complete effect until the next morning. Hizashi didn't get back to their shared apartment at U.A. until late that night after a long night of patrols. Shouta made sure that he was already gone when Hizashi had hopped into the shower. He had bribed Vlad and Nemuri with a night out for drinks on him if they kept quiet when Hizashi got there. Shouta had to bit his lip to contain his laughter as Hizashi walked into the teacher's lounge. It had freaking worked. Peaking through pieces of Hizashi's hair were bits of cooked eggs. He had learned that if hot water came in contact with eggs even in hair, the egs would start to cook. Hizashi had been so exhausted that morning that he probably didn't even realize it. Hizashi only waltzed over to his side, placing a soft kiss into his cheek with a quick good morning to him before he sat down at his desk. Across from them Toshinori's jaw dropped and Nemuri hid behind her hand. Vlad only chuckled slightly before gathering his papers and leaving the room. "See you later." Shouta muttered to Hizashi before also making his exit. By the time his homeroom had their English class, Hizashi still hadn't realized the eggs in his hair. Once again Shouta had to bite his lip as Hizashi made his very dramatic entrance into the room that he did every day. Before Shouta could leave the room, Hizashi leaned in and whispered. "You're up to something. You're oddly silent... well more than usual." The Erasure hero only shrugged. They were interrupted when Todoroki walked up to them with his homework in hand. "Mic-sensei, I have a question about the homewo--" The dual haired teen paused as his eyes settled on Hizashi's hair. Shouta once again had to contain himself as Todoroki blinked rapidly with wide eyes. "Young listener? What was that?" Hizashi questioned, still completely oblivious. Todoroki cocked his head to the side, examining the pieces of egg before looking back to Hizashi with a blank look. "Do you use eggs on your hair?" Hizashi chuckled. "No but I've heard eggs have great protein for hair care." The Voice hero stated. Todoroki blinked once more. "Than why do you have egg in your hair?" Hizashi's face paled as he looked between Todoroki to Shouta. "What?" Giggles filled the classroom as Hizashi began to panick, running his hands over his hair. The blonde let out a screech as pieces of egg came out on his hand. "Oh my God. My hair." Now, Shouta couldn't contain his laughter anymore. His laughs came out soft and quiet as he hide his face within his capture weapon. Shouta took the moment to creep out of the room as Hizashi shouted, "I'm so getting you back for this!" x There were some mornings that Shouta was so exhausted from being awake for more than 24 hours from teaching to going to his overnight patrols. Those mornings, Shouta would make himself a cup of coffee and have it finished by the time he would get to the teacher's lounge. Those mornings, Shouta would take a quick cat nap under his desk and Hizashi would make him another cup of coffee to take to class with him. Hizashi was going to get his revenge for his hair and if Shouta murdered him for it so be it. Hizashi had exactly three minutes before Shouta would be waking from his nap and heading off to his homeroom. He snatched Shouta's empty coffee tumbler and went over to the waiting coffee. Pouring the liquid into the cup, he poured the right amount of creamer into it before grabbing the salt that was sitting on the counter. "Oh boy." Nemuri muttered from her desk, just from the sound of her voice Hizashi could tell she was amused. "So who wants to plan Yamada's funeral?" "I'm not in this." Vlad stated. "I'm not so sure this is a good idea, Mic." Yagi muttered, the clear concern in his tone. Hizashi only shrugged as he mixed it together and placed the lid back onto the tumbler before moving over to Shouta's desk. He leaned down, shaking his sleeping husband awake. Shouta cracked his eyes open, muttering to himself before crawling out from underneath the desk and grabbing the cup from him. Hizashi said a quick "I love you." with a kiss to the shorter man's cheek as Shouta grabbed his things and left the lounge with an I love you in return. Nemuri chuckled as soon as Shouta was completely out of the room. "You are just asking to be killed." The woman stated. Hizashi only smirked. "Worth it." "God, please watch over those poor innocent students from the wrath of an angry Aizawa." Yagi said with a smile of his own. Meanwhile with Aizawa... Shouta hurried into his classroom. As soon as the door opened, his students were quietly and patiently waiting in their seats. "Alright, today we will be working on what to do in a hostage situation." He went to the front row desk and gave enough papers for the row. They passed them back as Shouta rounded his desk and took a long drink of his coffee. His eyes widened and immediately the coffee came spurting out of his mouth and onto the floor. He cringed as the taste of salt lingered on his tongue. "Mr. Aizawa, are you okay?" Iida questioned immediately.   Shouta had a frown plastered on his face as he growled, "Don't kill him. You aren't a villain. You aren't a villain." He kept repeating it to himself as Shinsou came up to him with a coffee cup in hand. "Mic-sensei talks to much." The purple hair boy said, passing the coffee to his mentor before returning to his desk. Shouta nodded to the boy before taking a large gulp from the fresh coffee to wash down the taste of salt. Kaminari laughed for a moment until Shouta sent a glare his way. The boy put his hands up in defense. "Sorry, Mr. Aizawa, I guess Mic-sensei just has a death wish." "It probably helps that they are married." Midoriya said, a smile on his face as well. The class froze as a smirk came onto their teacher's face with an unfamiliar glint in his eye. "Kaminari, Shinsou, I will pay you both 1000 yen* if you run to Lunch Rush and get me some butter." Kaminari and Shinsou looked to each other and shrugged. "I'm down." Shinsou said, getting up as Shouta pulled his wallet from his pocket and handed the currency over to the two boys before they left the room. "I wonder what this prank is going to be." Todoroki stated. Bakugou scoffed from his seat. "Have you never heard of the butter trick before?" Peering over his shoulder to her. Todoroki shook his head as Bakugou snorted. "Well, you will see, dumbass." It wasn't long before Kaminari and Shinsou had returned with butter in hand. They passed it over and Shouta immediately dropped to his knees and started to rub it on the floor in front of the door. He could hear Todoroki questioning it still and Yaoyorozu giving in and explaining it to him. Once he was finished, with a smile on his face, he continued on with his class. Once again, it was a waiting game. The lesson flew by and once again Hizashi threw open the door with a loud, "IT'S TIME FOR ENGLISH, LISTENERS!" Walking into the room, his feet came out from underneath him and he went crashing to the floor. The students immediately broke out into laughter at the complete look of shock on Hizashi's face as he leaned up off the floor. "You buttered me!" Hizashi exclaimed, looking up at his husband. Hizashi barely caught Jirou saying, "I can't believe that he actually fell for it." Iida added in, "You think he would be on guard during a prank war." Shouta hummed as he grabbed his tumbler, pretending to take a drink before stepping beside Hizashi and carefully going out the door. "Class, you might want to go out the back door for lunch." He warned before he disappeared from sight. x This was absolute war now. Despite the pranks being so small and simple. It was war. War had been declared. It had been entirely his fault but it was war. Currently, Hizashi was now standing on the table in Heights Alliance pouring glitter on top of the ceiling fan blades. He knew exactly how much Shouta hated glitter but war was on. He had already warned the students if they didn't want to get glittered bombed than they should stay clear when he got Shouta into his spot. He also may have bribed Midoriya to turn on the fan with a limited edition signed All Might poster. If he had to walk away from Shouta to turn on the fan, his husband would immediately know something was up. Once the perfect mountain of glitter was placed on the blades, he hopped down from the table and leaned against it, already knowing the first place Shouta would go would be to him. To make it more believable, Kaminari, Ashido, and Aoyama stood with him having a small conversation. Once again, he also bribed each of them with extra credit. Any minute, Shouta would return from his private training with Shinsou. Hizashi looked at his watch and right on schedule Shouta and Shinsou came through the entrance of Heights Alliance. Like predicted, Shouta walked over to Hizashi and placed a soft kiss to Hizashi's lips. The three students made their made up excuses to leave with a goodbye to Shouta before fleeing to the other side of the room. Hizashi casually let his phone slip from his hand and slide underneath the table. Hizashi muttered a quick--fake-- apology before kneeling down and going underneath the table to fetch the fallen device. On cue, Midoriya flipped on the fan and the glitter flew across the room and over Shouta. Blinking, Shouta took a moment to realize that he was now covered completely in glitter. He frowned and looked under the table to Hizashi and said, "Really, glitter again?" "Why am I covered in glitter?" Todoroki's innocent voice filled the two teacher's ears. Shouta covered his mouth with his hand as Todoroki looked at him in confusion. Shouta turned back to Hizashi, "You claimed an innocent victim. Shame on you."    Hizashi gave an innocent smile and shrug. "Oops." He crawled out from underneath the table. "Sorry, young listener." Todoroki frowned. "I still don't get why I'm covered in glitter." Shinsou took the moment to walk up behind Todoroki and throw his arm over his shoulder. "The innocence radiating off of you is amazing to the point you don't realize you just walked into the middle of Mic-sensei and Mr. Aizawa's prank war." Realization came across Todoroki's face as he gave out a soft oh making the others chuckle.    Shouta took the moment of distraction to look back to his husband. "This isn't over." x After Shouta, the second thing that Hizashi loved most in this world happened to be his hair and appearance. While Shouta didn't care about his appearance, Hizashi could spend hours pampering himself and just doing his hair. He snagged a cup of flour while Hizashi was in the shower and dumped it into Hizashi's waiting hair dryer. Thankfully, for him, his time as an underground hero allowed for him to be almost completely silent with his movements. Once the flour was in place, he exited the bathroom and left the room as he heard the shower get turned off. He had already made it to the main building of the dorm by the time he heard Hizashi's loud scream. "SHOUTA!" Hizashi's voice carried to the building thanks to his quirk. Shouta laughed as he dunked into the building and rushed through the common room and into the kitchen. He barely caught Shinsou saying, "Here we go again." Not even a moment later, Hizashi came running into the common room in his causal clothes. Shouta covered his mouth and nose as Hizashi came into view to keep the man from finding his location. Hizashi's entire face, half of his hair and neck were covered in flour. His students were trying to contain their own laughter as Hizashi rushed through the common room looking for Shouta. "Where are you!?" Hizashi exclaimed, a hint of amusement in his voice. Shouta crept from his spot, freezing completely as his back hit the broad chest of his husband. "Got cha." Wrapping his arms around Shouta's lean waist, he turned on his heel and spun. Shouta couldn't help as he laughed before he was placed back on the ground. The ebony haired man turned on his heel until he was flush against his husband. Shouta reached up, throwing his arms around Hizashi's shoulder and smiled innocently. "Something wrong?" He muttered, batting his eye lashes. Hizashi rolled his eyes. "You win. If we keep going, my hair is going to regret it." The blonde said. Shouta smirked. "But I had so many more ideas." "If this continues, you might end up cutting my hair." Shouta shrugged. "Maybe." Hizashi laughed, leaning forward and connecting his lips to Shouta's. "I love you." he whispered as he pulled away. "I love you, too." Shinsou groaned as he entered the kitchen. "Oh god, our dads are kissing again." The purple haired teen called out as he left the room. Shouta and Hizashi shared a look before going into a fit of laughter. The two pulled away from each other and Hizashi took a quick moment to place a quick smack to Shouta's butt. The Erasure hero glared at him as Hizashi wiggled his eyebrows. "I have to take another shower. Want to join me?"

[axther]

Heyo! i reread your rules and i was wondering if i could request a little something? maybe Hatsume(if you write for her, if not it’s okay!) and Jirou with a Support Course s/o? i thought the idea was really cute^^ Thanks for your time! -LesBean Anon

the return of the queen 

Hatsume 

Teamwork made the dream work, or so they say. 

Hatsume knew otherwise. For as long as she could remember, she always worked by herself. She was fully capable of getting her designs written so they would satisfy her customers and be sent to the people who made it. But then Hatsume realised; someone had to make her babies. 

So, she decided, she would watch them make it. She didn’t know who it was. She didn’t trust them. 

Across the campus, there was a workshop for the kids with quirks that were meant for support and making support items. It was legendary in that none of the creators let anyone else in the Support Course in, much less so the General and Hero Courses. They were insanely protective over what they made, and it was bad enough that even teachers avoided the workshop. 

But Hatsume feared no man, not for her babies. 

The sky was beginning to go orange when Hatsume started strutting to the workshop. Steam and smoke clouded the air around it, but she could see cluttered pieces of metal around the ground. She even recognised a few scrapped versions of her jet back and hydraulic bracers. Several students passed by as she took in the sight, whispering to each other. 

“No way,” One of the muttered, someone with a clear dog quirk. “They’re not gonna let her in.” 

“Did you hear? Vlad King tried to go in to get one of his students, and they ganged up on him and literally kicked him out.” The other, with a head shaped like a baseball, tittered back. 

“Yikes.” 

Hatsume huffed. There was no way that someone was going to get between her and her babies. 

She shoved open the door and realised quite suddenly that there was no smoke or steam inside the building. Somehow, it was all condensed to outside, and Hatsume couldn’t help but feel curious. 

There was the distant banging of metal on metal, but it was the only sound besides the humming of machinery and coolers. 

And it was clearly the sound of the only person there. 

Hatsume walked down the hall, eyeing shut and locked doors with interest before seeing a large one, like a factory entrance, open. Golden-orange light spilt out, and she peeked in. 

The inside was enormous, with a forge as the centrepiece and different sized water tanks all around it. There was a large anvil, but the best part was the funnel that was filled with molten metal. It was bright orange and lowered so it would be poured into a mould. 

But best of all was the gorgeous creature pouring it. 

She was tall, much taller than Hatsume. She lifted her arm to strike down onto the mould, and her arms showed muscles that would’ve made moderate bodybuilders cry. She fit what hair she could into a cap, and when she turned to take a drink of water, literal steam hissed and left her mouth. 

And speaking of mouths, Hatsume had to clamp her’s shut. 

The sound made the girl stop her drinking and turn, a mouth full of water before she let it out as steam through her nose. Hatsume blinked. 

“Who’re you?” The girl murmured, and Hatsume quickly realised that the girl was almost rearing up, and also had a massive hammer in her hand. “What do you want?” 

“I’m Hatsume Mei!” She spat out as quickly and confidently as possible. She didn’t notice the girl begin to relax but continued babbling. “I make support items, and I wanted to see who makes them, and wow, you have really nice proportions and do you think that maybe sometime you could model for me? You’re about the size of a full-grown adult and it’d be nice for me to have a person to work with for future reference, oh, and I know that I’m bursting in on your place, but I just wanted to see my babies and the place where they’re made and I was wondering if you knew who made them, it looks like here isn’t where there’s a lot of precision work, so if you could just point me in the direction-” 

Before Hatsume could finish her rant, a handful of papers were shoved into her face. Hatsume recoiled but realised several things at once. One, the girl’s hands were scarred and absolutely fantastic, and two, the girl was holding Hatsume’s own designs for her Auto Balancers. 

“Hatsume Mei. 1-H, right?” 

“You’re…?” Hatsume, for once, was shocked silent. 

“I’ve worked on all of your creations that you sent in through here.” 

“What? All of them? In a forge?” Hatsume could feel euphoria beginning to bubble within her. “How?” 

“I always took the projects until they just decided to hand them all off to me. I might not look it, but precision work is my thing.” The girl remained cool and collected while Hatsume began jumping up and down. 

“No way! You assembled all of my babies?!” 

The girl said nothing, but smiled and turned back around. 

“Then the High-Density Weights?! Are they here?” 

The girl pointed a hand at a nearby table before taking the cooled metal and throwing it into a nearby shute in the wall. She tugged the funnel back down and started pouring again. 

“These are perfect!” She held the weights up, and she nearly dropped them. “You really are the best!” 

The girl smiled. “Thanks.“

“And what are you working on now?” 

“The Auto Balancers. Since they need to be able to detect whether or not a fall is intentional, I need to hand-make the springs. But right now, I’m getting the panels done.” 

“Ahh.” Hatsume hummed. “I could marry you.” 

The girl hesitated, for just a moment, before going back to the panels. “Thanks.” 

“Actually, you could say we are! We’re my babies moms! Our babies!” 

“Sure,” The girl giggled. “And do you know your wife’s name?” 

Hatsume stopped staring dreamily at the girl’s back and stiffened. “No.” 

“Y/N L/N. Or Hatsume Y/N. Or are you L/N Mei?” Y/N said, a teasing smirk on her face. 

Hatsume went right back to snuggling into the chair she was in and ogling at her new wife. “I can be whatever you want.” 

“Oh? Then you can stay here until I’m done and go with me to that cafe that just opened, right?” 

“Oh?” Hatsume felt a blush crawl up her face. “Well, I did promise.”

“Don’t worry.” Y/n winked at Hatsume, who was ready to melt. “I’ll pay.” 

Hatsume knew, then; teamwork definitely made the dream work. 

.

.

Jirou

Jirou Kyoka had hobbies. 

One of those hobbies was music. Another was talking to her classmates. But her favourite was watching her girlfriend. 

This could be considered at nothing unusual. But seeing as her girlfriend was the number one producer of Support items in the Support Course, it meant that Jirou would be sitting inside a boiling hot room with steam all around and the constant banging of a hammer onto an anvil. Most people wouldn’t be able to bear it, and would just wait after school. 

But Jirou found a certain beauty in it. And in her girlfriend’s back.  

If there was one thing that Jirou had to be proud of about her girlfriend’s body, it was definitely her back. It reminded her over a swimmer’s back, fluid but definitely there. But she loved her girlfriend anyway and liked keeping her company while she finished with her projects. 

Which was why Jirou sat in the Support Course’s workshop at four in the afternoon, letting her day waste away in favour of watching her girlfriend. 

The sun seeped through the window, and there were some birds singing outside. Somewhere in the halls of the workshop distant music played, and there was a strange sense of peace over Jirou. She watched as Y/N murmured over a stack of designs, a finger on her chin and lost in thought. A classmate of hers, a young woman with her dreadlocks in a ponytail and green at the tips, knocked at the huge sliding doors. 

“Hey, L/N, I’m heading out. Make sure to close up. Night, Jirou.” The woman waved at Jirou, who said ‘night’ right back, but all Y/N did was wave a distracted hand. She was clearly occupied, so the young woman simply left the doors cracked and walked away. Jirou turned back to her girlfriend and tried to find something to do, but slowly, the heat and setting sun and the sound of cicadas outside began lulling her to sleep. Her head slipped once, twice, and then there was nothing. 

                                                        ——

When Jirou woke up, she was staring at the sky. 

She wasn’t walking, but felt an insurmountable warmth, like a heated blanket. She looked down and saw her legs, and then a dull orange glow. Jirou blinked once, before looking a bit further up. 

Y/N was carrying her, her head high with vigilance and a look of stern concentration. Her girlfriend’s heart was literally glowing like molten lava, and some of the veins in her arms were molten, too. The whole of her hands was orange but pleasantly warm. She wondered for a second why Y/N would have to activate her quirk, before realising that they both were soaking wet. 

“What happened?” Jirou murmured sleepily, before sighing and nuzzling into Y/N’s chest. 

“Stayed late. It started raining, and you were asleep, so I figured that I would carry you and make a run for your dorm.” 

“Hmm. Iida wouldn’t let you in.” 

“He has, before. Only when you’re with me, though.” 

“Hmm. Why’re you warming me up?” 

“The rain would’ve woken you up.” Y/N looked down with a soft smile. “You were cute, so I wanted to keep you warm.” 

Jirou smiled. “You dork.” 

“Yes.” Y/N sighed. “I’m your dork, though.” 

Jirou yawned, taking a deep sigh and feeling sleepy again. 

“Take another nap. When we get in, I’ll need your keys, but that’s all.” 

“Okay, babe.” Suddenly, Jirou snapped awake. “The movie! Our date!” 

“It’s okay, Kyo.” Y/N finally looked down to nuzzle Jirou, and she couldn’t help but blush. “We could both use a nap. We can always catch another movie.” 

Y/N placed a small kiss on Jirou’s forehead, and slowly but surely, she was welcomed into the arms of sleep again. 

(Later that night, Iida would be making his rounds only to find Jirou’s door cracked open. He opened it slightly, but quietly shut it again after seeing Jirou and her lover sleeping, with Jirou laying over Y/N’s molten heart.) 

[nocturna-starr]

Losing Hope

Prompter: @idiot-cheesehead-archenemy

Prompt: Tucker is turned into a vampire

Length: 1718

Warnings: Implications

The motel room was cold and smelled like something had recently died in it. Yet this place was one of the few he could afford with his meagre savings and lack of ID. Here he could hang out until he could fix what was wrong with him.

It would be a while before anyone would even look for him. His parents believed he was sleeping over at Sam's while his friends believed he was at home sick. School had let out two weeks ago so there were going to be no nosy teachers questioning his whereabouts. He was home free.

Tucker Foley threw himself onto his bed. It creaked from all of his weight. He threw his bag against the wall, accidentally ripping part of the old floral wallpaper. The comforter smelled of mould. He was almost afraid to see the sheets beneath. At least it meant that maids don't come up here often. He wouldn't be noticed if he snuck back in...

He picked up the old remote on his bedside table. Half of the buttons were stuck, but it would have to do for now. He turned on the television.

The news was airing another ghost attack. Lance Thunder looked just as uncomfortable as ever.

“Well Amanda, the creep crate is attempting to rob the antique store once again. The Fentons are trying to subdue him. There is still no sign of Phantom.”

Behind the reporter, the Box Ghost was running as fast as he could. A box full of old clocks floated behind him while Jack Fenton chased him with a Fenton bazooka. Every time he shot at the blue ghost, he missed. It was laughable. Danny leaves them the weakest ghost and they still couldn't catch it!

Danny...

It wasn't fair! How come Danny managed to get the cool powers and keep his humanity? Danny got to be the world-famous hero, but Tucker would have to spend each and every day trying not to murder anyone. Why couldn't Sam had been bitten by her creepy friend instead of him? At least the style would have suited her! Why did Tucker always get the short end of the stick? Was this punishment for some awful crime he couldn't remember?

Tucker felt the bitterness creeping through his soul. That wasn't good! He needed to focus on something else before his powers went out of control. Who knew what horrible ability would make itself known? Besides, Jazz always told Danny that good things come to those with a positive attitude.

He changed the channel. A cartoon about a giant mouse and a cat was playing. They were going on some sort of adventure. It was the type of show his grandma used to put on when he was little. It was stupid and mindless, the perfect escape from his panicked mind.

He kicked his shoes off, leaving them to unceremoniously fall onto the floor. He thought about switching into his pyjamas, but what would be the point? He probably wasn't going to get much sleep at night anymore. His body needed to get used to his new needs.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the door. Tucker jolted upright, fear coursing through his body. Was it the police? How did they manage to find him?

“Room service!” The voice sounded like the high pitch Danny used to imitate Jazz.

“It's three in the morning lady!” Tucker yelled back, “Go away!”

The person who was most likely Danny, could not be deterred. Instead, the banging became louder and more frequent.

“Go away, Danny!” Tucker yelled. It was still dark out. He still may have those urges. The thought of accidentally killing his best friend only added to the rising panic attack.

And annoyed Danny Phantom phased through the wooden door. In his left hand was two paper bags with the Nasty Burger logo on them. In his right hand, he was balancing a tray of drinks.

“Really Tucker?” Danny rolled his eyes. The ghost boy summoned his transformation rings, “Why did you ru-“

“Stay in your ghost form!” Tucker yelled. The runaway wondered if he had woken up anyone. He hoped they would take him as a normal dude and not come down to investigate.

“Okay.” Danny placed the tray on the side table. He threw one of the greasy bags at Tucker before sitting down on the bed.

The runaway peeked inside the bag. Danny had bought him three burgers and filled the remaining bag full of fries. There was enough food to last him a day or two if he was careful. At Tucker's surprise, Danny smiled.

“Valerie was closing. When I told her I was ordering for you, she filled the bag. I think she may have developed a crush on you Tucker.”

Pain seared Tucker's heart. Why did he have to go on that stupid date?

Danny gracefully sat down on Tucker's bed. The two ate in silence, pretending to watch the inconsequential adventures of the cartoon rat and cat.

Inside his mind, Tucker was falling apart. He knew his best friend would try to convince him to go home, but Tucker could never go back again. Danny would try to find the positives, perhaps even suggest Tucker become his own superhero. Yet the ghost boy didn't understand the intense longing Tucker had every time he looked at a human.

Danny seemed to be deep in thought as well. He was frowning, and every so often he would narrow his eyes or cringe. It was like he was having a war within. Finally, Danny decided to speak.

“As much as I am enjoying watching whatever this is... We need to talk.”

We need to talk...

It sounded like something Sam would say. Her influence was rubbing off of Danny too much. Briefly, Tucker wondered if Danny would be embarrassed if he mentioned it.

“Why did you run away? Did one of the ghosts threaten you?”

“NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT GHOSTS!” Tucker shouted, “SOMETIMES YOU REALLY ARE A FENTON!”

His best friend took a deep breath. Tucker could almost hear Danny counting down from 10.

“Tucker,” Phantom said, barely keeping the hurt out of his voice, “What happened?”

Unearthly green eyes met emerald. Neither of them found themselves backing down. Minutes past before Danny finally seemed to yield. Tucker should have known better. Danny always had been the most determined of the trio.

“If you don't tell me, I'll just bring you back home,” The ghost boy stood up and crossed his arms. Tucker knew he would stick to the threat.

“I am a vampire.” Tucker was careful to keep emotion out of his voice. Admitting his problem had a calming effect. It was like accepting a punishment one didn't deserve. With the calm came a feeling of hopelessness.

“So, Sam was right…” Danny's stubbornness deflated. Now he looked lost and unsure. It was bizarre to see such emotions on the usually cocky ghost boys face.

“My life is over. No cheerleaders, no movie theatres, no graduation, and no future career in technology. Now, do you see why I can't go home?” Tucker brought his knees to his chest. Part of him wanted to feel something. He just felt so... Empty.

“We'll think of something. Maybe there's a way we can refocus those powers or-”

“No Danny, Tucker interrupted, “I'm not half-vampire! I bear  the full curse! If you were in human form, I would have killed you! I barely stopped myself from killing the clerk. I’m a monster…”

“We will figure something out.”  Danny had always been the optimist, almost to a fault. Tucker knew it was only a matter of time before the vampire overtook the human. Then Phantom would have to subdue him.

“You can't be the only vampire... Maybe Vlad can help! He kind of looks like one...” Danny had started to pace back and forth.

“Or Vlad will use me as a weapon against you?” Tucker suggested.

Danny paused and gave an unimpressed glare. Then he noticed the clock on the wall.

“I have to go. I'm sorry”

“Patrol?” Tucker felt anguish streak through his heart. He needed his best friend! Couldn’t Danny miss one stupid patrol? Memories of a grieving and guilty Phantom flickered in the back of his mind. Tucker was being selfish again. Bad things always happened when Danny missed his nightly rounds. There was a reason Amity Park was one of the safest places on earth.

“Trust me, Tuck. Sam and I will think of something. Remember to shut your blinds. (Sam said sunlight hurts you.) Sam has a book that you might find useful.  See you tomorrow night!”

Within the next minute, Danny was gone. The vampire chuckled to himself as he cleaned the wrappers. If Danny thought he was going to stay put... Then he was way too trusting. Tucker would switch apartments for the rest of the night. Once the sunset, he would travel further away.

He couldn't burden his best friend with his mistakes. Danny already had the whole world on his shoulders with the ghosts. He didn't need any more difficulties. The hero couldn’t constantly watch him. If Tucker did massively screw up, which he undoubtedly would, the ghost boy would forever blame himself. The best thing to do would be for Tucker to leave.

After throwing away his and Danny’s wrappers, the teen grabbed his bag. He pulled out his cell phone and PDA. Tucker knew he should have left them at home, but he couldn't bear the part with his babies.

Here, Tucker needed to become a man. No one was going to solve his problems for him. Danny or the police will track him down (he cursed his stupidity for not getting rid of the find friends app). He turned the TV off and left.

He had to do this on his own. He would find a cure or learn to control his urges. He would go back to Amity Park. He would hug his parents, apologize to Danny and ask Valerie on a date. He would scream at Sam for setting him up with a vampire, and the two would be friends again. The trio would hunt ghosts like they used to. Everything would go back to normal.

He couldn’t lose hope.

[heyheyitsstillgay]

I'm literally begging you to spill the tea on b*tch h*rtman why does everyone hate him

Me?? You're leaving this responsibility to Me?? Oof.

Aight.

Season 3 bad

Butch is very much an ideas person. After Steve Marmel left the show just went downhill. There was one writer that wanted it to go the grey ghost angle and another who wanted amethyst ocean and it just didn't work and then it got cancelled so the end relationship was so rushed it was terrible.

Changed the lore of his show half way through

So this is mostly Nick's fault, they thought the show being about ghosts was too gritty and they agreed to change it from being about real dead people who were once alive to monsters from another dimension. This is the change that Steve marmel was fired over iirc. Now we have ghost tornados. You can't just change lore like that half way through. Some people think that because he was born again midway through dp that he wanted this change to the lore so the dp universe wouldn't go against the bible's teachings. We don't know that for sure though.

Like JK Rowling returning with needless headcanons except they're not even an attempt at rep it's just "Jazz replaced her life and ambitions with being a lonely woman in a chair, while Maddie becomes a ghost pimp and Jack replaced half his body with robotics."

Remember how he destroyed Vlads character in PP? He still does it. It's like he doesn't remember his own show. In a 10 years later video, Jazz is completely out of character and the family is just okay with Maddie walking around with ghost slaves on leashes. The Fentons are genius' in their own right. And he's reduced them to Danny's sidekicks.

Doesn't appreciate his employees

See these quote tweets when fop was given a reboot he toasted to himself and God while surrounded by the artists that massively helped him to make the show.

Voted trump

He apparently regrets it but still follows trumps family and a collection of far right people

Transphobic

In 107 facts about Danny Phantom fact 94 at 17:00 sticks out like a sore thumb. At the time, trans Danny theories were making the rounds on Tumblr. He'd already denied it was true. A lot of the theories draw Danny in his swimwear because his vest looks a lot like a full length binder and he's the only guy at the pool not showing his chest. The fact states he's said before that it's because of sunburns. It was in an audio interview a while ago where the interviewer suggested that that could be the reason and he decided it was canon then and there. It wasn't true while the show was being made. It's a question of if it's a coincidence that this video was released around peak trans Danny theory time.

There's also this screenshot of a deleted tweet that he never apologised for.

And the episode of fop with reversed gender roles treats men doing traditionally feminine things as a big joke.

Evoked ship wars that made fandom a space for arguements and anger

To summarise, he had a blog platform where people would post art. Most ship stuff was amethyst ocean and then p*mpus p*p existed, he scolded people not because it's an underage ship but because it made him look bad. People responded saying he was just homophobic. It split the phandom in half.

This shows recounts of the war

And this is a summary

Oaxis scam

Oaxis was a family friendly streaming service that he started a Kickstarter for. Here's a good post that went around at the time that talks about it. In the end he surpassed his goal last minute thanks to thousands of dollars donated suddenly by Christians and Churches.

People who didn't realise what they invested in were unable to get their money back and are still waiting for their promised cameos in original shows according to high tier rewards.

The 'family friendly network' (that was all the info given) was actually going to be a Christian streaming service combining Netflix and YouTube. You can upload your own content or stream original content. If the content you upload isn't Christian Approved(tm) then real people would take down the video.

Here's a video of when he went around speaking to churches and actually explaining his thoughts and goals with Oaxis. Hes also disrespectful of mental illness in this video, claiming that violent media is to blame.

Big headed

He's just so full of himself, I watched 1 of his shows, that wasn't my whole childhood. Most animators draw themselves jokingly and then he is very flattering towards himself. He changed his name from Elmer to Butch I mean what more do you need. He thinks God put him on Earth to spread the Lords message via his media following.

He made some of those racist Ugandan knuckles memes

He did edit a video of people doing a racist Ugandan impression, I can't find it I think he deleted it without an apology. I did find this though.

He steals tweets from people

A dp meme page he follows

This even has the exact same tv photo

Then this was followed by this

Refuses to take criticism

He thinks that people call him out because they're trying to take him down.

He only accepts critique from people who have similar accomplishments to himself

'Jokingly' blamed Tara Strong for her best friends suicide

Tara was friends with Mary who previously voiced Timmy Turner, here Elmer says that Mary killed herself because Tara replaced her.

Supports the idea that autism can be cured

He and his wife held a seminar with a collection of people who had mental or physical illnesses that they believed were cured by God. One of them was someone who apparently used to be autistic but is all better now thanks to the Lord. Stuff like this supports the idea that autism is awful and needs to be cured, this is harmful to autistic people.

Doesn't pay his artists and uses friendship to get cheap labour

KurotheArtist collaborated with butch for a while, animating some of his videos and providing ideas and helping with scripts for ones like the draw my life story. Butch is in breach of contract and owes Kuro $1400 for his work on the ImagiNathan project that was later cancelled. Kuro made a video about this which also mentions the whole "curing autism with prayer" as his reason for finally talking about it publicly.

Was caught tracing someone else's art for a $200 commission

His commissions are a minimum of $100. Which is a lot, most of its just for the price of his signature at the bottom tbh. It's $200 for full colour. This video came out, overlaying a picture of the character he was payed to draw over the commission image. Even using an image reference, it lines up far too well.

[violetsmoak]

Appetence [11/?]

AO3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251420/chapters/47997634

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Red Robin is investigating the disappearance of a friend and stumbles into a spot of supernatural trouble. He doesn’t expect to be saved by Jason Todd, miraculously alive five years after his death and now with the inexplicable ability to commune with the dead. Meanwhile, when Jason returned to Gotham he meant to maintain a low profile and not get involved with Bat business. That was before he found out how hot his Replacement is.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #haunting #paranormal investigator

First Chapter

Beta Reader: I’ll get back to you on that.

Author’s Note: I decided to upload this today instead of tomorrow as I have a final paper due Friday and if I'm gonna concentrate on finishing it and not writing fanfic, I need to put this up now :P Enjoy the BatFam feels.

________________________________________________________________

 A day later and Jason is still stewing in anger—and, if he’s being honest—a bit of hurt. Even after reuniting, even after listening to what Jason had to say, and trying to get him to come home—Bruce still can’t be convinced to deal with the Joker.

Or at the very least stand aside and let Jason do it.

It’s like he’s trying to protect my non-existent virtue or some kind of innocence I never really had.

Does Bruce even actually remember him anymore? Or has he built up some false memory in his head that’s turned the boy Jason was into some clone of Dick?

The obvious, adult way of finding out would be to drive over to the manor and go for Round Two in confronting Bruce, but that’s a journey he’s not ready to take yet. Especially since the emotionally stunted man child that is the Dark Knight might take that as Jason coming to grovel for forgiveness, which just…no.

It’s decided. Jason will sit and sulk in his office and pretend Bruce and all of his Bat-drama doesn’t exist. He has work to do, anyhow.

The phone rings and Jason smirks.

“Like I said,” he tells himself smugly and picks it up, leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk. “Beyond Investigations, Victor Shelley speaking.”

“First of all, you have a really warped sense of humor choosing that as your civilian identity,” a familiar voice tells him, and Jason’s stomach flips a little as he nearly slides off his chair.

“Well, if it isn’t my esteemed former stalker,” he drawls, then winces because it’s not exactly his best line. “You can’t tell me it’s not funny, in the gallows kind of way.”

“If you wanted gallows, I’m surprised you didn’t go with Vlad Stoker,” Tim Drake remarks.

“That would be cliché. And Stoker’s overrated. Also, he once demanded all the gay writers be imprisoned, which ain’t cool,” Jason replies with an easy enjoyment. “But I doubt you’re calling to talk early horror literature with me. Gotta say, it’s the first time I’ve ever waited more than two days for someone to call me when I give them my number.”

Shit. That was a little more flirting than he intended.

“That leads to second of all,” Tim says, either missing the innuendo or ignoring it completely. “Care to explain why, after you asked me not to say anything to B about you being here, you ratted me out to him?”

That’s…not what he was expecting. Jason sits up, suddenly serious. “Ratted you out? What are you talking about?”

“He came back home after that thing downtown with Freeze yesterday completely shaken because he ran into you, and apparently you let it slip that I knew you were back and didn’t tell anyone.”

There’s more than a little irritation in Tim’s voice there, and Jason’s heart picks up a bit in worry. He thinks back to the encounter the night before, trying to figure out when he would have outed Tim. He can’t think of anything.

Then he remembers his parting words.

The blood rushes to his face.

If Bruce figured out he was talking about Tim with such a throwaway comment, he worries what else he might have inferred.

Don’t think about it too closely. Worry about putting Tim in his crosshairs.  

He groans. “Sorry, my bad.”

“Apparently I should have been the one asking for a week’s grace,” Tim goes on dryly.

“Honestly, I wasn’t thinking,” Jason tells him. “Talkin’ to B always gets my blood pressure up, and then my mouth just starts to run.”

“No kidding.”

“He didn’t give you too much trouble, did he?”

There’s a pause, and then, “No more than normal. A couple of years ago that sort of thing would have really messed with my head, but these days I can deal.”

“What happened a couple of years ago?”

Tim pauses again, and even though Jason can’t sense auras or ghosts through telephone lines, he’s pretty sure that the dark aura constantly surrounding the younger man is behind that.

“Let’s just say I learned that Brue can be myopic about certain things,” Tim says at last. “Either he’s entirely focused on what’s right in front of him, or some arbitrary future end game. He doesn’t really…absorb the things that happen between those two points.”

Jason blinks. “That’s a scary kind of accurate.”

“That’s what I do. I think and I know things.”

Jason can’t hold back a scoff.

“Did you…did you just misquote Game of Thrones?”

Tim lets out a somewhat startled laugh. “I guess I did. Totally unintentional, I promise. Although, you get points for catching it.”

“Points for what? Is there a prize?”

 “Even if there was, I’d be keeping it. I’m still ticked off at you for telling on me to B.”

“And I still feel bad about that. I owe you a drink.”

No, no you don’t. No drinks, no nothing. Off-limits, remember?

“Still not old enough to drink, Jason,” Tim replies, voice sounding less irritated and weary and more…amused? Fond even?

Then he hangs up, leaving Jason staring at the receiver of his phone in puzzled frustration.

“This isn’t going to end well for me, is it?”

“No,” Sheila tells him from where she’s lingering across the room, “it’s not.”

Jason lets his head fall onto his desk.

With the ice now broken with Tim and Bruce (or at least as broken as it can get given the latter’s inability to process anything resembling emotions), Jason pretty knows his days of privacy are likely at an end.

He completely expects the requisite visitations of various Family members who will no doubt have been told he’s alive.

Both the ones I knew and the one I didn’t…

If he weren’t pretending indifference, he would have expected Dick to be the first to show up, all passion and anger. He doesn’t have many memories of his predecessor-slash-older-brother-figure where he wasn’t furious about something—almost always Bruce related. To Jason, he only seemed to have two settings: coddling and wanting to pick a fight.

Jason’s not sure which of those he wants to encounter just now.

Turns out his intuition about Dick being his first visit is completely off.  

Instead, he wakes one night from a dead sleep by a sense of presence, both physical and spectral.

There’s a kid standing at the edge of his futon, swathed in Robin’s colors but with the aura of a predator lying in wait. He can’t be more than twelve, and there’s just something about the set of his shoulders and clench of his jaw that screams Bruce.

He’s also not alone.

Outside the open window that the kid obviously used to break in, a ghostly figure in a voluminous green robe looms, hissing imprecations at Jason’s wards from the decapitated head it holds in its hands.

Jason blinks, intrigue cutting through his sleep-dulled senses. Considering the kid is Talia’s, he obviously has some League of Assassins training. Given that, Jason would have expected there to be a lot more ghosts following the kid around. Either he hasn’t killed very many people beyond the one by the window, or the ones he has didn’t leave anything unfinished.

Either way, this brat’s dangerous.

“You know who I am?” Robin challenges although it’s more a statement of fact.

“Chip off the old block is what you are,” Jason grumbles, sitting up—slowly, in case the hard-looking kid thinks he’s about to try something. He’d rather not get into another Wayne beatdown so soon after his encounter with Bruce. “Did he actually teach you the menacing-people-in-the-dark thing, or is it genetic?”

“What is your purpose for returning to Gotham?” the boy demands, ignoring the question.

“Best chili dogs in the world,” Jason shoots back, reaching for the small table beside his fold-out bed and the carton of cigarettes there.

“Stow your flippant remarks, Todd, I will have my answer whether you give it voluntarily or after I’ve loosened a few of your teeth.”

“Big words for someone probably still losing their own baby teeth. What are you, six?”

“I won’t tolerate any attempts to shove your way back into Father’s life,” the boy insists. “We already have one failure lingering about where he shouldn’t be, no need for a second.” He pauses, tilts his head to one side, and his mouth pulls into a cold smirk. “Or rather, you were the first, weren’t you?”

Jason narrows his eyes. “You know there’s a headless guy in a green curtain following you around, right? I’d think really hard about what B considers a failure before throwing that word at other people.”

The kid’s mouth goes white around the edges—touchy subject, apparently—and moves into a crouch like he’s about to dive across the room. He pauses though, fingers touching his hear, and then scowls.

“That Daddy calling you out for missing curfew?” Jason prods.

“This isn’t over!” the kid snaps, and then like he’s making a point, whips a Batarang at Jason’s face.

By the time Jason’s reached up to catch it, the brat and his ghost have vanished.

“Well, that was fun,” Jason mutters, bemused and confident he won’t be getting back to sleep any time soon.

He spends the rest of the night and early morning first checking emails and then researching. John sent him a bunch of information on kodoku, the technique Jason couldn’t remember in conjunction with the thing attracting negative energy to Tim.

It’s not exactly what he was thinking of, but even if it doesn’t help him figure out that conundrum, it might offer an inkling or two of how to deal with the ever-present Joker problem.

Need to read up on it more before I can know for sure.

His stomach growls and he decides to table it for now. There’s a 24-hour breakfast place down the street actually does bangers and mash, which he’s been craving since leaving London.

Instead, there’s a knock at the door.

Guess I’m putting off breakfast for a bit longer. Oh well. Potential client.

Jason forces himself to put on a normal, welcoming face and goes to open the door.  

What he doesn’t expect to find is a certain English butler standing in the shitty hallway just outside his office, with a bulky canvas bag in his arms and a disapproving look on his face that only just falters as their eyes meet.

It’s as if the air has been punched out of Jason’s lungs because if there’s anyone he has missed than anyone else since he’s been away, it’s Alfred.

“Master Jason,” the older man says, somehow managing to keep his voice from wavering, and god, he sounds the same. “I am sure in instilled at least a rudimentary etiquette into you as a boy. Therefore, you can imagine my disappointment upon learning you have been in Gotham for several weeks now and did not come to call at the manor.”

Jason can’t hold back the slightly hysterical chuckle at that, because trust Alfred to act like he’s been on some kind of extended vacation, instead of six feet under and insane. Yet, it doesn’t feel as dismissive or repressing as it would from Bruce.

“You know me, Alf,” he says through a suddenly dry mouth. “That stuff never took.”

“So it would seem.”

They exchange looks, both sizing up the other and then Alfred raises an eyebrow. Jason shakes his head like a sleepwalker and indicates the older man should come in.

Alfred moves smoothly across the threshold of the tiny office, frowning at the disarray (and mostly at the futon).

“Given the fact you’ve only recently, er, moved in, I thought it best to arrive with provisions.”

He sets the paper bag down on Jason’s desk and removes a box containing a hot plate, a kettle and what appears to be a package of tea. Though his back is turned, there’s a tension in his shoulders and a minor tremor that, when Jason cranes his head, he realizes are from shaking hands.

When Alfred turns around, Jason can’t hold back from reaching over and enveloping him in a hug.

It’s so different from the awkward thing with Bruce, and even though Alfred has never been the hugging type, he holds Jason just as tightly.

They stay like that for several moments, before Alfred speaks again, his voice tense like he’s speaking around a lump in his throat. “You have certainly grown into your various limbs, my boy.”

“Yeah…yeah, I guess I did…”

Jason tells Alfred everything.

He doesn’t skip any of the details the way he did with Tim and, to an extent, with Bruce. Because the fact is, he doesn’t know Tim, not really, and he knows Bruce too well. Alfred won’t look at him with pity or as something damaged; there’s pain in the way he watches Jason, but also an overwhelming and unquestionable relief.

Alfred isn’t one to cry, but his eyes gleam wetly as Jason relates how he woke in his coffin and the trial of digging himself out.

“I didn’t remember it for a while,” he admits. “Mostly it’s what comes back in nightmares. I guess it’s so clear because it’s the only thing that happened to me for another year. I was in a coma for about as long.”

“And no one knew who you were,” Alfred murmurs dully. “Everyone thought you were already dead.”

“…yeah.”

“My dear boy…if we had known…”

“Can’t change the past, Alf,” Jason shrugs, trying to play it off. “And even if you had known, I wasn’t me for a long time. Wouldn’t have wanted you to go through that.”

“And yet…somehow, you rallied,” Alfred says, determined. “You recovered.”

“I guess you could say that,” Jason says with a bitter twist of the mouth. “Not sure people would call seeing ghosts ‘recovered’.” He exhales. “I do see ‘em, Alf—all the time. I didn’t know what it was I the beginning, and…that made things harder. I was so out of it; I couldn’t tell when I was talking to someone alive or someone dead. Everyone at the hospitals thought I was insane. Bet you can guess what happened next.”

“Master Timothy…was reluctant to tell me when I asked,” the old man admits. “I’m astounded anyone in the system would have thought Arkham of all places was the appropriate place for you.” He clenches his fists together, no doubt imagining using them on whoever made that particular decision. “But Mr. Constantine, he rescued you?”

“Yeah,” Jason leans back, crossing his arms. “If he hadn’t shown up, I’d still be rotting away there. It was completely by chance, too. An old mate of his called in a favor with him, wanted to prove his sister was possessed and not bat-shit crazy.” Alfred shoots him a reprimanding look and Jason shrugs. “Sorry. Anyway, turns out she was crazy. John was keen to get out of there as soon as possible and happened to pass my room on the way out—he heard me talking to one of my many spectral roommates. He could sense the energy and when he went to look, he could see ‘em too.”

“And thus discovered that your supposed insanity was not quite so clear-cut,” Alfred determines, looking a mite triumphant.

“Not exactly. I’d been driven almost beyond the point of no return by then. If I’d been there much longer, it’d have been too late. But John could tell I was a medium. He decided I wasn’t supposed to be there and busted me out—then decided it’d be dangerous to let me wander around on my own like that. Been with him ever since. Three years of trying to heal what that asshat clown did to my brain and train myself not to lose it when I get rushed by a stampede of dead people.”

“Then I can only be grateful to him,” Alfred says. “Should you speak to Mr. Constantine in the near future, do tell him he will always have a place to stay at the manor should he need it.”

Jason laughs. “I don’t see him coming out this way any time soon. And I doubt B would be open to that arrangement.”

“You let me worry about Master Bruce. As for you—is there any point in reminding you that you also have a place to stay should you tire of this…urban setting?”

“This is my home, Alf,” Jason replies, at least halfway apologetic. “The manor might have...become that if I’d been there longer. Maybe.” He spares a moment’s thought for the little boy that wanted nothing more than to become Batman when he grew up. “But not now. I’m too—I’ve got my own mission now.”

Alfred nods, mouth turned downward. Jason tries to pretend he doesn’t notice the sad gleam in his eye.

“In the hope that your mission is not so all-consuming as Master Bruce’s, I shall still keep a guestroom at the ready. I…suspect returning to your old room would harm more than heal.”

And this is why Jason always loved Alfred. He gets it. Even when he’s hoping for the impossible.

“Guess I can live with that,” Jason says.

 “I do expect you to call for dinner at some point in the future. Perhaps not until you’re more settled. But surely you can sacrifice an hour or two for a pot roast dinner.”

Jason’s mouth immediately waters.

“Oh, that’s playing dirty, old man,” he tells him seriously.

“Having lived in Gotham this long, it’s hardly a surprise that I, too, can affect nefariousness when the occasion calls for it.” There’s a buzzing sound and Alfred digs into his pocket for his mobile phone and then heaves a sigh in a very familiar way. “Master Damian’s school. I’m afraid I must attend to this.”

“Ten o’clock and he’s already in trouble,” Jason whistles. “Beating my old record, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Alfred agrees seriously. He stands then, looks like he wants to hug Jason again but manages to keep control of himself this time. “Seeing you again is a gift, Master Jason. I hope you will allow me to impose on your hospitality again in the future?”

“You’re welcome here any time,” Jason says, warm and sincere. “I’m…it’s really good to see you again, Alf.”

The old man nods then continues to gaze at Jason a few beats longer, as if to make sure he really is seeing him, and then heads for the door. Jason sees him out, watches him until he vanishes around the corner, and then sags heavily against the doorpost to his office.

A bone-deep exhaustion that has nothing to do with sleep deprivation washes over him.

“'Stay under the radar’, I said,” he mutters to himself. “'Don’t let the Family know I’m here'. That was the plan. There was a reason for the plan…”

A reason that was supposed to guard against an estranged father and attractive replacement and loving butler.

(Well, to be fair, he didn’t know that ‘attractive replacement’ was on his list, but it clearly should have been.)

At least I got the really hard reunions out of the way. Except for Barbie, but I doubt she’d drag herself up a flight of stairs just to see me. Might be able to avoid that one a bit longer…

Honestly, he's kind of afraid of having to look Barbara Gordon in the eyes. There's so much pain between them, all caused by the same evil.

As it turns out, Jason’s next visitor is somehow more overwhelming. Or at least starts out that way.

He’s shuffling through the hallway to his door with a bag of take-out that evening, and suddenly the air becomes cold and suffocating. Jason winces, tries to breathe slow and measured against the cold.

“Whoever you are, can you just…stay where you are for a minute?” he grunts, fumbling with his keys to jimmy the door open. Silence is the only response, but he takes that as acquiescence.

Well, that’s rare. A creepy stalker that actually listens.

He practically falls into the office, the constricted sensation in his lungs vanishing as soon as he crosses the threshold.

Wards are still working. Good.

“Okay, you can come in now,” he says, putting his groceries on his desk and turning around.

He almost does a double-take.

The person that glides into his office is a small Asian girl, maybe an inch or two shorter than Tim, and deceptively dainty looking. Deceptive, because Jason can see the ghosts crowding the hallway behind her, clawing at the doorway and keening and cursing at her in a myriad of languages.

“How in the hell does someone that looks like you have that big a body count?” he asks, halfway between impressed and horrified.

The girl’s face remains blank, but her eyes skitter away, as if in shame. Jason immediately feels like a tool.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Didn’t mean it that way. It’s just…you’re just a kid.”

“Older than you,” she tells him in clear but accented English. She cocks her head to one side, studying him in a way that is almost as invasive as any of the mind-readers he met while working for John. And then she smiles and says, “Little brother.”

Whatever he expected, that wasn’t it. Jason blinks.

“…What.”

She points to herself. “Cassandra. Wayne.”

“Wayne,” he repeats, and then makes the connection and snorts. “Of course. Most people collect stamps. B collects orphans.” He wanders over to his desk and sits down heavily. “What’d he bring you in for? Me, it was boosting tires off the Batmobile.”

Cassandra Wayne’s eyes widen in surprise and then sparkle with amusement and delight.

“So, what brings you here? Come to stare at the clan screw-up?”

“Curious,” she tells him.

“About?”

“They said you see…differently,” she says.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“It’s…comforting,” she says, hesitating on the word like she’s not sure it’s the right one.

“Why’s that?”

“I see different too.”

Jason eyes her, then the myriad ghosts lingering beyond the words. He nods, serious. “I bet you do.”

She smiles at him.

He kind of can’t help be charmed by her, despite the vicious insults being hurled at her by her ghostly entourage.

“Tell you what,” he says. “Close that door so I can hear myself think, and you can stay for supper. I’ve got too much for just me.” He nods at the bags which contain what was supposed to be both tonight’s meal and tomorrow’s lunch. “Not sure if you eat souvlaki, but—”

“I eat anything,” she replies and sits in one of the chairs by his desk.

“Same here,” Jason agrees, handing her one of the Styrofoam containers. “Just promise me you won’t eat it with a fork and knife.”

She makes a face. “I am not Bruce.”

“Thank the gods for small miracles…”

To Be Continued

________________________________________________________________

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x Secrets of The Lake: The Company of Misery and Pain

{ Chapter 5 }

Summary: Vladimir Masters’ family tree has always been tainted by secrets swept under the rug. From generation to generation there have been countless reasons the Masters’ family had seemed to keep private from the public. Even to this day, Vladimir was no exception. But what was one to do when a restless spirit from the settlement years finally breaks free from restraints and demands you answer for your ancestor’s crimes? Vladimir doesn’t know. However, Clockworks does.

Notes: We just having fun, rewriting some of the canon, new adventure new characters. I will apologize now for any grammar, spelling, weird sentence structuring in advance. My brain writes faster than my fingers and even when I go back through to reread it I still miss things. Sorry about that!

Word Count: 3063

It wasn’t that it was hard to pinpoint where things began to fall apart for the Masters family. Rather it was who was to blame when all of it happened all at once. Could it have been the people they married or was it the family itself that had the bad luck? Either way, the Masters family had a very long list of unfortunate events that seemed to flock like birds to a nest. Vlad sat at his computer scanning through the digital archives of his family. He never truly sat down and looked through all of this, when he was younger it was more like being shown a picture and being asked to guess how far apart they were in life and death. His father did it often trying to brag about how headstrong all the men in the family were.

So many names, so much trading property or what seemed like stealing others. Not that Vlad was surprised at all by that, how else do you think he got where he was in life, it was just the game of business. Not having many divorces and remarrying, now that was surprising, he would have thought the men in his family would have had the least of the draw, or he was just shamefully projecting. Of course the latter could be farther from the truth when Vlad went through two stepmothers. Both his and his first stepmother died of unknown causes which left the last one living the longest. Luckily they were both lovely and the sweetest of women, but maybe would have been better off not in the family. At last Mrs Helena was alive, he hoped.

Vlad had scrolled to the very beginning of the files which started in the mid 16th century. The family name had just been respelt to the changing Germanic language and someone named Alger had married and inherited land in southern modern Germany; he died of an infection in the mouth at 32. From there they had seven children but only two survived due to the plague. From the two, only one was a boy and he carried the family name and expanded the family east. After that was a long line of names that either was married in, inherit, how they died, and weird scribbled notes off to the side Vlad couldn’t read. As the 16th century files ended the 17th century file started and was a lot more organized than the former. Vlad could actually read what jobs the males in his family had and where they actually ended up near the end of their life. The Masters family had once again gone through a name respelling and this time they were established merchants.

As he combed through the notes and names, Vlad had this weird ‘yes’ ‘no’ feeling, so far everyone had been a ‘no’ and his gut told him he was getting closer. Closer to what? Not sure, but he followed it anyway hoping to reach the end. But when he came across blank records, he was closer to the mid  17 century. The last family was the house of Anya with three dependents, a wife named Yolan and two sons, Vladan and Luther. In the notes it said that Anya served the ruler as a travelling merchant and was paid wealthy for it; he died of poison. The family lived in the furthest part of the eastern Germanic states which meant they would have been closer to migrating towards Slavic area. But after that there was nothing but empty rows. That was 50 years missing and that didn’t sit right with Vlad. Surely there had to be something or someone during that time. With how detailed the records were so far there had to be something- anything.

Vlad scrolled down to the beginning of the 18th century and that’s where the names picked back up with Vladan being the head of the house. There was an asterisk next to Vladan's name that read ‘only surviving heir’. Vlad sighed, of course, the family had died and was only survived by a single son. He could only imagine the tragedy that could have happened to the rest of the family.

‘Yes’

Vlad’s gut pulled as he read over the name again and the notes beside it. This man went through four wives whose names weren’t listed other than ‘wife 1… wife 2...’  and only had a daughter.

“Seems like misery was your only friend,” Vlad mumbled as he looked on and saw that the daughter took over for her father once he died of heart issues, and moved the family due to marriage. She didn’t change her name nor give up belongings and had five sons but only two of them had her last name. It seemed that it was on purpose for the lack of arguing on who got what when she died. The husband on the other hand disappeared early into their marriage, “You were truly a Wollstonecraft it seems, Miss Ursula Masters.” Sadly tragedy struck her down as well as she died of horse trampling. After Ursula the next four families had lost all the old money they once sat on due to wars and the collapsing economies. They did however maintain their pride and kept building themselves back up. By the end of the 18th century, the Masters family was in Russia and had branched off.

‘No’

Vlad knotted his brows as his gut once again pulled at him as a sign of the wrong direction. Rolling his eyes tired from looking at small prints and shitty handwriting he scrolled back up to the empty space.

“So you’re from right here it seems,” Vlad rubbed his chin and groaned. “What in the world happened and how did you get here?” As Vlad tried to think of another way to figure out the gap, the phone at his desk began to ring and broke him away from his trance. Deciding that that was enough for the day, Vlad closed his laptop and picked up the phone. Vlad had been so invested in his ghostly business he nearly forgot about his human one. Vlad pulled the phone away from his ear and rolled his neck as he tried to put on his Vlad Co. facade. Vlad pulled the phone back in when he heard a question and he politely asked the woman on the other side to repeat herself.

“I asked if you will still be holding the theme banquet this coming Wednesday.” Sha! Vlad had forgotten all about the company banquet. As a boss he felt it was important to give your employees a ‘thank you’, especially if there was company corruptness being swept under the rug. So as a treat every so often Vlad would announce he would host a banquet and give everyone the day off. Vlad felt his eye twitch as he thought over whether or not he should cancel it. Wednesday was in three days and he hadn’t even told his ghostly staff about it.

As his mind thought it over the words came out by themselves, “Yes.” Yes? Yes?! He had no time to play host when he had a ghost to deal with and any other madness being thrown his way. Why in the world would he say yes?

“That’s wonderful! Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the theme?” The woman said, eagerly.

“Well I do mind, that’s my little secret. Surely you wouldn’t want to take the surprise away from yourself, now would you.” Vlad gagged as he sweetly replied and heard the woman become flustered.

“You’re right,” Of course I am . “ Well I can’t wait to see what you put together, Sir. You never cease to amaze us.”

“Hmm, yes, now if you excuse me, Miss Wright, I have some emails to look over before prepping.”

“Very well, Sir good-” Vlad didn’t wait for the woman’s goodbye and hung up, he dropped his face into his hands and held his breath as he tried to mentally organize himself.

Clockwork? Check.

Vengeful spirit out to kill him? Check.

Nearly being torn apart? Check.

Waking up three days later? Check?

Prepping for a banquet he forgot all about? Wonderful .

Vlad stood up from his desk chair and stretched his back, he needed to get out of the house for fresh air. Maybe go for a walk or if he was feeling up to it, a quick flight, then come back and start on what was being served at the banquet and what the theme was. As he walked around his desk and reached out a hand to draw the handle he heard the low rumble of bickering outside his door. He used his ghost sense to hone in on it and only shook his head in disappointment.

“Yeah well I could have been there for backup if you had let me go with you. How come he got to go with you?” Dani crossed her arms angrily and shot Danny the meanest eyes she could muster.

“I didn’t bring him along, he showed up by himself, he was supposed to be on his way to pick you up, remember.” Danny retorted as she and he rounded the corner to Vlad’s office. “Besides I told you it was dangerous and you would have only gotten hurt.”

“No way I’m like super badass!” Dani yelled.

“Language, especially in this house, Danielle.” Vlad opened the door and looked on towards the children. Dani turned away and grumbled as Danny sighed and gave a quick wave.

“Either she was gonna fly here and pester you by herself or I would at least try to stop her, as you can see I didn’t do much.” Danny motioned towards his clone and she stuck out a tongue.

“Well at least you showed up at the right time, I have news I think you will like to hear.” Vlad rubbed the bridge of his nose and gestured for Danny to come inside. Guess the walk would have to wait.

“Boy would I!” Dani stepped out in front of Danny and Vlad quickly stuck a hand out.

“Miss Masters, you have other things to do. This problem has nothing to do with you and I would much prefer it if you stop trying to be a part of it.” Vlad put on his father voice and it saw how it made Dani upset. She looked back at Danny for help only for the older teen narrowed his eyes and looked away. Vlad gave her the all knowing look of ‘you are out ruled’ and Dani stomped her foot. She had been told no so much in the last few days of wanting to help.

“I swear you two still treat me like some weak baby. I have control over myself and my powers, stop doing that!” The hurt in Dani’s voice almost made the others cave but Vlad stood by his words and shook his head.

“I know you’re not a baby, far from, but this isn’t your fight. Now run along.” Dani's face nearly turned red and she flew off through the walls to god knows where.

“Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt to let her listen,” Danny rubbed his arm, feeling very much like a villain. Vlad on the other hand deadpanned him and turned to walk into his office.

“You should know what happens to those that become too curious, they only get in trouble.” Vlad’s monotone voice irked Danny, the jab was unnecessary considering they both ended up as they were due to curiosity. Once they were seated in their respective chairs Vlad opened his laptop again. Danny watched him scroll through files before turning the computer around for him to look at. Danny had no idea how to read any of this, cocking an eyebrow he shook his head.

“Explain,” Danny said.

“As I looked through everything, I noticed that my family record suddenly stopped between the late 1650s to the 1700s.” Vlad began pointing towards the screen. “This may sound odd but I had a feeling this might be where Tayonna is from. However, it doesn’t make sense because there is no mention of coming to America. This name, Vladan, is the only surviving member of his family and he stayed in the empire and got married. He was one of the sons of the family before the gap.” Vlad turned the computer back around and stared heavily at the name trying to make something of it.

“Is there any way for you to throw money on this and figure out what happened in those 50 years?” Danny asked with a shrug, surely, Vlad had that power considering he was a billionaire. Vlad did not have that power. Vlad blinked a few times and shook his head.

“If only it was that easy, however, I have no idea where to look nor do I have time to fly out to one of the thirteen colonies and check.”

“Get an assistant to do it, you have plenty of those and I know it, Miss Kate is a really cool lady.” Danny smirked, he had the honours of meeting a few of Vlad’s assistants who sometimes had very nasty things to say about him. Which Danny promised not to repeat back and enjoyed listening to. Truly, what man has a random sweet tooth at 3am and demands a strawberry shortcake?

“I doubt any of them would wish to take a random trip at the moment.” Vlad thought over his few underhands and couldn’t think of a single one he could trust with this. They all had their pros and cons and yet Vlad found himself cancelling all of them.

“When did you become considerate of anyone but yourself?” Danny asked with a cocked brow and pressed lips. Vlad was a bit taken back by the question but knew where Danny was coming from.

“When I decided to stop playing childish games with a child. My company is not a playpen and my workers are not playmates I can throw away.” Vlad answered with a hiss on his lips and Danny mumbled a ‘whatever’ before throwing his hands up and standing to his feet.

“I still say send one of them out to Ellis Island to find something.”

“Ellis Island was built in the late 1800s not the 16oos, Daniel.” Danny opened his mouth then quickly closed it.

“I knew that… I knew that.”

“Of course,” Vlad wore his annoying amused smirk that he always gave Danny when he messed up. “But I will take your suggestion into consideration since it’s something rather than nothing.”

“That’s the spirit. Get it?” Danny shot Vlad finger guns and a wink and the man snickered and walked around his desk to head towards the door.

“Besides, it's not like we can ask Tayonna herself.” Vlad added as he opened the door and allowed Danny to head out first.

“Dude, I think the last person she wants to see is you or me.” Danny snorted. Vlad only hummed and they walked towards the stairs to bring them to the first floor. Danny B-lined his way to the kitchen and quickly found home in Vlad’s frig. Vlad joined him and made himself a cup of coffee for his midday crisis. “Besides, the last place I left her was at the bottom of the pond as I drug your lifeless body away.” Danny shoved a gogurt in his mouth and raised his eyebrows. Vlad huffed and looked over the top of his cup.

“Don’t remind me. Those are Dani’s.”

“She’ll understand, her gogurts are going towards a great cause. And I know how much Masters love donating towards “ good causes ”.” Danny wiggled his brows and ghosted another hand into the frig to pull out another snack to shove into his pocket.

“Don’t say anything to me when she finds out. I’ve seen nothing.” Vlad chuckled behind his drink and playfully turned the other way.

“Oh ha ha.” Danny finished his first snack and threw it away. He pulled out the next and started in on it, he made an about face and gave Vlad a concerned expression.

“We gotta make it up to her, she really wanted to help, but this is hella dangerous and she could get hurt. Tayonna isn’t gone, she’s still in the ghost zone and we both have to go back in there to deal with her.” Danny voicing his worries for not only Dani’s feelings but the threat she kept trying to chase made Vlad feel like a drained parent. He always thought of Danny as a distant son, more so now than before. So when he made Danielle and then rekindled a relationship with her he really did feel like a single father. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to cause another rift in their relationship. Having a happy Dani around the house made Vlad feel way less lonely.

“I know and that’s why I’ll ask her to aid me in planning the company banquet for Wednesday.” Vlad finished his drink and placed it in the dishwasher before snapping his fingers to turn it on.

“You’re seriously having a banquet while we’re in the middle of this?” Danny's expression quickly dropped and Vlad shooed him away.

“Correction, this is happening while I was planning the banquet. Ghosts seem to have no consideration for my very busy life. But the show must go on.” Danny could only facepalm as he listened to Vlad.

“You are such a fruitloop, ya know.”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware.” Vlad chuckled and walked out of the kitchen. Danny was about to follow him until he stepped out and nearly slipped. He looked down and saw that where Vlad once stood was now a puddle of water with a few smaller puddles heading the way Vlad did. Danny’s first thought was danger and panic but the beeping sound of the dishwasher snapped him out of it. Besides, if she would have gotten in, not only would Vlad’s ghost security alert him, but his own ghost sense would have told him. Danny hadn’t felt any weird energy nor had his senses go off the whole time he was here. Danny calmed down and told himself it was just a leak in the dishwasher he would have to tell Vlad about.