#phantom was helping out impulse for awhile

[nerdpoe]

Bart won't stop talking Wally's ear off about how he's "been adopted" by another young hero, that he "has a brother" and he's "sooooooo much cooler than you", and how that hero's dad "says he might as well have another kid so I'm ultra-adopted". Wally think's Bart's reading too far into a throwaway comment, right up until he's invited to a cookout and huh. Yup. Bart was, actually, 100% right.

Wally finds himself staring up, up, up, into the face of Pariah Fucking Dark, as the massive Tyrant of the Dead glares at him and hands him a plate with a small pile of hot dogs.

There's two mad scientists who keep asking Pariah Dark to let him test their inventions on him.

There's a God of Time sitting on a swing and watching it all with a fond smile.

There's a billionaire Wally recognizes from the magazines hiding under the picnic table, giggling as he...does something on a tablet. Wally thinks he saw the Lexcorp Logo.

He turns away and slowly stuffs a hot dog into his mouth.

The hero that adopted Bart, Phantom, is playing the strangest version of Marco Polo that Wally's ever seen with Bart and two other heroes that look like Phantom.

It's so weird because there's no water.

Irey and Jai gravitate towards them, naturally.

Iris gives him a swat for being rude and goes over to introduce herself to the Mad Scientist pair.

Linda beelines for the grill, striking up a conversation with Pariah Dark, Tyrant of the Dead. They're talking about grilling techniques.

Wally...doesn't really know what to do?

He balances Wade on his hip and just. Follows Iris.

He manages to get a vague explanation.

The Mad Scientists are Jack and Maddie Fenton, their son, Phantom, came home one day and declared that Bart was his brother. They saw nothing wrong with this.

Pariah Dark is also Phantom's father.

The crazed billionaire is his godfather.

The God of Time is sort of his grandfather but for magical legal reasons isn't if a giant floating eyeball asks.

The other two Phantoms are his siblings, but also are his clones and one of them is him from the future.

Wally just. Accepts it.

Of course Bart would get roped into this level of crazy.

[murdcrofcrows]

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full name: raven kowalski nicknames: rave, rav gender / pronouns: agender, he/they age & birthday: 28, february 9th occupation: escort at el anhelo gang affiliation: red eye, defective assassin orientation & status: pansexual kinsey scale - 5, it's complicated strengths: charming, playful, loving weaknesses: addict, impulsive, flaky

diving deeper -

*     ◟    :    〔   avan jogia ,      agender   +   he/they   〕   RAVEN KOWALSKI,      some say you’re a  TWENTY EIGHT YEAR OLD  lost soul among the neon lights.      known for being both LOVING and CHAOTIC,  one can’t help but think of  FALSE CONFIDENCE  by   NOAH KAHAN when you walk by.    are you still a    DEFECTIVE ASSASSIN, ESCORT  at    RED EYE, EL ANHELO,     even with your reputation as THE HALCYON?     i think we’ll be seeing more of you and    WAXING POETICS AND PRAISES IN A SING-SONG VOICE, EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED,  IMPROMPTU ASTROLOGY CHARTS AND AURA READINGS, and A RAINBOW OF CHAOS,    although we can’t help but think of MOUSE (DOOR MOUSE), AMBROSE SPELLMAN (THE CHILLING ADVENTURES OF SABRINA), KLAUS HARGREEVES (THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY)    whenever we see you down these rainy streets. 

BACKGROUND.

tw: drugs, death, child neglect, addiction, overdose

born in chester, pennsylvania, the middle kowalski sibling. their upbringing was not one to be desired. often went to bed hungry, their home was disgusting, and they took care of each other more than any parent did. raven never knew their biological father and doesn't want to.

around ten or eleven years old, the small family dynamic they had was ripped apart each of the siblings sent to different homes within the system. their 'parents' were gone, in an explosion from the lab kept in the shed out back. they haven't seen either of their siblings since.

not long after they split up, raven ran away from the home they were placed in. they couldn't adapt to the rules and the structure and more than anything, they missed their older brother and little sister. when they couldn't find their siblings, they chose to live on the streets, it wasn't much different than home had been anyways

they were asleep on a bench when that black car pulled up, offering them a home and a purpose. taken to canada and fell into a new kind of bad situation. it took a great amount of time, longer than usual they heard the leaders whisper and their advisor chastised them, threatening more punishment if they didn't comply. raven couldn't help it, he wasn't trying to resist. he wanted to make them happy, proud of him, but their mind was a vast universe that refused to be contained - mom said it all the time. eventually they were worn down enough and by the time they were an adult they were a molded, efficient, machine and trained to kill and that's exactly what they did.

the praises were enough for awhile. raven was good at their job, surprisingly so as they were quite the contrast in the past. in fact, the only time raven was found being violent before they were scooped up was when they had to be for survival sake. that raven still itched at the back of their mind. they chose to kill that itch, numb that phantom pain and fill the void in their chest with substances. hiding their budding addiction from those around them the best they could.

it would be a few years before they awakened a little more. it was in new orleans where they were tasked with a target. a gambler that had ripped off the wrong people. when they saw him it was like a beacon went off, they gravitated toward each other and for some reason it felt like they'd met before - they'd loved each other before. later raven would learn of the twin flame phenomenon but by then their other half was gone again.

raven couldn't pull through with the job and instead spent time hiding out with them. learning everything about them while being unable to offer all of the same back. they spiraled down a funnel of love, lust, addiction, and all around debauchery together. they helped him dig the tracker out, and make the decision to never go back to that life.

they hopped state to state, continuing their cycle until one night they'd taken too much. raven snapped into action, performing cpr and calling 911. they came to long before the ambulance got there, but in a moment of panic raven kissed them goodbye, apologized, and ran - leaving them behind before he was discovered and everyday he's regretted it since.

with no phone, harboring an addiction (they were trying to control after the incident), and little memory of who they were before they were brought to the institute, he entered the big apple. a city that was easy to get lost in, blend in with the many other nobodies and lose anyone who recognized them.

again they were discovered, curled up on a dirty bathroom floor in some gas station. they cleaned him up, just like before, but this time they were brought into a world they felt much more comfortable in. raven was transformed the best they could be given the issues surrounding them and guided in a new direction by a fellow escort (the only one who knows what they're running from) and finding a small amount of peace between the walls of el anhelo. with their extra skills raven has proven useful for tactics beyond the means of temporary love. they occasionally deliver a politician or two, manipulate and blackmail law enforcement who find themselves in their companionship. all with the promise of protection, to be taken care of.

raven's memory comes back in broken, hazy pieces, he remembers smells and objects, sometimes a person looks familiar and they can't figure out why. they've been learning more about the metaphysical world, meditation and so on, which they believe has helped a lot. their addictions are still there, but raven believes they have it under control but it's only a matter of time before what they're doing isn't enough to fill the constant void in their chest both from missing the love they left on the side of the road in new jersey and those in the past he feels connection to but can't remember.

QUICK CONNECTIONS.

regular clients

dealer

people from red eye that know them and those that don't

platonic soulmates, aka the pieces of their soul

someone to help them remember

party friends, chill and fade friends

co-workers

roommate maybe??

mom/dad friend

HEADCANONS.

coming soon.

[datawyrms]

Happy DannyMay everyone! i say while dropping this. For day one, Memories. sorta kinda sequel to this Half a Decade Late

He said he’d never hate them. Back when he thought it would only be a matter of time until he found a weakness, a flaw and squirmed free. He always had before. He didn’t like being captured, and he certainly didn’t like getting shoved into cages, but it was always temporary. A terrifying inconvenience. Something he’d shrug off eventually and forget. Lately he was starting to realize he’d forget that he ever considered thinking charitably. Just like all the other things he couldn’t quite remember.

They took everything. His freedom, his limbs, his skin, his voice. So many things he had the misfortune of learning he could recover from with enough time. Really broke the idea that anything about you was special. Did it matter that they ripped him open when the green slime he was made of would eventually cover the hole without even a sign of the pain it caused him? He just stopped caring. Ghosts didn’t feel pain. Maybe if he believed that enough, he wouldn’t need to feel it. Hurt was just a matter of perspective.

He was changing, apparently. The spectral copies of his human organs they stole over and over again stopped being perfect copies. Sloppy. Apparently his body was forgetting what the real ones were like. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been human anyway. That was fine. It was the only real way he could bother them now, being ‘less useful’. Obviously he didn’t need them that badly. He envied some of his fellow prisoners. They were just green inside. Nothing the vultures wanted, nothing for them to mutter and prod at while he struggled uselessly.

He didn’t really know why he still bothered to do that. It never worked. Some impulse. Just better than keeping still. He never really was a human, was he? Humans didn’t treat other humans like this. So he wasn’t one. So why did he ever think he was?

Tie was weird. Maybe having a soul made you act all funny. He’d been tempted to change her name, to no-mask or just face, but the words didn’t feel right, sort of caught on his tongue. Even when he didn’t have one sometimes! Tie just slid off easily. Like he’d said it a lot, or something like it.

So the newbie remained Tie. And Tie was weird. A good kind of weird? She didn’t just tell him to shut up, anyway. Most of them were boring like that. Though not getting shocked into unconsciousness did make the days tend to drag a bit more. She did make his head hurt sometimes, with all the weird reactions Tie made. It always passed though.

He kept playing with the lights up there so they would flicker and crackle, just to check if it was a Tie day. Sure, that got a good amount of shocks when it wasn’t Tie, but they were always grumpy after he’d lost a limb or two. It was almost amusing again. That was the word. Maybe?

“You don’t remember Amity at all?”

Frustration and anger that was directed at him, but also not. Tie was super strange like that. “Why would I?” His response just made her eyes narrow more, but she didn’t do anything to take it out on him. It was hilarious. 

“That’s where you’re from.”

“News to me.” Might be a lie, might not. Gun grunts said lots of weird stuff. He shifted position, watching her while upside down didn’t make it easier to tell if humans were lying or not, but did make her scowling funnier. “That’s where you’re from then? Or that other name you keep using.”

“You can’t actually be him. Fuck.” She was rubbing at her forehead, looking away at nothing. “You remember ghost hunters but not Amity Park?”

“Hey! Names are hard, Tie. Isn’t like you know the name of every town you’ve ever been in.”

“No, but I remember the one I lived in most of my life!”

“Good for you! I’d clap but I’m kinda under armed for the task.” Under armed. He snickered as she only rolled her eyes at his joke, but it only made him think of another one. “Isn’t like a ghost lives anywhere.”

“You’re in here for hell knows how long and you can’t get better jokes?!”

Tie’s irritation just made it funnier. “These are gold! Way better than the stuff you guys laugh at.”

“Like what?”

“Oh you know.” The humour of the moment passed as he got back up, wondering if he should give the old ice trick another go. The noises were fun. “Like how the ghost won’t eat, but ghosts don’t breathe either. So the ghost can’t do much to stop ya.” As if Tie didn’t know. She still made the weird pinched expressions though. Why bother? It didn’t really matter if she actually had a soul still. Those ones just quit and then there’d be a new newbie. “Lots of you think that’s reaaaaal funny.” He stuck out his tongue, gagging. “Gross gun grunts.”

“That’s not funny either.”

“Try breaking your funny bone a few times. That’ll fix it. Or was that computers?” He frowned, rubbing his fingers against his chin. Computers. What was it about computers again? Re-re-something? Like with bones when you...did something…

“Phantom!”

That jerked him out of his considerations. “Still not him!” Now that he checked, Tie looked like she’d been trying to get his attention for awhile again. That, or she’d figured out how to teleport closer to his cage. Both were very possible. Probably. 

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you.”

“You were talking?”

“For someone who says he isn’t Phantom, it sure gets your attention fast.”

He shrugged. What did Tie expect? So what if he noticed it? It didn’t mean anything to him, personally. It was like comp-whatevers. “You could say the coats were coming and I’d do the same thing.”

“Doubt it. You remember Jack and Maddie maybe?” Tie hesitated, as if saying something to him actually mattered. “Your parents?”

“I’m a ghost. And possibly a starfish. Since I do the whole regenerating thing.” He’s pretty sure it’s starfish that do that. “I don’t think they’re big on families.” He thought that was pretty amusing, having like. Little voiceless things that cling to rocks as parents. Actually had a bit in common if you thought of his cage as a rock? Tie didn’t agree, based on how he was biting at her lip and clenching her fists. Still no shooting. Still super weird.

“Be a mercy killing at this point…” Tie wasn’t actually speaking to him, but it was interesting. Killing what? One of the other ghosts maybe. “Sam, Tucker? Any of them ring a bell?”

He certainly didn’t have a bell in here. “Sam...and Tucker are names?” He guessed, shuddering a little. Weird names. Made the gooey mess of ectoplasm he was made of wriggle when he said it. Like when he was struggling to digest something, uncomfortable and heavy and just making him want to move when he couldn’t. Though he could this time. Zipping up to the top of his cage helped shake the feeling off, at least. He wasn’t saying those again, no thank you. “You have weird tricks, Tie”

“They’re just names. I didn’t do anything to make you fly up there. I half thought you couldn’t do that anymore.”

Tie did have a bit of a point. When was the last time he’d flown up here? “Think I forgot I could?” He didn’t really move much in general. Not like he had anywhere to go, his cage didn’t really change.

She just looked tired. “This isn’t fixable.”

He wasn’t really paying attention, poking at the edges of his cage with his feet was pretty entertaining. It tingled a bit when he got pushed back, but flipping over in the air was easy. Why didn’t he float more? “Gun grunts don’t fix things, so Idonno why you care.”

Tie wasn’t paying much attention to him either, muttering to herself. “Manson would kill me for doing it. No way she’d believe you’re like this. Let alone the Fentons...”

Well, that was boring. He busied himself with counting how many seconds it took for the shock to stop coursing through him when he touched the walls. Though it was a bit tricky to keep track between tries.

“Skulker? Ember? You at least remember the ghosts, don’t you?”

“Are you just making names up now Tie?” They just sounded silly. The thought of someone named ‘Skulker’...who was also very tiny. Now that’d be funny. Kinda liked that idea actually.

“Probably don’t even remember the guy who put a million on your head…”

“A million whats? Questions? That’s more a you thing, Tie.”

“No, Vlad. The mayor?”

“The what?” Things weren’t funny anymore. He wasn’t cool and passive. That word, there’d been others but he didn’t even care what they’d been. The V had been enough to set his core to a furious pulsating heat of fury. His ice claws clung to the wall even as the buzzing in his skull grew stronger as the field tried to shove him back. “WHERE” He snared, not caring how his throat burned from the partial wail trying to scrabble out of his throat. Tie didn’t matter, nothing mattered and he actually missed his arm since not having it made it harder to keep his grip and snarl at the one backing away from his prison. “WHERE IS HE?” Oh he’d order anyone, and they’d listen or he’d shred them as soon as he got through- but his claws were cracking- green and red staining and corrupting the fine edge he’d honed so often. Why did he care? He didn’t know, didn’t want to know, he just had to act and now, just in case. The chance might slip away and he wouldn’t, they’d pay they’d pay, they’d PAY.

“Danny! Stop hurting yourself, he’s not here!” Tie was blathering, but at least backed away when he shrieked at her. Stupid Tie. Didn’t know anything. “Hell. You don’t even know why you’re mad, do you.”

He kept slamming the ice back in place, even as his arm weakened and started oozing. He didn’t need his legs, he didn’t need arms, he didn’t need anything. Just OUT. NOW. He snarled and snapped at the metal that grabbed his back and slammed him hard to the ground of his cage. It ignored him and the awful warmth that had consumed everything. He never won against it but now he had to keep trying because-because the anger? Because of something. The metal easily ignored the green surging pulses of electricity, just kept pressing down on him until he wasn’t solid enough to struggle, not strong enough to scream at it. The awful stabbing feeling in his core wanted him to act, but he couldn’t even defiantly flick his tail as he grew colder and slipped out of consciousness.

Everything hurt and it wasn’t even Friday. At least. He didn’t think it was? He’d have to ask Tie about it...if Tie showed up again. Something about her gave him a stab of unease. Might have something to do with all the green stains in here. Didn’t remember getting shot though. Strange. Must have done something. Maybe. Didn’t really matter.

[alderoo]

Nobody Real

This is from when I was bored awhile ago, and now, seeing as I have many other fics in the works i suppose i should get around to posting this here.

I was really angry when I wrote this. Like REALLY angry so uhhhhhhh have fun with my pain?

Description: Warriors says something that he shouldn’t have, and Legend gets upset. Then someone unexpected comes to help him.

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586058/chapters/67482725

Legend knew that he shouldn’t have walked out like that. He knew that he should’ve stayed and apologized and let the others know that he’s not that much of an asshole and that he knows how to treat people nicely and that he just snapped- no. He also knew that if he had stayed there any longer someone would’ve ended up with a black eye. 

The stream that he sat by did little to calm his aching body. The anger coursed through him and boiled his blood and stained every innocent part of his mind until he was so tense that he wondered how he didn’t pop a blood vessel in his hands or utterly shatter his teeth. 

Legend chucked another stone into the water. It made a loud plop. It wasn’t very satisfying, though. He wanted others to feel his pain. He wanted the heavens to open up and drown his sins in rain. For lightning to crack and for thunder to rumble and to show everyone exactly what was going on inside his mind. 

Footsteps distracted him from his thoughts. 

“Legend?” It was Warriors. The last man that he wanted to see at the moment. 

“Fuck off, captain. I’m not above slapping you right now,” Legend growled, but Warriors didn’t go away. 

“I came to apologize. I didn’t mean what I said. I should’ve realized that you were hurting from it,” The captain said with a gentle voice. Legend tensed even furthur, curling his hands into fists as he ripped the grass out from under them.

“How much longer do you think that we can do this?” Legend sneered, voice laced with venom. “How much longer do you think that I can stand being hurt by people who are supposed to be my family before I just quit it all? 

“Legend please, we don’t know what not to say unless you tell us about it! If we don’t work this out we’re just going to be skating on ice around you forever,” Warriors pleaded, taking a tentative step forward. 

Legend stood and whipped around to face him. His eyes were red and swollen from sobbing by the water and Warriors gasped in surprise. 

“I don’t care! For all the talking you do you can’t seem to tell when someone is seconds away from punching somebody?” Legend took a shaky breath to steel himself. “You all claim that we’re supposed to be like a family! But you all can’t recognize when one of your own is hurting! When they’re broken into so many pieces that there is little to no chance that they can put themselves back together!”

“You don’t think that the rest of us are broken too? There are things we’ve seen that would make us wake up screaming! Haven’t you seen the way that Wind screamed when he saw a Lofting for the first time? The way that Time had a panic attack when the moon was full for the first time in a few weeks?” Warriors retorted, having had enough of bullshit. His voice was cracking with emotion. 

“I know, captain. And I don’t care if what you said was a stupid joke! All those people I talked about, of course they aren’t real. They were never real! There’s no one who would be able to care about someone like me!” Legend yelled, voice echoing through the forest. 

The two stared at each other for a good long while before either of them said anything. Legend laughed a watery, broken laugh before shoving his hands in his pockets. He continued to wish that Hylia would let it rain from the heavens with all his unshed tears, how he wished for her to conjure volcanoes and storms to scream with the fright of his nightmares. But when had Hylia done anything for him?

“What a pair we are, huh?” Legend barked out another laugh. Warriors now had tears streaming down his face, and so did Legend. “Two weapons that were forged in blood only to fight and destroy everything they touch,”

“Legend-“

“I’ve heard enough, captain. I need time to cool off, I need time away from you. Tell the others to not come find me, alright?” Legend asked, looking up at the sky. “Just please, please go away,”

Warriors complied, sniffling like a child as he walked back to camp. Legend sat back down by the stream, and let his head fall down into his hands. 

After he was sure that Warriors was gone, Legend sobbed. He let out every cry that he held in, every little tear that begged to be let go. He felt every emotion he could possibly imagine. Hatred, at Warriors, at himself, and Hylia for making him go through this mess in the first place. Sadness, wishing that he could be in his Uncle’s arms when he was a child and was afraid of a thunderstorm. Grief as he longed to be back at Marin’s side, letting her beautiful voice lull him to sleep. 

But as much as he sobbed, one truth rang clear through his mind. No one could love someone like him. At least not anyone real. 

**********

When Wind saw Warriors dejectedly return to camp, he knew that he had to do something. What Warriors had said was crossing the line, sure, but none of them knew the toll that it would take on their veteran. And as much as Warriors wanted to apologize, Wind knew that it wouldn’t work until Legend calmed down. So when Wind said he was going to go talk to the fuming veteran, the strange looks that he got from the rest of the heroes were understandable. 

“He’s just going to yell at you, Sailor,” Warriors insisted, his face still red from tears. He was leaning against Time, who had his arm around the tearful captain. The Old Man had an unreadable expression on his face, but his eyes betrayed his facade, as they were clouded with grief. 

“No, he’s not,” Wind insisted, staying true to his decision. He glanced around camp, taking note of the expressions his friends bore. Twilight was holding Wild to his side, the champion having since drawn his hood, his eyes blank. Hyrule was clutching Sky’s tunic until the blood left his hands, Four sitting on his other side, eyes seemingly flickering in the firelight. “I need you all to trust me, please,” 

Time looked Wind in the eyes, before nodding. 

“Just be careful,” 

“I will,”

Wind then left camp and walked carefully through the forest in the direction that Legend stormed off in. As the sounds of a stream grew closer, Wind started to doubt his ability to calm the veteran. But he walked on, stepping on every twig and leaf in his path in hopes that he wouldn’t scare Legend. 

“I know you’re there,” A voice called, hoarse and choked with emotion. Wind couldn’t help but flinch, but he said nothing. He strode forward with a false confidence and sat himself down next to Legend, ignoring every impulse in his body that made him want to stare at the veteran. “Did the others send you?”

“No,” Wind answered, picking up a stone and skipping it across the shallow water. Legend watched it with little interest. They sat in silence after that, Wind occasionally skipping a stone and Legend trying to stifle his sniffles. 

“Then why are you here? Shouldn’t you be comforting your precious brother?” Legend sneered, but there was still no venom to it, just the voice of someone who was broken too many times. 

“Because I understand more than you’d think,” Legend scoffed. Wind didn’t take offense. He skipped another stone, this one bouncing four times before it sank to the ground. “After you, I’m one of the most experienced heroes. And I never told any of you how my second one ended, did I?”

Legend spared a glance at Wind, whose eyes were fixated on the water. 

“How did it end?” He asked, and was surprised at how young he sounded. 

“I woke up,” Wind admitted, and Legend let out a choked whine. Wind moved closer, and put an arm around the poor veteran’s side. “I conquered all the dungeons, forged the Phantom Sword, defeated Bellum, had the most traumatic experience in all of my adventures, and then I just… woke up. The Ocean King was there. He didn’t explain much,”

“Was any of it real?” The veteran wondered, wiping at his eyes. Wind shrugged.

“I have no idea. It’s real in my memories. But is it physically real? Who knows?” He said nonchalantly. Wind suddenly turned to Legend, looking at him with an intense stare. “That’s what happened to you, didn’t it?”

“They're all gone and it’s my fault,” Legend choked out, and Wind started rubbing his back, something he did with Aryll whenever she had nightmares about a certain bird. “You don’t know how much I’d give to hold her again, even if it’s only once,”

“I know. But you had to get home. Even if it was your fault, if she really loved you she would forgive you,” Wind insisted. “You knew what you had to do. And you did it. We all make choices, some are bad, others not so much,” 

“But it hurts so much,” Legend whimpered, a pitiful sound, but Wind didn’t mind. The sailor merely stood and wrapped his arms around the veteran, trying to reassure him that things would be alright. 

“We love you, Legend,” said Wind, and Legend sniffled again, hugging Wind even tighter.

“I know,”

[angededesespoir]

Cut

A/N:  (Also on AO3.)  Done for a 30 minute challenge using Prompt 65: ‘standing up after a haircut that leaves your head feeling lighter’ from this prompt list.

[So I was part way through writing this when it hit me that the idea for the starting scene may be similar to something I read ages ago. So uhhh just in case- the first part of this was inspired by the vague memory I have of a scene in Ahkaraii’s “Five” comic. It’s been awhile since I read it, so hopefully this isn’t too similar to that moment, but anyway- please check out their comic if you haven’t!  It’s amazing!  (I really need to reread it sometime.)]

He had acted on impulse, again- a growing stain to his once untarnished record. Sakumo rises, the lopped off ponytail clutched in one hand, the blade in the other. The absence of the hair leaves an unusual lightness at his back; the weight of his teammate’s stares taking its’ place. He holds out his hand (clenched tight to try to mask the tremble that creeps in) and bows his head- an offering, an atonement, an acknowledgement that things will not be the same.

He does not need to see them to know that this is not enough, that he is now branded a fool (if not worse) in their eyes. He waits- smothered by the silence as much as the pipe smoke- until he is dismissed. 

He does not feel relief when he escapes that room, only the building dread as he trudges home, thinking of the families that will be torn apart, the children that will die because of him. He shivers and he’s not sure if it’s because of the cold night air on his now bare neck or the haunting image of his own son potentially falling to an enemy blade.

-- When he enters his home, his son greets him with an odd stare, points out the stray locks that cling to his neck, shoulders, waiting to fall. He lets out a nervous laugh, suddenly all too aware of how the strands tickle his flesh. He hesitates for a moment before brushing them away. ‘It’s only hair,’ he reminds himself. (And yet, he can’t help the gnawing feeling that part of him is now missing). When his son calls to him,  he jerks his head. (For a moment, he is half caught off guard by the emptiness, missing the sensation the ponytail once made to such a movement). He faces him, expecting a question that does not come. Instead Kakashi is explaining a new jutsu he learned. Perhaps he should be relieved, but there’s still that nagging feeling, the phantom weight. He swallows and tries to focus on the words instead of the actions replaying in his head, the violent what-ifs blooming in his mind.

When he feels the hand- so small, yet so firm- gripping his own, their eyes meet and he has to force himself not to look away in shame. There’s a question there and like a coward, instead of answering, he reaches out to ruffle his son’s hair, fingers lingering there- at the spot where his own is in disrepair.

“What else did you learn today?”

He’s not sure who he’s asking.

[another-chorus-girl]

“What Makes a Monster Into a Man” PotO drabble

I promise I am still writing Erik House, and chapter 22 as I type is sitting in an open tab on my laptop right now, one last paragraph to write for it! But this idea has been swimming in my head for awhile. Not an overly long piece but it evolved from a joking conversation I had with a few friends. So while not Erik House related here is a sorta fourth wall break drabble.

From afar Erik hovered over the shoulder of the small man his golden eyes scanning over the score before them. This composer while certainly with faults and not up to his own standards was not entirely mediocre.

Especially one so bold as to recreate HIS story.

Erik couldn’t help but snort, "You're just as nosy as that Leroux character."

Sure the composer was reshaping the image of Erik's story, the journalist had wanted to do this too, but he felt strangely and perplexly contrite with this particular retelling. It seemed this man held great sympathy for poor unhappy Erik. Though the opera ghost couldn't understand how anyone could, even when she had pressed her lips to his forehead he could barely fathom it being real.  

The lead, the man's newly wed wife as it happened held a strong vibratto. While not quite the same as his true Christine had been, this woman was not without her own sort of power and talent.

He followed them as they all wandered about his opera house, taking photographs with small silver contraptions that flashed at their whim. But how he surely began to loathe the composer's impulsive decision after decision when he continued to watch them after leaving France. He would have rather stayed in his theater, but if they wanted to retell Erik's story, Erik himself wanted a say in all of this. It seemed he now had a home away from home outside of the Garnier's walls.  

It felt as though the old soul was having a conversation after so many years.

Granted this was a one sided conversation, Erik whispered into the mens' ears so as to steer them in the right direction. Of course the true opera ghost could not quite literally tell them what to do, but a little push-or a forceful subconcious shove-was needed to truly tell this story properly. A person here and there sacked followed shortly after by a replacement, the opera ghost’s own personal tweaks to the sheet music. 

And then he heard the two of them mention his name. Who ever would be their Phantom?

Erik was appalled to say the least when his withered ears heard the voices passing through.

"No. Oh no no no. This simply will not do"

And so Erik whispered again. "Find someone else, search the ends of the earth if you must Monsieur."

Fortunately they didn't have to go so far as the ends of the earth for that someone else.

Erik hummed skeptically watching him come in. Another Brit from the sound of it, while he groaned it would seem quite out of place for a Parisian here. He and the composer talked and discussed business, it seemed this man and the wife were cut from the same cloth, the same tutor that was to say! As the phrase went, it was quite a small world.

Watching in the shadows, the golden irises gleamed feeling the emotion, the passion this man radiated for music. It was a strange gift Erik was blessed-or possibly cursed-with in this new life if it could be called that. And in him, Erik felt a level of empathy and able to relate to this drive to set the music free.

He was unaware if his touch affected anyone, not that anyone could even see him. But he could feel a surge of emotion from the man as the opera ghost placed a skeletal hand on his shoulder. The hair on the back of his neck seemed to stand on edge as the composer played. Was it from the music or opera ghost's touch on his arm as Erik fed off the man's emotion.

"Yes,” He seemed to purr with delight in the man’s ear. “Yes, I think you'll do,"

Erik smirked behind his mask-even in death he was given the grace of concealing his face. As he took a breath, Erik in turn felt this intake of oxygen. The first time Erik had felt a surge of life in decades. 

Through him, Erik once more-from time to time that is-had a physical being, a presence, a voice. Of course the actor had no knowledge of the opera ghost's presence, when Erik gained control these episodes were seen as a subconscious emotion. If seen by the others it was cast aside as a simple haughty tantrum of anger.  

After so many years of silence and solitude, Erik revelled having quite fun to say the least. The man was a decent looking fellow, certainly more handsome than Erik had been in life or otherwise. Even given the grotesque handiwork upon layers of makeup, mismatched eye colors, and a hair receeding wig, Erik had the benefit of half the face.

In these moments of control and assertion, Erik looked upon 'himself' in the mirror one night in the dressing room. The suit was well tailored and fitted, while considered a costume it looked quite exquisite. The cloak hung loosely over 'his' shoulders. Wearing a copper tone slicked back wig, over yet another wig, and a fedora atop 'his' head. And a mask, but only over half the face.

Raising a hand bearing peak healthy skin tone and unwithered digits unlike Erik's own, only just grazing the glass with 'his' index and middle fingers looking back on 'his' reflection. Even despite the bloated wine colored lips, or the makeup and mask, Erik himself was in awe.

He had crept through the retelling of his past once before, these adaptions making him feel more and more like the monster he became. Only being seen as a ghoulish wretch only to be ripped apart by an angry mob of villagers or death by tunnel collapse like a lowly mole in its hole. But here, standing in this dressing room he was about to be seen as more than that, by hundreds, thousands of eyes. And these eyes felt for him, admired him, loved him. He! Loved...

Even as the decades rolled by, and Erik having his pick of the litter as new actors and faces came and went, so may places, countries, and languages explored he was beyond comprehension how his story came to be so lavish and even admired by so many.

Had Erik only known this warm compassion in life he wondered. Christine's deed to him was selfless and kind, but for someone to breathe life into him, express such depth of understanding.

He only hoped this little show-while not so little anymore-would live on through the ages as his legend now seemed to.

So yes if it weren’t obvious the main power players described were Andrew Lloyd Webber, Sarah Brightman, and of course Michael Crawford. This idea was seeded in my head after watching the documentary during a few stream nights and alot of us jokingly making a fan theory that Erik just likes to possess his Phantom actors given the body language and how many of the actors-especially Crawford-refer to Erik as though he were an old friend to them. I may build more on this later but here’s what I have!

Blessed night <3

[zcyleeta-blog]

hello buggies!! really sad bc my computer just crashed and I lost what I had already typed of this but second times the charm hopefully. I’m naomi (( she/her || twenty || est )) and these are my characters. I have zaylee zatara, daughter of zatanna zatara, and I also have gunner logan son of garfield logan aka beast boy. yes I gave them names with the same first initial it just felt right. I don’t have their entire backstories down yet but I’ve listed what I do have and some possible connections below. I’d really love to get some connections before we start, so pumped for this.

(zaylee zatara)

No way, is that MAIA MITCHELL? Oh, wait, no, that’s just ZAYLEE ZATARA. They’re about TWENTY years old, and came here from GOTHAM CITY. They’re the daughter of ZATANNA ZATARA. From what i’ve heard, she DID know who their parent was. I don’t know what exactly they’re capable of, but I wouldn’t mess with them, I hear they’re pretty UNPREDICTABLE, MORBID, & IMPETUOUS. Even so, I’ve also heard that they’re CHARMING, WITTY, & INTREPID.

personality; zaylee is a very headstrong and driven girl. she has been raised to be independent and never take no for an answer. she’s extremely smart and almost puts too much effort into achieving her goals. ever since she was young zaylee wanted to be a police officer, getting older and developing powers she realized how useless the profession is in a world full of superheros and how they only dealt with the petty stuff... like parking tickets. none the less her determination kept her going with that court of study and is currently getting her bachelors in criminal justice in gothem as well as a minor in french and latin... like I said, over achiever. zaylee is somewhat of a negative human, she’s certainly a pessimist. she’s the type of girl that loves horror films and wants to ride the biggest roller coaster. she doesn’t particularly like or trust most people, so the ones she does trust she keeps very close.

background; zaylee is gothem city born and raised. she has lived at shadowcrest manor the majority of her life, up until college when she got an apartment in the city. shadow crest manor is the ancestral moving home of the zatara family. it has been just outside the city of gothem since john zatara’s ownership. the building is a very magical building and can move on it’s own and is not visible to most. zaylee has been learning magic at the manor since the age of seven, post her police officer goal phase. zantana has taught her when she has the time but a lot of the studying has been done on her own. part of the reason for zaylee’s un-trusting nature is probably due to the large amounts of time she spent at the manor alone. she had homeschooling until high school. zaylee has never know who her father is and zatanna has made it clear that she doesn’t want her asking. for now she doesn’t quite frankly care who he is.

abilities; zaylee isn’t nearly as powerful as her mother but she does hope to be someday, and with her dedication there’s no doubt to most that she will be. 

telepathy: zaylee works on her telepathy but it’s a very difficult ability to master. for now she can erase memories and strongly persuade someone to do something, however the persuasion can be broken quite easily with intervening.

telekinesis: she can move and obtain objects that are various distances from her using spells. 

deflection: she can deflect oncoming attacks to her, if she has enough time, to eliminate or reduce the attack.

eldritch blast: zaylee can blast enemies with mystical energy. this ability is the one her mother has worked with her most on and she’s quite good at it.

phasing: zaylee can make herself into her "phantom form" and become intangible. this is another ability zatanna has worked with her on. however she’s not particularly strong at it and can only hold the form for a certain amount of time before returning.

healing: zaylee has some healing powers which she just discovered. however it take a ton of energy and she can only do it to herself.

reflection: this is a new power she’s been working on and therefore doesn’t get it correct every time. she can reverse physical trauma so that attacks that come her way will deflect and hit the opponent instead.

possible connections:

- GOTHEM CITY: if your character is form or has been in gothem hmu because zaylee has lived there (( just outside of there )) practically her whole life. - RIVAL/FRENEMY: zaylee is very competitive in nature, so it’s natural that she would feel a rivalry to others. - EX: i have a headcannon for zaylee’s past love life. she had an exboyfriend who was the only guy she ever truly loved, however rumor spread that he was cheating on her. humiliated, because zaylee hates feelings and even letting herself get that close with someone was extreme, she broke up with him on the spot without even hearing him all the way out. he actually wasn’t cheating on her. - BEST FRIENDS: she’s got a bit of an icy exterior but I swear she’s one of the most loyal and loving people to those she holds close. - FAMILY FRIENDS: aye oh justice league children of any kind I’m sure we’ve meet at the work family picnic right justice league probs has those right?? sorry I think I’m funny. also maybe if your parent is a magic user of some sort zatanna is like queen of magic so she probably knows most.

THIS IS WHAT IM THINKING UP OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD BUT ID LOVE TO JUST TALK AND PLOT IF YOURE INTERESTED IN SOMETHING BESIDES THESE PLOTS.

(gunner logan)

No way, is that HARRY STYLES? Oh, wait, no, that’s just GUNNER LOGAN. They’re about TWENTY-ONE years old, and came here from NEW YORK CITY. They’re the son of BEAST BOY. From what i’ve heard, he DID know who their parent was. I don’t know what exactly they’re capable of, but I wouldn’t mess with them, I hear they’re pretty UNRELIABLE, IMPULSIVE, & CAUSTIC. Even so, I’ve also heard that they’re SANGUINE, COMICAL, & LOYAL.

personality; oh god where to even begin with this kid. gunner is probably one of the cheekiest guys you’ll ever meet. he really takes after his father, despite not really knowing him. gunner can make a joke out of almost anything, whether it’s a good joke or not. he’s quite childish, very unreliable, and honestly a bit airy at times. however, the kid will have your back no matter what, he’s a light ball of energy, and he’ll always have a smile on his face. gunner is very flirtatious and it gets him into trouble sometimes. gunner never knew an enemy, he literally trusts everyone. the kid is very gullible so he kinda needs someone to make sure he’s not like accidentally committing crimes for people. gunner is vegetarian like his father, he’s super passionate about animals.

background; garfield was one of those dads that came around every once in awhile to take his son out to the baseball park. gunner had nothing but fond memories with his father growing up, however the memories were minimal. his mother and garfield had a one night stand that resulted in a pregnancy. his mother wasn’t to keen on her future child growing up around a superhero and violence so she kept visits with garfield to a minimum. gunner has been able to bond with his father more so since moving out and making more of an effort to get to know him, especially since he started developing similar abilities. no gunner didn’t ever turn green, but ever since he was young he had a strange connection with animals. as he got older it developed and he was sort of able to read and communicate with animals. this doesn’t mean that he could fully understand them, just pick up on what they might be thinking. at the age of eleven was when he first actually transformed into one. that was around the time when his mother was considering kicking garfield out of his life for good, gunner was determined to find a way to make that not happen--hence figuring out how to shift. the plot worked since gunner couldn’t figure out how to transform back from being a Pomeranian and garfield had to come and help him out. gunner was born and raised in nyc and is currently attending nyu for film production, however he really wants to get out there and fight the bad guys... but his mom keeps trying to hold him back of course.

abilities; since garfield passed down a mutated gene to gunner it has manifested somewhat differently in him.

metamorph: gunner has the ability to morph into various animals. however unlike garfield this has taken tremendous effort. he can’t simply think of an animal and transform. gunner has to almost meditate and focus to transform into a new animal. some he has mastered but others don’t always morph into the objective animal.

gunner has never mastered dinosaurs like his father.

animal telepathy: gunner has a stronger since of telepathy than his father. he has a sixth since with animals, including humans, and can read extremely well. he can’t read minds thought for thought but he can pick up on a general understanding of how their feeling or thinking. because of this he’s also a vegan like his father... can’t have the animals judging him.

martial arts: since from a young age gunner wanted to be like his father, he begged his mom to put him in martial arts and karate. essentially any sort of fighting class he could get her to let him do. he didn’t think he had any powers back then but its paid off really.

possible connections:

- FRENEMIES: gunner is the type to be friends with the enemy?? idk he sees good in everyone and is probably a bit over trusting. he’s probably accidentally join some evil team of some sort not realizing what it was bc they offered him pizza. - BROTP: amigas cheetahs friends for life. -gunner sings as he transforms into a cheetah- I’m actually losing it getting to the end of this post but please bring me those bff plots. - EXES(??): gunner is super flirtatious but has never had what he thought was a serious relationship. I think it would be interesting to see if someone maybe thought they were dating/committed in some way and gunner didn’t even realize. - FAMILY FRIENDS: teen titans and young justice children wya??

SORRY THESE SUCK BUT LIKE THIS AND ILL COME TO YOU TO PLOT OR SLIDE IN MY DMS.

[minusram]

3/? bonny and blithe, good and gay

[ch 1 / ch 2] [do make tomorrow a sunny day series here]

Ritsu does not talk to Nii-san every evening. Some nights he is tired, some nights he is busy, and some nights he can’t bear to imagine what his brother might think of him, if only he were here. Shigeo is a ghost hanging over him, an intangible but metaphorical phantom that remains so despite Ritsu’s newfound supernatural abilities.

Ritsu wondered, when they first manifested, if maybe someone had been watching over him after all, but a thorough check of the house, and even of the room that’s been slowly filled with the debris of a life lived looking forward—once it was done being a shrine to the past—revealed nothing. No ghosts, not even a wisp. Not a trace of emotion; no time capsule messages preserved for him to find.

Ritsu isn’t disappointed. Even if there was something lingering in the halls it would be the remains of a child, not someone older than him, not someone he could rely on. He’s lived his whole life, practically, without a brother—over three quarters, almost four fifths; gaining a facsimile of companionship at this late date would hardly be a fulfilling prize for his psychic achievement.

The setback with the wall was an outlier; despite the impression it left on him as he failed to do the same in reverse, Ritsu really has been making progress in his esper training, a fact that makes his inadequacy today sting all the more. An increase in cases recently, spurred by the growing popularity of his employer’s website, has meant a proportional increase in cases worth his time, higher level spirits that it actually means something to deal with.

Things that only he can do.

---

Days pass, then a week, then more, and it’s all entirely routine except for the scrapes he sometimes gets into with Reigen. Those are strange, different, scary; sometimes even dangerous, but maybe it’s karma presenting him with trials, with tasks he can undertake to mitigate his damage on the world. He makes it away unscathed each time, so the universe can’t be too mad at him. But then again, Reigen does too.

Ritsu keeps going to school, doing homework, going to work, talking to Nii-san, spending time with his parents, and it’s awhile before he sees Suzuki again.

This morning, he left early, and lied to his parents about why he needed to be here at Salt Middle before everyone else. Maybe he didn’t have to—they know he’s capable, they trust him, and it’s not like they micromanage his schedule—but he needed to vent the pressure a little and a harmless lie is better than the alternatives. He has power here, at school if not at home, to do terrible things.

But he’s an inquisitor, not a tyrant.

He watches Mezato, who appears to have made herself into something of a cult leader, from where he sits with his legs dangling off the wide lip of the roof. He’s on the wrong side of the fence, but it seems people never look up, so he doesn’t spare a thought to being spotted as he observes the trail of people she drags behind her while she chortles. They’re all laughing boisterously, at varying levels of volume.

First comes the Official Church of (LOL) First Salt Mid Branch, though according to the Student Council they aren’t officially anything except a nuisance. Kurata leads her little gang with a piercing laugh, her hands clutching her sides as she projects her voice to the edges of the schoolyard. Her three minions follow her in a ragged clump, hanging off each other and stumbling in a paroxysm of giggles.

Caught up behind them, not quite integrated into their herd, is Suzuki. He’s curled in on himself as he walks, bent over the bars of his arms against his stomach, shuffling forward with his hair shadowing his eyes. It’s creepy looking, the way he laughs; an impression unhelped by the sick leering smirk on his face, just visible when his shudders grow particularly acute.

And behind him, in a long snaking line, are the followers, people Ritsu has picked over and found to be non-critical, with very little influence in the running of the cult. Suzuki would be one of them if Ritsu didn’t know what he is. He escapes anonymity simply because Ritsu is unable to ignore him, though from what Ritsu’s heard he thus far hasn’t done anything particularly enthralling besides follow Mezato around and exist while being foreignly interesting.

Of greater note is that there’s a student council member there, blending in and chuckling, wiping tears from his eyes. Ritsu marks him, a bright red post-it flag on the file in his mind; he’ll bring it up with Kamuro this afternoon at the meeting. The only question is whether to do it in front of everyone or in private. Both have their appeal.

By some signal invisible to him, the prayer period is concluded; the ragged procession breaking up and reforming in new patterns as students fall into their ordinary social configurations again. Friends find friends and walk into school together. They seem refreshed. Ritsu felt something, watching them, some tug urging him to join in, but it was an impulse easily resisted, and now it’s gone. Strange.

And worth further consideration, but not now. The bell’s about to ring and he needs to get to class. As he boosts himself up over the fence he keeps a wary eye on Suzuki, still off step, like a satellite just out of orbit as he follows the other cultists inside.

---

That afternoon, when he’s walking to student council, he sees them again. Suzuki is being helplessly carried along under Kurata’s arm; she chatters non-stop while Mezato waves at them from the door of the news room. The other three—Inugawa, Saruta, and Kijibayashi—range ahead of them, taking up more space in the hallway then they should as the group makes its way to the entrance of the school.

Ritsu doesn't engage, though he's spotted at least five rules they're breaking. Even inquisitors take breaks sometimes, and he's still mulling over what he saw this morning. He’s not ready. The boys get quieter as he passes, except for Suzuki who was already silent, then the noise cautiously picks back up again when they think he’s out of range.

Ritsu dismisses them, for now, so he can turn his thoughts to the meeting, where he will undoubtedly be called upon to speak as Kamuro’s second hand in the Cleanup operation. Ritsu has better ears than a lot of people think; he’s heard the other members refer to him as the president’s attack dog. It’s not inaccurate—he knows what he’s become, what his powers have allowed him to be.

But it’s too late now to go back, and he wouldn’t deserve to even if he could; he’s been changed by this, enduringly, turned by dirty work to something darker than he was.

The meeting is as it ever is—Ritsu decides against the instigation of a fellow member’s lynching in a public forum—and then it’s over. He can’t remember what he said, or why, or who about, but surely it was satisfactory; an eloquent offering with salient points supporting whatever Kamuro was going to do anyway.

And of course, whatever Kamuro is going to do is whatever Ritsu told him to do the last time they met like this, privately, after even Tokugawa’s gone home. They’re two peas in a rotting pod, Kamuro and him, and the power slides between them like jello on a see-saw; constantly in flux and just as absurd, leaving sticky tracks of culpability all over both of their hands.

Kamuro seems shadowed, wraithed by negative energy as they discuss how to deal with their cuckoo, the cultist in their midst. Deep, dark shadows sag under his eyes and his hair is wavy and unwashed, heavy with grease. They’re nothing like mirrors of each other, but Ritsu feels a grimy kinship with him like a mushroom growing in the dark.

As they walk out, Kamuro slips on a piece of paper left on the floor in the hallway. It’s easily avoidable, but caught by surprise Kamuro’s foot skids out from under him and he slams into the door.

Ritsu sees his face and knows the shape of the next hill he’ll die on. Kamuro is smart, cunning and devious about it, but petty, sadistic, obsessed with power. He’s distracted from the bigger picture, which is why he values Ritsu, still, even after Ritsu’s learned so much about him.

The student body resents their duly elected president, begrudges the power they gave him, but Kamuro’s terrible reputation has its uses; it’s why Ritsu values him. If everyone’s looking at the person who revels in the spotlight, they might not notice the inky figure hidden by the curtain, watching them from just off-stage.

---

“This time, we got a big one,” Reigen says, brandishing an envelope with a broken wax seal. There’s a curse on his shoulder he doesn’t seem to have noticed; its tendrils drift when he moves, waving like it’s underwater, an anemone made of glowing energy rooted in the grey weave of his suit.

“Bigger than an urban legend, Reigen-san?” Ritsu replies, leaning against the wall as he watches it writhe.

“It’ll certainly pay better,” Reigen says, greed twisting his face before it shifts into a bright smile, emphasized by his hand’s flourish, “Maybe this time we can avoid getting anyone mutilated!”

Not so long ago, his employer proposed a little busting spree. Their attempt to exorcise the Kuchisake-onna went poorly, and culminated in the injury of a professional competitor who’d unwisely attempted to assist. After they helped Shiira Taichoumaru, or whatever his name was, to the hospital—bleeding heavily from the slashes in his face—, Reigen capitalized upon the man’s injury to update his business’ website, to lure in weak minds all the more efficiently.

A side effect has been the uptick in genuinely psychic cases, exorcisms that actually count as exercise; the shame he feels at profiting off another’s misfortune helps him take care of the escalating assignments without too much collateral damage, either to their surroundings or themselves. He’s both intrigued and wary to see what might qualify as a ‘big one’ after all the things he’s seen these past few weeks.

“So what is it?” Ritsu says.

“Some private mansion, I don’t know. Up on the mountain somewhere. It’s a famous businessman, the president of a real big company, but I don’t know if I should say who… can you keep a secret?”

“No, I don’t keep secrets.”

“Liar.”

Ritsu’s hand twitches; point Reigen.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he says. Reigen shrugs easily, conceding to the dig.

“Whatever, you’ll find out soon enough. That’s about all I know anyway, we’ll just have to get over there and see what’s up. So come on, Ritsu, we need to catch the train.”

As Reigen passes him, Ritsu reaches out; the curse crumbles at his touch.

For a moment, psychic silt coats his fingertips, sticking in his fingerprints. He has time to brush his thumb over it, considering, before that too fizzes away.

“Coming, Reigen-san,” he says, dipping to pick up his bag, and texting his parents that work might run late, “But don’t call me that.”

---

After they’ve rattled their way out of town, transferring from the train to a bus and then a hike up a long flight of worn stone stairs, and they’ve spent long minutes surrounded by trees and green smells—a myriad of natural splendours that Ritsu is not equipped to appreciate—they come upon the mansion, which emerges slowly as they crest the mossy staircase.

Ritsu set a brisk pace on their way up, eager to reach their destination and anticipating an equally long trip home after they’ve finished, but he hasn’t overexerted himself. Reigen, however, is sweating more than the weather warrants, and he pauses to take in the view of the massive building, hands on his hips as he gives every appearance of relishing the mildly-less-smoggy mountain air.

“Totally… worth it…” Ritsu’s employer says, endeavouring to seem overcome by the beauty of their environment—somewhat marred by the ostentatious eyesore of a house—and not his own physical limitations.

“Reigen-san, you should really keep in shape. It’s important to take care of your body as you age.”

“I’m twenty-seven, you brat!” Reigen cries, clenching his teeth and a fist in front of him in outrage, “That’s not old!”

He contains himself with a condescending puff; his hand transfers to his chin as he looks up, pensive. “But hey, I can’t expect a little kid to understand,” he says with a knowing nod. “Besides, taking a taxi would eat into our profit margin.”

“We could have taken a taxi?”

“Profit, Ritsu, think of the profit.”

The mansion is enormous, guarded by imposing walls bristling with barbed wire, reinforced chainlink gates, and serious people in suits and sunglasses who bark at them for identification.

Ritsu has a moment of doubt at the set-up, hoping Reigen actually has been invited and isn’t just gate-crashing like Ritsu knows he’s wont to do. But it all goes smoothly, everything in order, and one of the security guards leads them up the short drive to the house and through the double set of tufted leather doors.

They go in, past the vaulted entryway flanked by two double-story staircases, down a hallway floored with flawlessly polished stone that bounces the sound of their steps back up at them, past a room adjoining the back of the house, decorated in the traditional style, to arrive in front of an identical set of doors to the first, padded with creamy off-white leather; so clean they might never have been touched.

Their guide gestures to the brass handles, set into wood the warm, deep colour of chestnuts, and leaves them there.

Reigen whistles, impressed, when they’re alone.

“Nice fucking house, eh Ritsu?”

And with that, he opens the doors.

WELP. here it comes